“Okay, Sarge. Say—Isaac Hirsh—isn’t that the guy who went on a toot some months back and we finally located him in a dive in the South End in Boston?”
“Yeah, come to think of it. I’ll notify Boston police to keep an eye out for him. That’s probably what happened—got thirsty again. When you go over, kind of suggest that she look around and see if anything is missing, like the cooking sherry or his aftershave bay rum. Those guys will drink anything when it hits them.”
“Got it, Sarge.” He turned to his partner. “Let’s go, Tommy boy.”
“What is it, a missing drunk? Why don’t we stop at a couple of places downtown first, The Foc’sle and the Sea and Sand, and see if he’s there.”
“Not that kind of drunk, Tommy. He’s some hot-shot scientist. He don’t drink, except every now and then he goes on a big toot that lasts for days, even weeks. Last time, at least last time we know about on account of the missus calling in, he was missing three days. It must have been all of eight months ago, maybe more. The Boston police finally found him holed up in a filthy little dive of a hotel in the South End. He was lying in bed fully dressed with a pile of dead soldiers on the floor. I don’t think he had eaten in all that time. Mark my words, when we turn him up, it’ll probably be another such place. Ah, here we are, the house with the porch light. I recognize it now, we took him home in the ambulance last time. You wait here in case the sergeant calls in.”
Patricia Hirsh opened the door before he had a chance to ring. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Officer.” Although she was obviously agitated, her voice was controlled.
“Just as soon as we got the message, ma’am.” He took out his notebook and pencil from the thigh pocket of his uniform. “Now, can you tell me what your husband was wearing?”
“Oh.” She went to the hall closet. “A light topcoat—it’s gray, dark gray herringbone. And—no, his hat is here. Underneath he had on a regular business suit—dark brown.”
“And can you give me a description of him, height, weight, and so on?”
“He’s quite plump. He weighs about a hundred and ninety pounds and is about five three.” As he looked up involuntarily, she said, “Yes, he’s shorter than I am. He’s also quite a bit older. He’s fifty-one, and bald,” she added defiantly, “with a moustache.”
“You got a picture of him, ma’am?”
“Yes, upstairs in the bedroom. Would you like me to get it?”
“If you please.” As she started for the stairs, he called after her, “I’ll just give this information to my partner outside so he can call it in right away.”
At the car he asked Tommy if there had been any calls. His partner shook his head, then said: “Better check out the house, Joe. The garage door, I notice it’s down. When we first came on duty about eight o’clock a number of them were up. Probably because so many people were over at the temple.”
“Okay, I’ll check it. Meantime, call in this description.” And after repeating what Mrs. Hirsh had told him, he went back to the house. She was waiting for him with the picture. He took it, studied it for a moment, then said gently, “You haven’t noticed anything missing, have you?”
“I haven’t looked. Like what?”
“Well, like whiskey—”
“We don’t have it in the house.”
“Cooking sherry?”
“I don’t use it.”
“Maybe bay rum or rubbing alcohol?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“All right, ma’am. We get right on to it. Why don’t you just go to bed. I’ll let myself out through the back.”
“That only leads to the garage.”
“Never hurts to look around, ma’am.”
“You’ll call me—no matter what time, won’t you?”
“Sure will.” Making his way through the kitchen to the garage, he opened the back door, and then quickly closed it behind him. The car was in the garage, and on the front seat, on the passenger side, was Isaac Hirsh.
Even slim as he was, it was a tight squeeze for Joe between the wall of the garage and the car, but he managed. He opened the front door and leaned across the driver’s seat to touch the man. By the light of his flashlight he noted the position of the key in the ignition switch. He noted the half-empty vodka bottle. Then he withdrew and closed the car door. Squeezing his way to the front of the garage he raised the overhead door just enough to duck under, and pulled it down after him.
He got into the cruising car, but as the driver started to shift into gear he held onto his hand. “No, Tommy, we’re not going anywhere. I’ve found him. He’s in the garage.”
“Dead to the world?”
“Yeah, only this time it’s for good.”
CHAPTER
EIGHT
The daylong Yom Kippur services began at nine with the recital of morning prayers. Only a handful of people were in the temple, mostly the older men, and on the platform only the rabbi was in his seat. Even the cantor had not yet arrived, since it was customary to have someone else lead the morning service to give him a measure of relief. The honor usually went to Jacob Wasserman, the first president of the temple and the man who more than anyone else had organized the congregation. His voice made up in genuine fervor what it lacked in volume, and the rabbi enjoyed his chanting with its traditional quavers and trills more than the studied effects of the cantor who surreptitiously would stoop and tap his tuning fork and hum the pitch before beginning a chant.
The congregation kept drifting in all morning. Shortly after the cantor took his seat, Mortimer Schwarz appeared. He shook hands ceremoniously with the rabbi, and then crossed over to shake hands with the cantor. He returned to his seat and whispered that, just as he had expected, Marvin Brown called last night.
“You mean about the honor he missed?”
“Well, Rabbi, he didn’t come right out and say so, but I know that’s what it was.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it meant so much to him.”
