Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

by Harry Kemelman

  “You’re saying that it’s easy to believe what you’d like to believe. All right,” said Lanigan. “I’ll admit it’s possible. It’s a normal human failing. But it cuts both ways. It’s just as wrong to refuse to see evidence because it points to someone you feel sorry for. In any case, it’s a minor point. You haven’t shown me what’s wrong with my reasoning.”

  “What’s wrong? The boys, Gorfinkle and Jacobs, found the door unlatched and ajar. Jenkins said he set the latch so it would lock. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. It would be pointless.”

  “Sometimes the lock doesn’t catch. The wind could have blown it open.”

  “All right. The boys said they found the body with the head covered. That’s how they knew it was murder. If Jenkins did it and waited to make sure Moose was dead, why didn’t he then remove that part of the sheet once the boy had smothered? That would be the obvious thing to do. Then it would have looked like an accidental death. To leave it over his head was to leave proof that it was murder. He’s a bright lad; he’d realize he would be likely to get involved.”

  Lanigan shrugged his shoulders. “He might have panicked.”

  “After he calmly sat around for twenty minutes or so?”

  “How do you know it was calmly? He may have been in a panic all along. How do we know he did stay there for twenty minutes? Moose would have used up the available oxygen in that plastic sheet in a lot less time than that. And this car that he said he saw parked in front of the house–I don’t believe it. What would anyone be doing there at that time of night and on such a night? If it were a couple who stopped to do a little necking, they wouldn’t have parked underneath the streetlamp. I think he put that in to suggest to us that someone entered Hillson House after he left.”

  Lanigan shook his head. “No, Rabbi, stick to the essentials. He was sore because Moose–what’s the term the kids use? Dumped, that’s it–dumped on him. The idea of covering his head was in his mind, because he made the remark. Remember, he didn’t deny making it. He wanted to get even with Moose. He admits that. He even admits going into the room where Moose was lying. And while he was looking down on him, he thought of the things Moose had said, and he picked up that last fold of the sheet and pulled it over his head and tucked it in. And if you don’t think it happened that way, you’ve got to come up with some mysterious stranger who somehow knows that Moose is there, who can get into the house, who knows that Moose is conveniently tied up and then covers his head.” He paused an impressive moment. “The only ones who fit that set of particulars, Rabbi, are your two young friends. Gorfinkle and Jacobs.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-TWO

  They were not hostile to the idea; they were just not enthusiastic. And it bothered Roger Epstein. “I don’t understand,” he said, “we’re supposed to be all for social action.” He turned to Brennerman. “You said that you wanted to see the temple involved. And you, Ben, social action is supposed to be the key to your whole program. Are you interested only when it’s at a distance, someplace down South?”

  “No, of course not, Roger,” said Gorfinkle easily. “It’s just that the key word is justice. Now you heard the news broadcast; what’s more, I called my brother-in-law to check on that report, and he said it was accurate. He got it himself from Lanigan. Now, maybe I’m wrong, but my impression is that this colored fellow–what’s his name? Jenkins–my impression is that Jenkins is guilty as all hell. You get a bunch of red-necks down in some Southern town framing some boy because he’s colored, and I’m prepared to go all out. But this fellow was caught dead to rights.”

  “That’s the way I feel,” said Brennerman.

  “Me too,” said Jacobs.

  “I don’t see how you can be so sure,” Epstein began.

  “Aw, come,” said Gorfinkle. “you don’t believe, you don’t really believe, that he’d go back there just to steal a handful of cigarettes, do you?”

  “And remember,” Jacobs pointed out, “our own kids are involved in this, Roger–your Didi as well as my Bill and Ben’s boy, Stu.”

  “Sure, and what if one of them found himself in the position of this boy?” demanded Epstein. “I don’t care whether he did it or not; he still has the right to a fair trial.”

  “He’ll get one, won’t he? This is Massachusetts. There won’t be any funny stuff here, no lynch mob–”

  “What kind of a fair trial can he get when he doesn’t even have a lawyer?” demanded Epstein.

