The few members of the board who were present stood in a small group out of the way of the bustling women, casting occasional glances in the direction of the two rabbis, who were left to themselves on the assumption that they had professional matters to discuss. They could not help noting the difference between the two men. Whereas Rabbi Small was of medium height and thin and pale, Rabbi Deutch was tall and erect and ruddy with broad shoulders. And he was handsome, too, with a high forehead surmounted by white hair which appeared even whiter in contrast with his black silk yarmulke. He had an aquiline nose and sensitive mouth framed by an iron-gray mustache and imperial. When he spoke, his deep baritone voice came out in the measured tones of the professional speaker, quite unlike Rabbi Small’s voice, which even in the pulpit was flat and matter-of-fact. None of them actually voiced their comparison of the two, but it was obvious from the enthusiastic agreement they gave when Bert Raymond remarked. “He certainly looks good.” And it was plain they all concurred when Marty Drexler added, “Now, that’s my idea of what a rabbi should look like.”
The women were just as delighted with Mrs. Deutch as the men were with her husband. She, too, was tall with gray hair, which was brushed up in back and held in place by a comb. The effect was of a tiara, and it gave her an aristocratic, almost queenly appearance. And withal, she was so simple and democratic. When the president of the Sisterhood presented the officers of the organization to her, she said, “You know, girls, I’d never say it to Hugo, of course, but the plain fact is that it’s the Sisterhood that runs the temple.” They were enchanted.
They all liked Miriam Small, but in the way they might like the college girl in bobby socks and loafers next door who might occasionally baby-sit for them. Beside Betty Deutch she seemed not merely young, but immature.
When they came up to ask their advice about where the decorative candlesticks should be placed, Miriam said, “Oh, I’d put them near the middle of the table so they won’t be in the way of the pourers at either end.” Betty Deutch, on the other hand, stood back to get a better view of the table, came forward to move the candlesticks to the end of the table, went back to survey the effect, and then said, “This way they’re far enough from the end so they won’t bother the pourers too much, and the effect is to make the table seem longer. Don’t you think so, girls?”
Their ready agreement carried the clear implication that it was Mrs. Deutch who was now the rebbitzin. Noticing it, Mrs. Deutch put her arm through Miriam’s, and as they strolled back to where their husbands were standing, she whispered, “In matters that don’t mean very much one way or another, I make it a point always to agree with the gals of the Sisterhood and to encourage them to do what they want to do.”
“And how many do you get at a Friday evening service, Rabbi?” Rabbi Deutch was asking.
“Anywhere from fifty to seventy-five usually.”
Rabbi Deutch pursed his lips. “Out of a membership of almost four hundred families? Hmm. Do you do any advertising?”
“Just the announcement in the press.”
“Ah, well, in addition to the press release, we’ve always sent out postcards to arrive in Friday’s mail. I’ve found that very effective. Also, I always try to pick an intriguing title for my sermon. That helps, believe me. Something topical—”
“Like sex?” asked Rabbi Small innocently.
“As a matter of fact, sex in the Talmud was the title of one of my sermons. We got quite a turnout on that one.”
The women now joined them. “I suppose you’re planning to do a lot of touring when you first arrive in Israel,” said Mrs. Deutch.
“We haven’t made any plans, to tell the truth,” said Rabbi Small.
“David isn’t much of a one for touring,” Miriam explained.
“Rabbi Small is a scholar,” said Rabbi Deutch. “It’s my guess that he’ll be spending most of his time at the university library.”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” said Rabbi Small. “I’m working on a paper, but I’ve already done the research.”
“You mean you have no special plans for your stay?” asked Deutch.
“Just to live there.”
“Oh.” It hardly seemed reasonable to Rabbi Deutch, and he concluded that his colleague was being secretive.
There was an awkward pause, and then Betty Deutch thought to ask, “Do you have family in Israel?”
“David has no one. I have an aunt there. She’s the one who got us our apartment in Jerusalem, in Rehavia.”
“Oh, that’s a nice section. My brother Dan is in Jerusalem now. If you like, I could give him your address. He’s been to Israel many times, lived there for about a year the last time. He knows the city well and could show you around.”
“That’s Dan Stedman, the journalist?”
“Yes. He’s doing a book on the country. His son, Roy, is there, too, at the university.”
“How nice. Is he doing graduate work?”
“Oh, no,” said Betty Deutch, “he’s quite young. He’s at Rutgers and is taking his junior year abroad.”
“By all means give your brother our address,” said Rabbi Small. “We’re at Five Victory Street, care of Blotner. Your brother and nephew might like a Sabbath meal family style once in a while.”
“Oh, Dan will appreciate that.” She jotted down the address. “I’ll write him in the next day or two.”
Bert Raymond came hurrying up. “They’re beginning to arrive,” he said. “Now I suggest that I stand here, and as they come in, I’ll introduce them to you, Rabbi Small, and—”
“I think they know me,” said Rabbi Small dryly. “Why don’t you have Rabbi and Mrs. Deutch stand next to you and after you introduce the guests to them, they’ll move on and perhaps say good-bye to us.”