“Oh, I don’t think he’s particularly religious. But he’s a salesman first, last, and always. And, something like that, he builds it up in his mind as kind of good luck. And if he should somehow miss out, it could throw him off stride. Do you understand?”
“I can understand how he might feel that way,” said the rabbi.
“Well, I don’t mind saying I felt Ely Kahn kind of jumped the gun by going ahead and opening the Ark when Marvin didn’t come down right away. Nothing terrible would have happened if we’d waited a few minutes. Anyway, today I’m going to be extra careful. I’ll call out these names good and loud, and we’ll wait until we’re sure the person is not in the temple before picking a substitute.”
By a quarter past ten, when the Scrolls were removed from the Ark for the Reading, the sanctuary was full. Some chose to regard this point in the service as a recess; and while a few left, most remained. For the Memorial Service for the Dead that followed, the Yizkor service, the sanctuary filled up again. Many came just for this portion out of a sense of respect for departed members of their immediate family. Traditionally it was considered bad luck for anyone whose parents were alive to be present, but the rabbi, like most Conservative rabbis, felt this to be idle superstition. He began by explaining that it was proper for all to attend, that since those who had died in the Nazi holocaust were going to be memorialized, everyone could consider himself bereaved; but here and there he could see some of the older congregants brought up in Orthodoxy urge their children to leave.
However, after Yizkor he could not help feeling pleased to note a large portion of the young people return, presumably to hear his sermon. One portion of the Holy Day service described the way the High Priest of ancient times purified himself and his family before making the sacrifice to atone for the sins of his people. The sermon discussed this portion of the service, comparing this with the attempted sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham—a reference to the New Year Reading on Rosh Hashanah, the beginning of the ten Days of Awe. W
ith many a rabbinic allusion, he explained that the sacrifice of Isaac was a stern injunction against the human sacrifice that was universally practiced at the time, and then went on to show how the whole concept of sacrifice and atonement had gradually changed from sacrificing a live scapegoat to the modern attitude toward prayer, which meant begging forgiveness—from the Lord for sins committed against Him as well as from individuals for sins committed against them.
As in all his sermons, the tone and style was instructional and informal, like a college lecture. He himself thought of his sermons as theses in which he attempted to explain seeming contradictions in the Law, rather than as exhortations. He knew some members of the congregation, including the president, grew restive during his discourse, and would have preferred a more oratorical, hortative style, but he felt his type of sermon was more in keeping with his basic function of teacher, implicit in the word “rabbi.”
The service continued, the day wore on; people came and left, some to go home for a nap or perhaps even a hurried snack, while outside, boys and girls stood about in their new clothes, laughing and flirting. The very young played on the temple grounds, their high shrill voices sometimes disturbing the decorum inside, requiring one of the ushers to go out and lecture them for making noise while the service was in progress.
At four o’clock, it became apparent that they were proceeding too rapidly and the service was in danger of ending before sunset. The rabbi approached the reading desk, “We’re running ahead of time, Cantor Zimbler. Can you slow it down?”
The cantor shrugged his shoulders. “What do you want me to do, Rabbi, hold the notes longer?”
The rabbi smiled. Then: “I guess we’d better have a recess.” He announced that the congregation was praying with such fervor that they were outrunning the sun. “So we’ll have a half-hour break.”
There was a murmur of grateful laughter from the congregation but only a few left since those present at that hour represented the hard core of worshipers who came with the intention of remaining through the day. But they appreciated the respite and engaged their neighbors in a few minutes’ conversation before returning to the concluding portion which ended with the blowing of the shofar.
The president stretched on his thronelike chair and turned to the rabbi. “You know, apropos of your sermon, it occurs to me I made a sacrifice of my own. This is the first year in a long time that I have fasted, and I feel fine, just fine. Other years, I didn’t exactly eat, I mean, I didn’t have a regular meal. I’d have some juice in the morning, and then around noon I might go home for a cup of coffee and a sandwich, but this year I felt, being president, I ought to go the distance. And though I feel a little weak, otherwise I’m just fine.”
“Mr. Goralsky told me he had been doing it for seventy-five years, and it doesn’t appear to have hurt him any.”
“Gosh, I forgot all about the old man. Have you heard how he is? I haven’t seen Ben around.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t been here or I would have seen him.”
“That sounds bad, Rabbi. The old man must be very sick—Ben would have come for Yizkor at least, with his mother dead only recently, within the year.”
“Not necessarily. They’re quite Orthodox and according to custom those recently bereaved, who are still in the year of mourning, do not attend the Yizkor service.”
“That so? Then, maybe that’s it. I certainly hope so.”
The rabbi regarded him curiously. “Are you really so sure of getting a large contribution from Mr. Goralsky?”
“I’ve talked to the old man—informally, you know,” Schwarz said smugly. “No definite promise, of course, but I can tell he’s receptive to the idea.”
“And how big a contribution do you hope for?”
Schwarz looked at him in some surprise. “I told you about it last night, Rabbi. A memorial chapel.”
“You mentioned it, but I thought it was just by way of example. You mean he really is interested in building a Goralsky Memorial Chapel? What kind of money would be involved?”