  “If that’s what’s worrying you, forget it,” said Gorfinkle. “As far as I know, he hasn’t been formally charged yet. When he is, the court will appoint a lawyer if he doesn’t have one or if he can’t afford one.”

  “Sure, I understand there’s a fixed fee for that kind of legal service, something like five hundred dollars. And you know what kind of a lawyer he’ll get–some kid just out of law school who maybe hasn’t tried a case yet.”

  “What do you want us to do, Roger?”

  “I want us to show that we mean what we say and have the courage of our convictions. Jenkins has the right to a good lawyer, a good trial lawyer, someone like Warren Donohue, say. I’d like for us to start a Jenkins Defense Committee to raise funds so we could get him. You mark my words, before this is over a lot of the more liberal churches are going to get involved in this. So why can’t we be the first, instead of tagging along after the others?”

  Gorfinkle pursed his lips and considered. “Well, you know, you might just have something there. But Dono-hue’s fee comes high.”

  “So what?” Brennerman was excited now.

  “And can we get him?”

  “If we can raise his fee,” said Jacobs, “why not? Our money’s as good as the next guy’s.”

  “And if we set up a Defense Committee, we can raise his fee,” said Brennerman, “if we go about it right.”

  “We could solicit funds from the entire community,” said Epstein, “but it would have to be a temple project, not just something we as individuals are sponsoring.”

  “And that ties right into our program!” exclaimed Brennerman.

  “Now that presents problems,” said Gorfinkle, “because if we offer it as a temple project, the rabbi is going to have something to say about it. And right now, my stock isn’t exactly soaring with our rabbi. As a matter of fact, so far as he knows he’s on his way out at the next board meeting.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid you jumped the gun, Ben,” said Brennerman gloomily. “You shouldn’t have fired him–”

  “I didn’t fire him,” said Gorfinkle, “I just warned him. And if this whole business hadn’t come up, I still think it was the right thing to do.”

  “We all agreed to it, remember,” said Jacobs, “so don’t go blaming Ben.”

  “Well, mind you, I’m not blaming you, Ben,” said Epstein, “but I’m inclined to think that regardless of the present situation, we acted too fast. I for one feel funny about it.”

  To Gorfinkle this was criticism from an unexpected source. “What is it you feel funny about, Roger?” he asked quietly.

  “I feel funny about the whole deal. I feel funny about me, a new man at this temple business, firing the rabbi, who’s been involved with it all his life. I feel funny about being chairman of the Ritual Committee. In a way, that’s what set the whole business off, but I certainly never thought it would split the congregation. If I had, I wouldn’t have let you talk me into it. Well, maybe it’s not too late to repair the damage. I’m bowing out as of right now.”

  “Bowing out of what?” demanded Jacobs.

  “I’m declining the nomination for chairman of the Ritual Committee. And I’m not waiting for you to announce it at the next board meeting. I think, considering what the nomination resulted in, I ought to tell the rabbi myself. It would be a good chance to get him behind this Defense Committee, and maybe he’ll figure a way to speak to Paff and his group and pull the pieces together.”

  “You mean you think I ought to keep Paff as chairman? Is t
hat your idea, Roger?” asked Gorfinkle.

  “No, but I don’t see why you can’t get someone else, someone who’s neutral. How about Wasserman?”

  “Yeah, how about Wasserman?” said Brennerman.

  “Well …”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-THREE

  They were playing halfheartedly, their minds not on the game. Quite early in the evening Irving Kallen pushed his chair back. “I’ve had enough,” he said. “I just can’t seem to get interested.”

  “Once around?” asked Paff.

  “If you want.”

  Dr. Edelstein pushed back from the table, too. “What’s the point, Meyer? Personally, I’d rather have a cup of coffee.”