“Yeah, I guess you got a point there. Let’s do it that way.” The couples shifted places and just in time for Raymond to call out to the first people that came through the door: “Hyuh, Mike. Rabbi Deutch, I want to present Myer Feldman, one of the mainstays of the temple. And Rosalie. Rabbi Deutch, our new spiritual leader, and Mrs. Deutch.”
For an hour Raymond presented the members of the congregation. Rabbi Small was amazed to learn how many were “mainstays” or “pillars” or at the very least, “terrific workers.” They came in a steady stream for an hour, and then it slacked off, and the rabbis and their wives felt free to circulate among the guests. The Smalls soon found themselves at the opposite end of the room from the Deutches. People sought them out to wish them a safe journey, to suggest places that they should be sure to see, to give them travel tips they had found useful, to press on them the names of friends and relatives, all of whom seemed to be important people who would be overjoyed to entertain them.
Shortly before six, Miriam, mindful of her commitment to the baby-sitter who was taking care of Jonathan, suggested they ought to get started.
“I guess it’s all right,” said Rabbi Small. “They’re really here to see Rabbi and Mrs. Deutch.”
They made their way to the Deutches and shook hands and wished each other luck. “And when do you leave for Israel?” asked Rabbi Deutch.
“Thursday.”
“Oh, I was hoping we might get to see each other again, but we’ll be going back to Connecticut for a couple of days.”
“We’ll be busy, too,” said Rabbi Small.
“And don’t worry about your congregation,” said Mrs. Deutch. “Hugo will take good care of them.” She hesitated. “You’re not worried about the bombings, are you?”
“Here or there?”
“Oh, that’s good.” She pulled at her husband’s arm.
“I just asked Rabbi Small if he were worried about the bombings, dear, and he said, ‘Here or there?’”
Her husband looked at her expectantly.
“You know”—a hint of impatience in her voice—“the bombings on the campuses here.”
“Haw-haw, of course. Very good, Rabbi. And a proper commentary on our society. A very good title fo
r a sermon, too. Do you mind if I use it?”
Rabbi Small grinned. “With my compliments, Rabbi.”
Rabbi Deutch offered his hand again. “Well, go in peace and come home in peace,” he said in Hebrew. He chuckled. “Here or there. Very good.”
As they drove home, Miriam asked, “Well, what do you think of them?”
“They seem to be all right. I didn’t get much chance to talk to them.”
“They’re pros, David.”
“Pros?”
“Professionals. I’ll bet they won’t have any trouble with the congregation or with the board. They know just what to say at all times and how to say it. They’ll have the congregation eating out of their hand—and liking it.”
Later, much later, for they had gone to the Raymonds for a bite of supper, when they were back in their hotel room and getting ready for bed, Betty Deutch asked, “Did you get the feeling, dear, that the Smalls might be having some trouble with their congregation or at least with some of the board members?”
Hugo Deutch neatly placed his jacket on a hanger. “I’ve been getting hints to that effect from the president and that close friend of his—what’s his name? Drexler—ever since we’ve met. It’s too bad. There’s a technique to handling a congregation, and Rabbi Small hasn’t learned it yet, I’m afraid. I’m not sure that he ever will.” He unlaced his shoes and put on his house slippers. “He’s a scholar, you know. He published a paper on Maimonides a few years back—I never read it, but I heard some complimentary remarks about it. Well, that kind frequently are not very good at leading a congregation. They’re in the wrong business, and sometimes they realize it early enough and switch to their proper work—teaching, research—and sometimes they hang on, draining their energy doing something they cannot do well and probably don’t even enjoy.”
His wife smiled. “Perhaps he’ll realize it after he’s been in Israel away from it all for a few months.”
CHAPTER
TEN
As Roy Stedman scrubbed his face dry with a towel, his friend Abdul walked around examining the large wall posters that were the principal decorations of the small room: the pig in a policeman’s uniform standing on his hind trotters; the nun raising her skirt to her thigh to reach her purse concealed in her stocking; the nude couple facing each other, holding each other’s sex organs, like two people gravely shaking hands on being introduced.
Over his shoulder, Abdul said, “The girls, when they see this, they do not object, they do not get angry?”
“No one’s ever objected,” said Roy with a leer. He didn’t mention that so far he had not succeeded in persuading any girls to visit his room. “Maybe it gives them the right ideas.”
“That’s very clever. And if your papa, how do you say it, your daddy, comes to visit you, you will leave these in place?”
“Sure, why not?” Roy tossed the towel on a hook and then began to comb his long hair.
“He is rich, your daddy?”
“Rich? I wouldn’t say he was rich. Comfortable, I guess, but I wouldn’t call him rich.”
“If he stays at the King David, he must be rich,” said Abdul positively.
“Oh, yeah? Is it that expensive? Couple of times I was there, it didn’t look so great.”
“Believe me,” said Abdul, “it is expensive. For one night, or for a week, maybe not; but to live there on a permanent basis….”
“Well, he might get reduced rates being a TV personality. Or maybe he won’t be staying there long. In his letter he said he’d be touring the country, that he’d rent or buy a car and move around—you know, a few days here, a few days there. This book he’s writing will take him all over.”
