Гарри Кемельман - Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

"There's been talk of it." said Miriam. "I know some of the wives are worried."

"I saw an article in the Sunday papers." said her husband, "about some big Chicago outfit taking it over."

"The Segal Group?" Lanigan shook his head. "They're not likely to be of much help, the article was mentioned at the selectmen's meeting last night, and Al Megrim who is a stockbroker and ought to know said they were a financial outfit, not an operating company, they trade corporations like kids trade baseball cards, they take over a company and milk it, manipulating the stock while they liquidate the assets, and then move on leaving a bunch of empty buildings." He put down his coffee cup and sat back in his chair. "Did you hear anything about the meeting?"

The rabbi shook his head.

Lanigan shifted uncomfortably in his chair, he cleared his throat and said. "Well, they voted to reconsider setting up the traffic lights near the temple."

"But they approved it unanimously last week." said Miriam, dismayed.

"After spending weeks discussing it." added her husband. "Did anything happen to change the situation? We have children going to the religious school every afternoon and—"

"I know, I know. David. It's probably just routine." said Lanigan.

"Routine to pass a measure one week and reconsider it the next?"

"Well, Ellsworth Jordon—know him?" The rabbi shook his head.

"He owns some land down there, hell, he owns land all over town. But that makes him an abutter, he wrote them that he hadn't been notified. So Megrim asked for reconsideration, and the rest of the board went along out of courtesy to him."

"So what happens now?" asked Miriam.

"Oh, they'll take it up again next week." said Lanigan soothingly. "And I expect they'll pass it. But I'd plan on being there," he added.

"How about a delegation?" asked Miriam.

Lanigan hesitated. "No-o. I don't think so, they might feel you were trying to pressure them, and they might resent it. This is New England after all, and the selectmen are all conservative Yankees, they can get stubborn, not to say mulish, against pressure, that's just my opinion, you understand."

She looked questioningly at her husband.

"I think the chief is right," said the rabbi. "But I'll talk to Henry Maltzman, he's coming here tonight."

As Miriam cleared the table of cups and saucers, the rabbi walked their guest to the door. "What's really behind this vote for reconsideration?" he asked. "Is it just that this Jordon is indignant that the selectmen failed to notify him?"

Lanigan halted on the threshold. "In a town this size, you hear things about all kinds of people, and I listen because I find it comes in handy sometimes in doing my job. I have the feeling that he did it because he doesn't like you people."

"Doesn't like—" "Jews."

Henry maltzman was a big man, although he had developed something of a paunch since the days when he had been a captain in the Marines in the Korean War, he still kept his head erect, with the chin in and shoulders back as though on parade. While at fifty, it seemed a little unnatural, like a fat man at the beach sucking in his belly at the approach of a pretty girl, it was generally agreed that he was a fine figure of a man, even handsome, with ruddy cheeks and close-cropped crinkly hair. It was rumored that he had an eye for the ladies, and vice versa, and perhaps there was some indication of his appeal in the very fact of his election to the presidency. For he had been a rank outsider in the temple organization, having served only one term on the board of directors before running for the presidency after the bylaws had been changed to permit women to vote and to hold office.

Maltzman's bulk loomed large as he looked down at the Smalls, he had little blue eyes, which normally sparkled with friendliness, but which could also turn steely when he was crossed and which seemed to protrude dangerously when he was angry. His eyes were friendly now as he shook hands with the rabbi, and he favored Miriam with the warm smile that came automatically for women as she took his coat to hang in the closet, he took the seat to which the rabbi motioned him, but he immediately rose again when Miriam returned from the hallway.

"Oh, you are probably going to talk temple matters,” she said, "so I'll leave you."

"I wish you would stav. Mrs. Small,” he said. "It's about the temple, of course, but it concerns you, too, at least. I think it does. It's the place of women in the temple service I want to talk about. Rabbi."

"Wouldn't you like some tea or coffee?" asked Miriam.

"No, really. Nothing."

"David?"

"Nothing for me, Miriam."

Maltzman waited until she was seated before sitting down himself.

"Now that we have women on the board,” he said, "there has been considerable pressure to have full equality in the services, and, of course, something like this can't be decided by a simple majority vote of the board, we'd have to have a referendum, or hold a general meeting, to decide on something as basic as that."

"I agree that it isn't anything that should be decided by the board alone." said the rabbi. "So why not hold a general meeting?"

"Because the other side won't abide by the vote." said Maltzman, showing annoyance. "Kaplan, who represents the Orthodox element, as much as told me that if we made the change and permitted women to be part of the minyan and called them to the Reading and all the rest of it, he'd pull out, he and his group would leave the temple."

The rabbi nodded. "Yes. I expect he would. I don't know how many would go along with him, but if there were enough to get another synagogue started. I imagine others would follow."

"That's the way I see it." Maltzman agreed. "So it seems to me that this is the time to show some leadership. Now if the rabbi of the congregation were to push for equality, give sermons on it—"

"Don't count on me. Mr. Maltzman." said the rabbi quickly.

"You mean you're against it? But why?" Maltzman was honestly perplexed.

The rabbi smiled. "Put it down to a natural traditionalism, if you like. If we make so drastic a change, other effects what I urge or what the board of directors decrees, if they don't see ten adult males, they will not regard it as a minyan and they won't participate in the service.

"As for the honor of being called to the Reading, that's what it is—an honor. Only a handful at any service are called. Does that mean that the rest of the congregation are discriminated against? It's really more of a social than religious honor, and there are people who have never been called all their adult lives."

"What if the congregation as a whole votes for it?" asked Maltzman.

"Ah, that's something else. If a sizable majority of the congregation wanted it, it would indicate that a major sociological change had taken place in the community and that this was an expression of it."

Maltzman looked uncertainly from the rabbi to his wife and then said. "How do you feel about it. Mrs. Small?"

Miriam laughed. "To tell the truth. Mr. Maltzman, there have been some terribly cold and snowy days in the winter when David has gotten up early and gone to the temple to insure the likelihood of a minyan; I remember snuggling deeper into the bedclothes and thanking God that I had no such obligation."

Maltzman grinned. "Yeah, I suppose, all right, I'll tell them how you feel about it. Rabbi." His grin broadened. "And how you feel about it. Mrs. Small. It won't end the matter—"

"I know." said the rabbi. "My calendar shows a meeting with a delegation from the Sisterhood." He turned to Miriam. "Perhaps now Mr. Maltzman would like a cup of tea. I would."

She looked questioningly at Maltzman, and after a moment's hesitation, he said. "Well, all right. Yes, I think I'd like a cup now."