  “That’s easy enough,” said Paff. He tilted back his chair and called out to his wife in another room, “How about some coffee for the boys, Laura?” He gathered in the cards that were lying on the table and riffled them. “I was in Chelsea yesterday, and I bumped into this fellow I know–his brother is a rabbi, a real Orthodox type–and I happened to mention about somebody dying in a place that was going to be used for a synagogue. According to him, he didn’t think that ruled it out. He said he’d ask his brother, though.”

  “Forget it, Meyer,” said Kermit Arons. “Hillson House is out. Remember, it wasn’t just somebody dying. After all, in our own temple, you remember Arthur Barron had a heart attack–was it two years ago?”

  “Three years ago,” said Doc Edelstein. “But he didn’t die in the sanctuary. We took him to the hospital, and I pronounced him dead there.”

  “It doesn’t make any difference. The point is that he just died. Here, you had a murder. It wouldn’t make any difference if the entire Board of Rabbis pronounced it okay. For years to come that house will be known as the place where somebody was murdered. Who’ll you get to join that kind of a temple? To tell the truth, I’d feel funny myself, wondering if my seat was where the kid got it.”

  “So where does it leave us?” asked Paff.

  “I guess right back where we started from,” said Kallen. He brightened. “You know, you didn’t plan it that way, Meyer, I mean that we should sit tight at the last meeting, but when you come right down to it, it was a smart move. If we had actually kicked up a fuss when Gorfinkle announced the new committees, we’d have to eat crow now.”

  “I don’t see that there’s any real problem,” Edelstein offered. “Irv is right. We’re right back where we started from. We never made any official announcement about any new temple; we didn’t walk out when the new committees were announced. We sat tight, and we can continue to sit tight.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What the hell–”

  “You want I should sit by and let those guys do just as they please?” demanded Paff.

  “We’ll still be able to oppose them on the board,” said Edelstein.

  “Yeah, fat lot of good that will do us where they’ve got a clear majority.”

  “You mean they’re going to go ahead with calling for the rabbi’s resignation at the next meeting?” asked Edelstein. “Frankly, I think that’s pretty rotten after all the work he did for the kids, and–”

  “What work?” asked Arons. “He got young Gorfinkle and young Jacobs to give their story to the cops. I personally think it was the right thing to do, but a lot of the parents of the other kids were pretty sore about it. I certainly don’t think Gorfinkle or Jacobs were too pleased. Fortunately, they got this colored guy, but if it hadn’t been for that–”

  “Then you think they will go ahead with the resignation?” asked Edelstein.

  “No-o,” said Arons. “I’m inclined to think they’ll let it rest for the time being. You see, where the case isn’t settled yet and the rabbi is such good friends with the police chief, it would be kind of foolish to let him go. My guess is that they’ll just wait until his contract runs out and then won’t renew.”

  “By God, we’ll make them renew!” said Paff.

  “Since when are you so keen on the rabbi?” asked Arons.

  “I’m not,” snapped Paff. “Never was and never will be. But you’re missing the point.”

  “What point? They’re going to drop him.”

  “They’re going to try to drop him, you mean,” Paff amended.

  “But they got a clear majority on the board.”

  “Yes,” said Paff, “and there we can’t beat them. But the question of dropping a rabbi who has served the congregation for six years already, who has the respect of the Gentile community–that doesn’t have to be kept a strictly board matter. That’s something that the whole membership is interested in. Now, I don’t know how popular the rabbi is, but I know it’s a lot harder to fire somebody than it is to let him stay on. Nobody likes to fire.”

  “So?”

  “So that gives us an issue that we got a chance to win on. And if we win and the rabbi remains, we’ve evened up the odds, because when we oppose them, they just outvote us, but when he opposes them, he usually makes it a matter of ritual law or Jewish principle, and he sticks to it until they knuckle under.”

  Edelstein smiled. Kallen considered the proposition and then nodded his agreement. Arons said, “It’s an idea, Meyer; it’s an idea.”

