"I'm pretty sure of it."
"And what are you planning to do?" she asked anxiously.
He grinned. "I'm doing it right now. I'm not thinking about it, and we're not going to talk about it. Look at that maple."
It was a lovely sunny day with a blue sky and picture book clouds, and because they kept to the back roads, they encountered little traffic. Once, they stopped and watched the elaborate procedure of pulling a large boat out of the water for winter storage, at another place, they stopped in a small town to watch a football game, munching on their sandwiches as they sat in their car. For the most part, they rode, pointing out to each other things of interest, a view of the lake nestled in the hills, a majestic tree in spectacular red and gold, a herd of cows grazing on a grassy slope. When they saw a road that looked interesting, they turned into it and when they became bored with it, they branched off at the next turn.
"Do you have any idea where we are, David?" Miriam asked at one point.
"No, but we're traveling north— in a general sort of way." "How do you know?"
"By the sun, of course," he replied scornfully. "When you're used to facing east to recite your prayers, you develop a sense of direction."
"What if it's night time?"
"Then you can tell by the North Star."
"And if it's cloudy?"
"Oh, there are ways," he said airily. "You've no doubt heard of the chasidic rebbe of Chelm, the village of simpletons. It was easy for him, since he could perform miracles. Whichever way he faced when he recited his prayers automatically became east."
They stopped for gas and found out where they were. "It's time to turn around," he said, "if we want to get home before dark."
"Do you know what road to take?"
"No, but we'll just travel south now, we should get home around six."
To Miriam's surprise it was just six o'clock when they came in sight of the tower of Barnard's Crossing's Town Hall, the children, on their bellies on the living room rug, engrossed in the television screen, greeted them— as expected— perfunctorily. Miriam asked the usual questions of the baby-sitter. Did they behave? Did they eat well?
"They ate fine and they napped," Sandy assured her. "At least Hepsibah did, and Jonathan a little, and they've had their supper, there were quite a few phone calls, Rabbi, here's the list. Some wanted to know what time you'd be back."
"And what did you tell them?"
"I said I didn't know," said Sandy., "but sometime before eight, because I know you're going out for the evening."
"Good girl."
They had a snack, and then while Miriam readied the children for bed, the rabbi went to his study to recite the evening prayers, he had no sooner returned to the living room when the doorbell rang. It was Dr. Muntz.
"I phoned earlier and you weren't in," he explained, "but going by I saw your car."
"Come in, Doctor."
"Since you weren't at the meeting"— he chuckled— "by invitation. Chester Kaplan thought you ought to be notified."
"And he found it embarrassing to come in person because he had won and I had lost, so he sent you?"
Muntz laughed again. "Just about. Chet is a very sensitive guy, the vote was fifteen to five."
The rabbi nodded. "That's better than I expected."
"With some, maybe most, it was because they felt the sale was a good deal for the temple and they didn't want to lose it."
"A vote to reconsider didn't necessarily mean that the property could not then be sold, only that Aptaker would have been considered."
"Well." Al Muntz said, "there were others who felt that there was no consideration due him since he wasn't a member of the temple and hardly had any connection with the Jewish community, he doesn't care anything about us, so why should we go to any trouble about him, that was the attitude of some of the members. Even from your point of view, Rabbi, I don't think you should worry too much about Aptaker, the chances are he'd have to give up his store sooner or later anyway, he was getting mighty careless in filling out prescriptions, he balled one up for a patient of mine only a couple of days ago. Luckily., no harm was done, but there have been other cases. Now, how long before that gets around? Then who'll come to him to have a prescription filled, even if his license isn't revoked?"
"How could he have made a mistake in the last couple of days when he's been in the hospital for the last couple of weeks?" the rabbi protested.
"I mean I heard of it a couple of days ago," said the doctor. "It actually happened when Marcus Aptaker was still in his store." He recounted the events on the night of the big storm.
"And there was something the matter with those pills?"
"No, no, the pills Safferstein obtained the next day to replace the ones that had been in his coat pocket were all right, and his wife got better. But a couple of days ago he found the original bottle of pills, and he noticed they didn't look the same as the others, they were a different color from the refill pills. So naturally he was a little concerned. Which were the right ones? If his wife took the wrong pills was there danger of some aftereffect? You know how your mind runs on. So he called me, and I stopped off on my way home to look at them." Dr. Muntz paused to give dramatic effect to his words. "Rabbi, they were the wrong pills, they weren't what I'd ordered at all, the label was right, but the pills were wrong."
"And if Mrs. Safferstein had taken those pills?"
"Well, it so happens that nothing would have happened. But that's not the point, the point is that they were the wrong pills. Now, how many times can a druggist pull a stunt like that and continue to stay in business?"
"You told this to the board?" the rabbi asked.
"Oh no. If I told them, it would be all over town by the next day. I'm telling you because— well, because I know you won't spread it around, for one thing, and because you were so upset at the raw deal Aptaker got and kind of hinted you might resign. I thought you ought to have all the facts before you made up your mind, about resigning, I mean."
The rabbi looked at him in surprise. "Are you concerned whether I—"
"I wouldn't want you to resign."
"Strange." the rabbi mused. "I wouldn't have thought of you as—"
"As being on your side?" Muntz chuckled. "It's like this, Rabbi. Chet Kaplan is a good friend of mine, but on certain matters, he's a damn fool, he's so caught up with the retreat and religion that he can't think straight, well, I think the congregation needs you to counterbalance him."
"I see." The rabbi smiled. "You'd like me to continue as rabbi here because you're afraid I'd be replaced by a religious rabbi."
The doctor laughed. "It sounds funny put that way, but I think you know what I mean."
"Yes. I do. I just wonder if you do." "I don't understand." said Muntz.
"Well, most Jews, like people generally nowadays, have given very little thought to their religion. Nevertheless, they have a subconscious feeling for it, and sometimes, when they go at it with great enthusiasm, it is with little discrimination, and they're apt to get it all wrong, like Mr. Kaplan. So you're likely to find that his Judaism doesn't square with what you feel subconsciously. You see. Doctor, ours is an ethical religion, a way of life."
"Aren't they all?"
The rabbi pursed his lips. "Why, no. Christianity, for example, is a mystical religion."
"You mean that Christians are not ethical?"
The rabbi made a gesture of impatience. "Of course they are. But it is a secondary thing with them. What is enjoined on them primarily is faith in the Man-God Jesus, and their ethics are derived from the principle that if they believe in Jesus as the Son of God and their Saviour, then they will try to emulate him and hence will behave ethically, there is also the belief, common among the evangelical sects, that if you truly believe, 'if you let Jesus come into your life' is the usual formula, ethical behavior will come automatically, and sometimes it works." He cocked his head to one side and considered, then he nodded vigorously. "Sure. If you have your thoughts on heaven, you are less likely to covet the things of this world. Your foot may slip occasionally, of course, but not as much as it would if that were all you had to think about. On the other hand, you might get to thinking that any fancy that flits through your mind is the word of God.