"Give us a for-instance. Rabbi," Dr. Muntz suggested.
"All right. Since we're talking about wills, I'll give you an example from the laws of inheritance. If a man dies intestate, then according to secular law in our country, his estate is divided between his surviving wife and his children, male and female, who share equally. In Jewish law, however, the estate is shared only by the male children, with the firstborn taking a double portion, the maintenance of the unmarried daughters and their dowries are charges on the estate, however, and take precedence over the inheritance of the sons. Obviously, in a matter of this sort, it would be the secular law that would apply. On the other hand, consider the case of a woman getting a divorce from the secular courts. By secular law, she is free to remarry. But not in Jewish law until she has obtained a Jewish divorce, a get, here, the Jewish law is not contrary to the secular law; it is additional to it. Similarly, in the present instance, both the Jewish law and the secular law are interested in having the wishes of the testator carried out. For administrative reasons, obviously, and to prevent interminable litigation, the secular law requires that his wishes be expressed in a will, and that what is not stated in the will is not binding on the heirs, the Jewish law is in agreement, except in the case of the schechiv me-ra, the sick, dying man, here, we say, for the sake of his peace of mind in his last days, we will consider his wishes binding even if he does not get around to having them spelled out in the will."
"But that's just your interpretation. Rabbi," Kaplan said doggedly. "As I see it, we have a right to follow the secular law, especially where the money from the sale of the property is going to be used for a truly religious purpose, for the revival of religion—"
"Religion!" The rabbi was scornful. "Religion with us is ethical conduct. You are an observant Jew, Mr. Kaplan. You pray daily with the phylacteries. You kiss the mezzuzah that is affixed to the lintel of your door when you pass it. But what are these if not reminders to walk in the way of the Lord? If they are not that, then your piety, your meticulous observance of the ceremonials is just so much mumbo jumbo. 'What to me are your sacrifices?' the prophet said. 'Your Sabbaths and New Moons, my soul hateth.... Rather, cease to do evil.., seek justice, relieve the oppressed.'" Warmed by his own rhetoric, he went on, his voice rising, "You may be reviving religion up there in your retreat in the woods, but it's not the Jewish religion, and if this is the direction in which our temple is turning, I want no part of it."
As if to punctuate the rabbi's exhortation, a bell rang throughout the building, startling the men in the room. It was the bell signaling the end of the Sunday-school session.
The secretary looked at his watch in disbelief. "Jeez, it's twelve o'clock. Look, I've got to take my kid home, the wife raises hell if we're late." He slapped his notebook closed and rose from his chair.
"Yeah, me too."
Kaplan raised his hands to stop what threatened to become a general exodus. "Look, men, we can't leave it like this, weVe got to—"
"Lay it on the table until next week."
"Just a minute, just one minute. You're acting like a bunch of kids. Let's do this in an orderly fashion. Somebody make a motion."
"All right. I make a motion that we lay the rabbi's motion for reconsideration on the table."
"Second."
"Rabbi? All right with you?"
"Well, I feel there should be more discussion—"
"Look. Chet, on an important matter we always hold it over for a week at least."
"You didn't on the original motion that I'm asking you to reconsider," the rabbi observed.
"Can I say something?" Dr. Muntz called out. "The way I see it, the rabbi thinks Aptaker ought to get his lease renewed, all right, how do we know Bill Safferstein won't renew it? If he renewed it, then everything is okay, halacha-wise, isn't it, Rabbi?"
"He won't," said Kaplan. "I know he won't."
"It won't do any harm to ask him, will it?"
"All right, so I'll ask him, but I know he will not agree."
"Then I make a motion that we lay this matter on the table until our chairman has a chance to speak to Safferstein about Aptaker's lease."
"Second the motion."
"All in favor, say aye. Oppose, nay, the ayes have it. Now I'll have a motion to adjourn. Paul?"
"I'm not making a motion to adjourn. Chet." Goodman said. "I will if you want me to, of course. I asked for the floor because I think the rabbi ought not to be present next week when we discuss this matter. I don't think it should be a motion—"
"Why shouldn't the rabbi be here?" Muntz asked. "Seems to me since he brought it up—"
"Because he's practically accused all of us of having broken the Jewish law on this matter and said he was going to call all of us—'individually and collectively,' he said— to a Din whatyamacallit. Okay, so he's on one side, and we're on the other, he's the accuser, and we're like the defense, well, common sense would dictate that you don't have the accuser present at a meeting of the defense."
"Now, Paul—"
"I think there's some merit in what Mr. Goodman says," said the rabbi. "I think I should absent myself from the meeting. I have made my position clear, and it is up to you to decide what you're going to do about it. I don't mind waiting a week."
"Just a minute, there's no meeting next week," said Goodman.
"Why not?"
"The Sisterhood Fair."
"Oh yeah. So it will be the week after, all right with you, Rabbi?"
"If I can wait a week, I guess I can wait two," said the rabbi.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Edie Kaplan could never understand what her friends found to marvel at in her housekeeping, she kept a kosher kitchen with two sets of dishes, one for meat and the other for dairy products, because for her it was the normal way, her father had been a sexton in a large synagogue in Boston, and a sexton is expected to be a pious man, strictly observant of the regulations, he not only had to supervise the maintenance of the building, but he also had to make the necessary arrangements for each of the services, lead the daily prayers, read the Scroll and even spell the cantor on occasion.
Edie was raised in a household where the idea of eating meat and dairy products from the same set of dishes was as unthinkable as eating from the floor, as for eating both at the same meal, she found the thought positively repulsive. Just reading a recipe which called for the use of butter or milk in preparing a meat dish gave her a queazy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She knew, of course, that other people ate things like pork and lobster, but for her they were as alien and outlandish as snails or snakemeat or fried termites, which some people also ate. Nor did she think her eating habits constituted a sacrifice that she was making for religious reasons, as Catholics eat fish on Friday. Intellectually, she knew that the foods she ate were permitted and the foods she did not eat were considered taboo according to her religion, but in point of fact, hers was a pure gut reaction, she could not have swallowed one of the forbidden foods, and if forced to, she would have retched. When the Kaplans dined out with friends, she always ordered fish, and if one of the company ordered meat and then more particularly buttered a roll to eat it with, she would tend to wince and look away.
"But isn't it awfully complicated, Edie, having two sets of everything? Don't you get them mixed up?"
She would shrug and say, "When we were in Israel we saw the Bedouins sitting on the ground, all of them eating from a common dish, and just with their hands. Eating at a table, each person using a separate dish and a knife and fork must have seemed complicated to them."