  CHAPTER

  FIFTY-FOUR

  All week long the Small household had been busy with the cleaning and scrubbing and lining of shelves and cupboards that were normal preparation for the Passover week. The rabbi helped as much as possible, bringing up the rickety ladder from the basement and handing down to Miriam the stacks of Passover dishes and utensils that were kept on the topmost shelf of the cupboard for use only during the Passover week. The brunt of the work naturally fell on Miriam, and this year it was even more difficult, because Jonathan was old enough to follow her around and get in the way and continually demand attention. But finally, Saturday night, they had finished. While Miriam luxuriated on the living room couch the rabbi, followed step by step by his young son, had gone about the ritual symbolic search for the chometz, the crumbs of leaven left lying around on purpose to be found by candlelight, and with a feather swept onto a wooden spoon, which would be burned the next morning.

  “Do you want me to take Jonathan off your hands, David?” Miriam called to him, with no real thought her offer would be accepted.

  “Oh no. I always helped my father search for the chometz when I was a youngster. Kids like it. Do you remember where I put the candle and the–never mind, I’ve got them.” He recited the benediction. “Blessed art Thou, O Lord … Who commanded us to remove the leaven,” and then as his small son watched wide-eyed, by the flickering light of his candle he swept the leaven from the shelf where it had been previously placed and wrapped it in a bit of cloth and put it aside. He recited the ancient formula: “All manner of leaven that is in my possession which I have not seen or removed shall be null and accounted as the dust of the earth.”

  “Tomorrow,” he said to Jonathan, “you can watch us burn it.” And he called to his wife and asked her to get him ready for bed. Mr. Epstein was due any moment.

  The rabbi shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Epstein. I know you mean well, but I think you’re making a serious mistake–”

  “I don’t understand, Rabbi. We’ve got to help Alan Jenkins the best way we can. We’re involved. My Didi invited him, and all the kids there were our kids.”

  “Then why don’t you force the jail?”

  “That’s ridiculous, Rabbi.”

  “Precisely. And yet that would really help him. What I’m saying is that not all well-meaning actions necessarily result in the greatest good. You tell me that you have engaged this Donohue to act for Him. I’ve heard of him, who hasn’t? And now you tell me he’s going to demand a change of venue on the grounds that the young man can’t get a fair trial in this community? Well, I don’t want the Jewish community to go on record as doubting the good faith of the town. We have been here for some years now, and there has never been anything to suggest that. But I’ll t
ell you what your action does suggest. It suggests that you’re pretty sure that Jenkins is guilty. If he is, he should be convicted, but until all the evidence is in, I for one intend to keep an open mind.”

  “But this change of venue–that’s just a standard tactic.”

  “Yes, but what you consider a standard tactic someone else might regard as an unfair tactic. That’s what’s wrong with your whole social action concept, if I may say so. You’re not satisfied with doing what you can; you must have everyone else in the temple doing it, too. Our religion has an ethical code, a guideline for conduct, Mr. Epstein, but it is the individual who implements it according to the dictates of his conscience and his own intelligence. One person may join a picket line and another no less interested in the same cause may feel better results are to be gained through the courts or private negotiations or by making contributions. It is a matter for the individual to decide. Even in our services we pray as individuals rather than in a chorus. You can mount a campaign and make a plea for funds, but so long as a single member of the congregation opposes, you have no right to make it in the name of the temple, regardless of how big a majority you can muster on the board of directors.”

  “I don’t understand you, David.” Miriam pressed her fist against her mouth, as though to stifle harsh words of reproof. “He came to make amends. He was trying so hard to effect a reconciliation. And he’s a good man.”

  “Of course, he’s a good man. And so are Gorfinkle and the rest of them. They’re all good men, or they wouldn’t be so concerned about what may happen to a poor Negro that stumbled into a mess of trouble. But goodness is not enough. The people who took part in the religious wars were good men, but they killed and maimed in the tens of thousands nevertheless.”

  “Oh, David, you’re so–so inflexible. Can’t you bend a little?”