Harry Kemelman - Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

“But that was charity.” said Paff. “This money is to be used for politics. And it isn’t the amount; it’s the principle of the thing.”

“All right, they won this election, and they’re in power. So next year we work a little harder, and we take it away from them.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” said Paff. “They’re in, and they’re in to stay. They got a different attitude toward this whole business than we have. They look at the temple organization as a corporation—which it is, of course, legally. When Wasserman was president and Becker and even Mort Schwarz, they put men on the board because they were either doing a lot of work for the temple or they hoped they would. The idea was to get the best men. But Gorfinkle’s crowd—most of them work for large corporations, administrators, executives—and they look at it like a business corporation where if you get the majority of the stock, you take over all the top jobs and you fill the board of directors with your own men. So from here on in. their nominating committee won’t nominate anyone unless they’re sure he’ll see things their way.”

“Well. I think the least we could do is make the most God-awful stink tomorrow at the board meeting.” said Arons, “and hope that we’ll rouse enough people to rally to our support—”

“We can’t.” said Paff in his deep bass rumble. “Why not?”

“Because we don’t have anything for people to rally to. What are we going to do? Ask them to support our right to retain our front seats? Be practical.”

“Well—”

“Then maybe what’ll happen tomorrow will give us a better reason.” said Kallen.

“And what’s going to happen tomorrow?” asked Paff.

“Well, like I said. I was over at Nel Shaffer’s last night. Nel and I are good friends, but mostly he hangs around with guys that are close to Gorfinkle, like Bill Jacobs and Hymie Stern. I got the impression from things Nel let drop that Gorfinkle was planning to announce the new committees tomorrow, and some of his appointments might be pretty raw from our point of view and from the point of view of a lot of members of the congregation.”

“Like what?” demanded Edelstein.

“Like making Roger Epstein chairman of the Ritual Committee for openers.” said Kallen.

“He wouldn’t dare!” said Edelstein.

“Why wouldn’t he dare? He’s his best friend. The two families are so close they’re—”

“But the Ritual Committee.” insisted Edelstein. “The man doesn’t know a word of Hebrew. If the rabbi didn’t announce the page, he wouldn’t know what prayer to say next. He’d never been in a temple before he came here. His folks were radicals, free thinkers. And his wife—she’s Gentile.”

“When she was converted, she became Jewish.” Paff reminded him. “That’s the law. But that’s a can of worms we don’t have to open. If Gorfinkle appoints Epstein, it’s still a raw deal against the congregation. And I’m not saying that because it’s me he’s going to replace.”

“All right.” said Arons, “so as soon as he announces it, we make a stink.”

“No.” Paff was emphatic. “I got an idea. When Gorfinkle announces his committees at the meeting tomorrow, we don’t say a damn word. We sit tight.”

Everyone looked at him. “And what does that get us?”

“Just trust me. I tell you I got an idea. Sorry, boys, but I can’t give it to you now. Let’s just see what happens tomorrow and follow my lead. If I don’t say anything, don’t you say anything.” He looked around the table. “Have I ever let you down?”

“But why the Ritual Committee?” asked Roger Epstein.

The Gorfinkles made a point of seeing their good friends, the Epsteins, at least once a week, usually on Saturday night. They would go to a movie together or have an evening of bridge or sometimes merely sit around and talk, as on this Saturday night. Roger Epstein had waited until the women had gone into the kitchen before speaking.

“What’s the problem, Roger?” asked Ben Gorfinkle.

“Well, you know my background. What if the rabbi should raise an objection?”

Gorfinkle chuckled. “How can he when he won’t even be at the meeting tomorrow?”

Epstein was a short, pudgy man, balding but with a tuft of hair in front, which he had a habit of pulling when disturbed. He pulled at it now. “So what? So he’ll question it when he gets back. And he’ll be right.”

“He’ll be wrong.” said Gorfinkle flatly. “Appointment of committees and committee chairmen is purely an administrative function of the president.”

“But this is the Ritual Committee. They supervise the order of the services. That makes it a concern of the rabbi. I would think. And what do I know about ritual? Besides, there’s Samantha—”

“Look. Roger, you think you’re required to be some sort of expert? You think Paff when he had the job was a specialist of the ritual? That’s what the rabbi is there for. They way I see it, the Ritual Committee stands in relation to the congregation the way the School Committee here in town does to the citizens. You don’t have to be a teacher or an educator to serve on the School Committee. We’ve got a superintendent of schools and principals and teachers for that. What you want on the School Committee is just somebody with common sense who has the welfare of all of us first and foremost in mind. Well, it’s the same way with the Ritual Committee. There is a set order of prayers and it’s shown in the prayer book. In case of any special question, there’s the rabbi. As for the rest. I’d say that describes you to a T.”

Epstein was still not convinced. “But why me?”

“Well, for one thing, the Ritual Committee parcels out the honors for the services, and especially for the holidays—that can be mighty important—and I want a man I can trust to head it up. For another thing, you’re an artist—”

“Commercial artist.” said Epstein with a deprecatory wave of the hand.

“An artist,” his friend insisted. “There’s a certain pageantry involved in religious services, and it takes an artist to sense it and bring it out.”

“Well—”

From the kitchen, Samantha called out, “Coffee will be ready in a minute, boys.” She came to the door. “How about some English muffins?” She was a good two inches taller than her husband; blonde and blue-eyed, with wide cheekbones, she looked like the daughter of a Viking.

“Just coffee for me, Sam,” said her husband. “Too many calories.”

“Aw c’mon, lover. You can indulge tonight. You’ve been a good boy all week.”

“Well, all right. You twisted my arm.”

“You’ll have some. Ben, won’t you?”

“You bet.”

From upstairs, their daughter. Didi. called down. “You making coffee. Mum?”

A moment later she entered the room and waved to her parents’ guests. She was a slim, elfin girl, whose hair was parted in the middle in two braids.

“You been here all evening?” asked Gorfinkle. “What have you been doing?”

“Telephoning, of course.” her mother answered for her.

“Oh, Mummy,” she protested, then turned to the Gorfinkles. “We’re getting up a cookout on the beach for Monday evening. When’s Stu coming home?”

“Probably around noon Sunday.” said Gorfinkle.

“Gee. I hope he hasn’t made any plans. We’re having all the kids who’ll be coming home from school. I guess whoever is coming will be home by tomorrow. That’s why we figured on Monday.”

“Where are you having it, dear?” asked her mother. “Over on Tarlow’s Point.”

“Monday—that doesn’t give you much time to prepare. Have you called everybody?”