“Oh, a hundred thousand dollars—to a hundred and a half.”
The rabbi pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. “They’re in electronics?”
“That’s right, electronics and transistors. They’ve got a big new plant on Route 128. They’re loaded. Right now, I understand, they’re planning to merge with some big outfit out West, and their stock has been going up like a sky-rocket. It’s doubled in the last couple of weeks. And they started in the poultry business.”
“The poultry business?”
“The absolute truth. My grandmother used to buy fresh-killed chickens from their store in Chelsea, and the old man himself used to wait on her in a blood-smeared white apron and a straw hat. Then they got a little ahead of themselves and began to gamble in futures and made quite a bit of money. So they had spare money when a chance came to invest in a transistor company and they were on their way. They bought out their partner, the man who started the business, and after that they really began to expand. They were lucky enough to go public right at the boom, and the rest is financial history. Maybe you saw the write-up on Ben Goralsky in Time magazine?”
The rabbi shook his head.
“A column and a half plus picture. I tried to put him on the Board, but he said he was too busy.” He sounded gloomy.
“And do you think if you got him on the Board he might be inclined to favor a chapel over a chemistry lab?”
“At least it would get him interested in our organization and its problems.”
“But do we need a chapel? It seems to me we have plenty of room right now—”
Schwarz looked at him. “Rabbi, a growing organization never has plenty of room. If it’s enough for today, then it’s not enough for tomorrow. Besides, next to the high school, our sanctuary is the biggest auditorium in town. Once or twice in the past we’ve been asked for the loan of our facilities by outside organizations. Now, how does it sit with you to have a secular organization like Kiwanis, say, transacting their business right here in front of the Holy Ark?”
“Well—”
“But suppose we had a small chapel built right onto the wall behind us, a small jewel of a chapel that you could tell was a chapel and not a barracks or a light and power company office building?”
“You don’t like this building?”
Schwarz smiled condescendingly. “Remember, Rabbi, I’m an architect by profession. Look, are you and Miriam coming over tonight after you break your fast? Ethel is expecting you.”
“If Miriam is up to it.”
“Good. I’ll show you something that will knock your eye out.”
From where she was sitting, Miriam signaled her husband with a nod. He left the pulpit and joined her as she made her way out of the sanctuary.
“Something wrong, dear?”
“I feel a little done in. I guess I’ve got used to napping in the afternoon. Alice Fine is going home, and I thought I’d get a ride with her.”
“You’ll make yourself some tea, won’t you? Or perhaps a glass of warm milk would be even better. I think you should eat something. You sure you’re all right?”
“Believe me, David, I feel fine.”
“Anything wrong?” asked Schwarz when the rabbi returned to the pulpit. He told him Miriam felt a little tired.
“Well, it’s understandable. I hope she’s not fasting.”
“She was, but she promised to eat something.”
The sun began to set, and many of those who had left earlier returned to take part in the final congregational confession of sins, “We have trespassed, we have been faithless . . .” and to ask once again for forgiveness, “Our God and God of our fathers, pardon our iniquities on this Day of Atonement. . . . Accept, O Lord our God, thy people Israel and their prayer. . . .”
The sun set as they began to read responsively the Ovenu Malkenu, “Our Father, our King.” Then in a voice of fervor and exultation, they declaimed, “H
ear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One,” followed by “Blessed be His Name, whose glorious Kingdom is forever and ever,” recited three times. Then seven times, the cantor and the congregation exclaimed, “The Lord, He is God,” each time louder and more passionately, the last time climaxed by a long blast—eerie, piercing, and exultant—of the shofar, the ram’s horn, signifying the end of the long day of Atonement and the ten Days of Awe.
The Mourner’s Kaddish remained to be said, and a benediction by the rabbi, but the members of the congregation were already folding their prayer shawls and shaking hands with their neighbors and wishing them a healthy and happy New Year.
The rabbi shook hands with Mortimer Schwarz, with the cantor, and with the vice-president.
“See you tonight, Rabbi?” asked Schwarz.
“If Miriam feels well enough.”
CHAPTER
NINE
Reluctantly Jordan Marcus went to the telephone, but before picking up the instrument he made one more appeal. “I tell you, Liz, I still don’t think we ought to get mixed up in this. We’re new members, for one thing.”
“So?” his wife said. “You paid your dues, didn’t you?”
“You know damn well I did, and don’t think that hundred bucks didn’t hurt plenty, plus fifty bucks on top of that for two tickets—”
“So? So what did you want to do on the High Holidays? Go to the movies?”
“You didn’t even have to show your tickets. We could have just walked in—”
“And when you got in you’d be invisible? The Levensons, the Baylisses—they wouldn’t see you? And wouldn’t know you’re not a member?”
“We could have gone to my folks’ place in Chelsea. It would have cost me ten bucks apiece for the tickets, and I would have saved myself a hundred and thirty bucks.”
“And next year, when Monte has to start religious school, you’d take him to Chelsea three days a week, I suppose.”
“So we could have joined next year. And that’s a sweet little racket, by the way, making you join the temple so your kids can go to the religious school.”
Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry Page 5