“And you will go with him on some of these trips?”
“If he’s going somewhere I want to go.”
“And the car, you will perhaps get to use it sometime on your own?”
Roy smiled. “Look, if my old man gets a car, I bet I’ll use it more than he does.”
“Then you won’t have any time for Abdul. All the girls, how do you call them—chicks?—you’ll have any you want.”
“Nah.” But Roy was obviously pleased at the idea. “The broads around here, they’re like icicles.”
“Icicles?”
“Yeah, you know, like cold.”
“Ah, I see.” Abdul nodded in wise understanding. Then he smiled. “Maybe I have you meet some different kind girls. Not cold. Hot ones.”
“You mean the Arab girls around here? They’re even worse than the Jewish ones. They’re like on a rope and their old man’s got a good grip on the other end.”
“Ah, but there are other kinds—those who know how to act with a man. They know what a man wants. They make your blood boil.” He patted his young friend on the shoulder. “You get a car and we get a couple of girls and we drive to a place that one of my relatives has for a couple of days, a weekend. I’ll guarantee you a good time.”
“Yeah? How about having me meet some right now?”
“You mean tonight?”
“No, not tonight, but you know…. Why do we have to take them to your relative’s place? I mean what’s wrong with right here?”
“Well, maybe. I’ll think about it.” He deliberately changed the subject. “He’s a Zionist, your daddy?”
“Gosh, I don’t know. I never talked to him about it.”
“All Americans are Zionist.” Abdul could not prevent some hint of indignation from showing in his voice.
“I’m an American, and I’m not a Zionist,” said Roy mildly.
“I mean all American Jews.”
“Well?”
“But you told me once that your mother was not Jewish. So even by the law of the Jewish rabbi, you are not Jewish.”
“I don’t know about that,” said Roy. “I always thought of myself as Jewish, and that’s how my friends thought of me. As a matter of fact, up until the time I went to college, all my friends were Jewish.”
“And here.”
Roy laughed. “That’s right. In college and here, but this is college, too.”
“That’s right.” Abdul glanced at his watch. “You’re going to meet your father at eight; you don’t have much time. You’d better get dressed.”
Roy looked at his friend in surprise. “Why do I have to get dressed up to meet my own father? What’s the matter with the way I’m dressed now?”
Abdul, who was twenty-six to Roy’s eighteen, shook his head indulgently. Roy was dressed in a blue denim Eisenhower jacket and in faded blue jeans, frayed at the bottoms. His sockless feet were encased in open sandals. Abdul could not understand why the American students chose to dress like poor workingmen, like fellahin, when they had the money to buy proper clothes. He had a smug satisfaction in the knowledge that he was properly dressed, even well dressed, in a tight-fitting suit of shiny black worsted with a shirt with a long, pointed collar and a wide colorful tie. Sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him, he rotated his shoes on their heels and surveyed them approvingly. They were Italian with large brass buckles and brilliantly shined.
“You don’t understand, Roy. You will come into the King David where the women walk around the lobby in mink stoles even on hot days. Your daddy is probably planning to take you to the Grill for dinner. I’m not even sure that they will seat you without a tie, without socks. The hair, they will not like, but they can do nothing about it. But the jacket and no tie—”
“Well, this is the way I dress,” retorted Roy, “and if they don’t like it, they can lump it. As far as my father is concerned, is it me he wants to see or a suit of clothes? And as for the headwaiter, a man can’t let himself be pushed around by those types. I’ll tell you something, Abdul, a man has to be himself. That’s the main thing.”
Abdul shrugged. He didn’t want to argue with this young American whose friendship he had gone out of his way to cultivate. “Perhaps you are right, Roy. Come, I’ll walk you to the bus stop.”
They stood in the lighted area
of the bus stop until Roy had boarded, and then Abdul strode off into the darkness. Presently he heard footsteps behind him. He stopped. “Is that you, Mahmoud?” he asked in Arabic. “I thought I saw you behind us earlier. Are you spying on me?”
The other fell in beside him. “I was not spying. Who you want to be friends with is your business so long as the rest of us don’t get involved.”
“I know what I’m doing,” said Abdul shortly.
“All right. I won’t argue with you, but if you think you are fooling the Jews by being friendly with one of them—”
“Let me tell you something, Mahmoud. We are all watched because the Israelis know that we will do anything to defeat them. But they hope that by treating us kindly, by encouraging us to attend the university, for example, some of us will be placated and resigned to the idea that they are in control and likely to remain for some time. Now,” he said to his friend, “which will they watch more closely, the ones who are resigned or the ones who remain stubborn? And remember, they want so much to believe that they have won some of us over.” He smiled in the darkness. “So I help them a little. Roy is young and not very bright, but he is good camouflage. Now if you were not following me to spy on me—”
“I have some news I wanted to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“We heard from Jaffa. There has been a shake-up in the Shin Bet, and Adoumi has been transferred to Jerusalem. He’s here now. He was seen.”
“So?”
“So maybe we ought to go easy for a while and see what happens,” the other said softly.
“How long has he been here?”
Monday the Rabbi Took Off Page 6
