"With us, however, faith in the Christian sense is almost meaningless, since God is by definition unknowable. What does it mean to say I believe in what I don't know and can't know? Theoretically, Christianity has the same view of God, which is why His Son was born on earth and lived as a man. Because being a man, he could be known. But we don't share this belief. Our religion is a code of ethical behavior, the code of Moses, the Torah, is a set of rules and laws governing behavior, the prophets preached ethical behavior, and the rabbis whose discussion and debates form the Talmud were concerned with spelling out in meticulous detail just how the general rules of behavior were to be implemented. I might mention in passing, that's why we have done so little proselytizing over the years. Because we have nothing to sell; no secrets, no magic formula, no ceremonial initiation that will open the gates of heaven. When a Christian comes to me for conversion, as they do now and again, that's what I tell them, because, of course, we have nothing to offer except our ethics and our way of life, and if he says that's what he's interested in, that he'd like to share it, I tell him to go ahead, there's nothing to prevent him, that with us the ethical Gentile stands as high before God as does the High Priest of Israel."
"You mean that's all there is to our religion? Only ethics?"
"That would be all if we were robots with minds programmed by a computer. But since we are human, with all the normal human failings and imperfections, we need rites and symbols and ceremonials to remind us and to combine us into a cohesive group, also, some of us learn better that way, and because we remember, our history and our traditions take on importance. But it is our ethics that is the basis of our religion."
"But you do convert sometimes, don't you?"
The rabbi nodded. "Yes. Conversion usually is involved with marriage to a Jew, there are practices and ceremonials, tribal customs really, which implement and ingrain our ethical ideas, and conversion is largely adoption into the tribe, the convert takes a new name and it is as though he were born a Jew. But that's quite different from conversion to one of the mystical religions."
"But there have been Jewish mystics, haven't there?" Muntz objected. "I was reading—"
"Oh yes." the rabbi interrupted impatiently. "The Essenes, the Dead Sea community, the Kabbalists, the Sabbatean movement, and I might add. Christianity, all were mystical movements in Judaism. But we sloughed them off, because from the point of view of traditional, central Judaism, they are errors. Only Chasidism has persisted, and that's because their mysticism is in addition to their adherence to traditional ethics and the Jewish customs which reflect and symbolize them, the chasidic legends of wonder-working rebbes are so much superstitious nonsense. But the chasidic rebbe who is most revered is the one whose charitable way of life, whose concern for people, made him a saint."
Rabbi Small leaned forward. "I don't deny the validity of mystical experience. It's just that my bent is not in that direction. Perhaps it is a failing in me. But in the present case, we are breaking a Talmudic law which is clearly ethical, and peculiarly Jewish, I might add, in order to promote not religion but religiosity. You suggest that Mr. aptaker is not worthy of our concern. But how about Mr. Goralsky?"
The phone rang, and the rabbi picked up the receiver, as he listened his face grew grave. Finally, he said, "All right, I'll be right down." He turned to the doctor. "I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me."
CHAPTER FIFTY
When he arrived at the police station, the rabbi found Akiva sitting on a bench in front of the sergeant's desk in the outer room. His eyes were closed, and there was a little smile on his face as though he were having a pleasant dream, the rabbi went over to the sergeant and nodded questioningly at the young man.
"He's been like that for the last ten or fifteen minutes," the sergeant explained in a whisper. "He comes out of the chiefs office and he says he's going to wait here for you, he asks me which way is east and he goes into the comer and just stands there like a kid in school, then he starts swaying and twisting and bending back and forth like he was doing exercises or maybe having a fit, and he's whispering to himself all the time. I couldn't hear him but I could see his lips moving."
"It's his way of praying." the rabbi explained with a smile.
"Is it now? Well, after a while he sits down and just closes his eyes. But I don't think he's sleeping."
When the rabbi sat down beside him, akiva opened his eyes, and with a broad smile said. "Hello. Rabbi. I sure appreciate your coming."
"The sergeant tells me you were praying."
"That's right. I recited the Shema over and over again."
"Why the Shema?"
"Because it's the only prayer I know by heart,” he said simply.
"Why are you here, Akrva?"
The young man shook his head, but he did not appear in the least upset, he even smiled.
"You certainly look a lot different from the way you sounded over the phone," the rabbi remarked.
"When I called, I was really freaked out," Akiva explained. "I just didn't know what was happening. It was like a nightmare, like everything was closing in on me, and then I made contact with my rebbe."
"What do you mean, you made contact with him?"
"I called to him and he appeared. I saw him as clearly as I see you now, he told me to pray and that everything would be all right. So I prayed and I feel fine now."
"Well, that's good. Now suppose you tell me just what thev want of vou. Over the phone you said—"
Akiva shook his head. "I don't know what they want, the chief had me come down and we just talked."
"Does he think you know something or did something?"
"He don't say, he asked me about my leaving town to go home after the big storm, and he asked me about a man named Kestler. I'm sure he's got me mixed up with somebody else. But don't you worry, Rabbi, everything is going to be all right."
"Because your rebbe said so?" Rabbi Small asked sourly. "That's right."
They talked for a while, the rabbi was unable to learn anything specific from Akiva, but as he began to understand what had happened, he grew indignant. Finally, he rose and strode into Lanigan's office.
"That's not like you, Chief," he said.
"Sit down. David. Now what is it that isn't like me?"
"This fishing expedition. If you’ve got something against Arnold Aptaker, tell him and then he can explain. If you think you have evidence of some crime, charge him so that he can set about defending himself. But just asking him to talk on the chance that he might say something that might incriminate him, that's not fair and I don't think it's even legal."
"I haven't arrested him and I'm not holding him. Believe me, David. I'm just trying to help him."
"But he doesn't know what it is you think he did."
"Oh, I believe he knows what he's done all right," said Lanigan confidently. "There's a chance, about one in a hundred, that it was an accident or an understandable mistake, well, let him level with me and I'll try to see it his way if lean."
"Then why not tell him outright and—"
"And let him start rigging explanations?" the chief said.
"No, sir. If he's innocent, if he did it without malice, if—" He broke off suddenly and looked sharply at his visitor from under bushy eyebrows. "You mean to say he has no idea of what I was driving at? No idea at all?"