Гарри Кемельман: Wednesday the Rabbi got wet

"No, Rabbi. You're the ninth, but Chet Kaplan should be along any minute."

It occurred to the rabbi that the religious renaissance Kaplan claimed for the congregation had so far not made it easier to gather a minyan, there was no problem evenings, but evidently the religious fervor was not yet strong enough to induce them to get up half an hour earlier to make the morning service.

As soon as he entered the temple, the rabbi had put on the black silk skullcap he kept in his pocket. Now he took off his jacket and unbuttoned and rolled up his left shirtsleeve, he took one of the narrow silk prayer shawls from the pile on the bench in the rear of the room, touched the two ends of its embroidered collar to his lips, and perfunctorily muttering the blessing, he draped it around his shoulders. From the small blue velvet bag he had brought with him he drew out his phylacteries, the little black boxes with their leather straps which contained strips of parchment inscribed with quotations from the Bible proclaiming that they were to serve as "reminders on your hand and on your forehead.., that with a mighty hand the Lord freed you from Egypt." He began to put them on, first the hand box, strapped above the muscle of the left arm and hence next to the heart; then the head box, placed above the forehead next to the hairline, his lips moving as he recited to himself the appropriate blessings.

The others had similarly prepared themselves and were sitting in the middle of the room talking, mostly about Hurricane Betsy, which weather forecasters had been tracking for the last several days and which still might strike the Boston area. Irving Hovik, something of an amateur meteorologist, was explaining with wide gestures that".., she can still turn in, she gains strength over the water and loses it over the land. So if she turns in and hits us head on, it can be bad, but if she hits south of here and then moves up the coast, she'll lose a lot of her power, see? It depends on how much spin she's got."

Over to the side, at the end of the aisle and away from the rest, the rabbi noticed a tall young man whom he had not previously seen at the services. His blond hair was long and he had a heavy beard, he wore a blue denim jacket and blue jeans stuffed into leather boots. Instead of a narrow silk prayer shawl such as the others wore, he had a long woollen one that came down to his knees.

Just as the rabbi was about to welcome him, the young man grasped the edge of his woollen prayer shawl in either hand and, raising his arms, he crossed his hands in front of his face, thereby enclosing himself in a cylinder of cloth. It reminded the rabbi of his grandfather, who had been an Orthodox rabbi; just so, he used to momentarily shut out the world to organize his mind for prayer and communion with God, as he watched, the cylinder of white began to gyrate slowly from side to side in a kind of ecstasy. It crossed his mind— with a touch of regret? of annoyance?— that over the years his own recital of the blessings accompanying the putting on of the phylacteries and the prayer shawl had become more or less perfunctory.

Chester Kaplan, a short man of fifty with a round head and smiley face, came hurrying in, he shed his jacket on one of the back benches and rolled up his left shirtsleeve. "We got ten?" he asked.

"Yeah, now. You're the tenth. Let's get cracking."

"Jeez, Chet, you know some of us poor slobs got jobs to go to."

"I know. I know. I had trouble getting my car started." He began to put on his phylacteries.

The young man lowered his prayer shawl and draped it once again about his shoulders, the rabbi came over and said, "I am Rabbi Small."

The young man nodded and smiled. "Yes, I know." He took the proffered hand and said, "I'm Akiva Rokeach."

"Are you new in town, Mr. Rokeach?" "I'm visiting for a few days."

"Well, we're happy to have you." He looked about and smiled. "Without you, I guess we would not have had a minyan this morning." Then he offered the traditional courtesy to the stranger. "Would you care to lead the prayers?"

Rokeach blushed. "No. I better not."

Courtesy also forbade pressing anyone who refused, so the rabbi called out, "You want to lead, Chester?"

"Okay," and Chester Kaplan took his place at the reading desk in front of the Ark. Throughout the service that followed, although the greater portion was murmured in undertones, the rabbi was able to hear his neighbor reciting the prayers, and he quickly understood that the reason the young man had refused his offer to lead was that his Hebrew was uncertain.

Since it was Wednesday and hence not one of the days on which the Scroll was read, the service was soon over, as the men removed their phylacteries and rolled up the straps, they resumed the conversations the service had interrupted.

Chester Kaplan came bustling up to the rabbi. Confidently tucking his hand under the rabbi's elbow, he whispered in his ear, "Got something I want to ask you."

The rabbi let himself be led to the door and then to the parking lot beyond, although he expected no important request or significant revelation. By temperament Chester Kaplan was given to intrigue and its outward manifestations: the confidential whisper, the knowing nod and wink, the little grimace invoking silence at the approach of a third person. Now at the rabbi's car and safely out of earshot of eavesdroppers, he asked, "Have you thought any more about that business we discussed at the last board meeting, Rabbi?"

"You mean about the retreat? Well, I haven't changed my mind about it."

Kaplan pursed his lips in momentary annoyance, then he smiled, a bright friendly smile, his eyes crinkling with good humor. "You made the point that the temple couldn't afford it," he said. "All right, you've convinced me." He looked at the rabbi, his eyes wide with candor. "I thought originally, if we put on a big drive, we could raise the money. But after inquiring around a little, I decided you were right and that it would be a tough proposition to promote." He smiled and gave a little nod of the head to indicate that he was man enough to admit when he was wrong.

"Well—"

Kaplan clutched the rabbi's arm. "But what if the money was no problem? What if I were to tell you that there is a chance of getting the property without it costing the temple or the membership one red cent?"

The rabbi smiled. "The difficulty in raising the money was just one of my objections. I'd still be against it."

"But why, Rabbi? Why?" His tone registered puzzled hurt.

"Because it smacks of Christianity rather than Judaism," said the rabbi promptly. "It suggests convents and monasteries, an ivory-tower attitude. Retreat — the word itself suggests retiring from life and the world, that's not Judaic, we participate."

"But prayer and meditation. Rabbi, they're part and parcel of our religious tradition."

"Sure, and that's what the temple is for. If you want to pray and meditate, why can't you do it at the temple or in your own home for that matter? Why do you have to run off to the country?"

"We don't have to, but—"

"Is it because some other temples and synagogues have gone in for it? Or is it because you'd like to have something positive, something material, that you can point to as an accomplishment of your administration?"

"Naturally, I'd like to make a major contribution to the development of the temple," Kaplan said stiffly.

"Well, you already have." "I have?"

"Certainly. You're the first president we've had since Jacob Wasserman who is an observant Jew, that's a major contribution in itself."

Kaplan nodded thoughtfully. "Don't think it's a fluke, Rabbi, there's a new spirit around. I was elected because I am an observant, religious Jew. I might point out that a number of my friends, people who think as I do, were also elected to the board of directors. Why? Because there's a yearning for religion, and not just going through the motions, there's a religious renaissance, and I can feel it, and it's why I was elected."