Гарри Кемельман - Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

And young people nowadays can't afford to miss any fun. It's a kind of commitment, even a kind of religion, you might say."

"You mean that all those absent have weekend dates?"

"No, not all." said Hendryx. "Some stay away so that their friends will think they've got a date. Some figure they might as well make it a long weekend. Some— although personally I doubt it— use the time to study for other courses, supposedly the rationale behind unlimited cuts: they're supposed to be mature enough to organize their own time."

"And what am I supposed to do on Fridays when less than half my class shows up?"

"Well." said Hendryx, drawing on his pipe, "that's a good question, there aren't too many courses given Friday afternoon. Joe Browder has a geology class at one over in the Blythe Building. Off-hand I don't know any other. By noon the place is deserted. Even the cafeteria is closed. Haven't you noticed?"

"But what am I supposed to do?" the rabbi persisted. "Not give the lecture?"

"I’ve known instructors to do just that. Not that they openly cancel out, but every other week or so they announce they'll be unable to meet with the class." He looked at the rabbi, a faint derisive smile on his face. "But I guess you wouldn't do that, would you?"

"No, I don't feel as though I could," he said. "So what have you been doing?"

"So far, I’ve treated it as just another hour and given my regular lecture. Last week, as you know, I gave a quiz."

"I meant to ask you about that," said Hendryx. "How many showed up?"

"Only fifteen."

Hendryx chuckled. "Well, well, well. Only fifteen, eh? And for an hour exam? You handed back the books today? Tell me, how did your class react?"

"That's what bothers me," confessed the rabbi. "Many of them seemed resentful and some appeared actually indignant, as though I had been unfair."

Hendryx nodded. "You know why they acted indignant. Rabbi? Because they were indignant, and they were indignant because you were unfair, at least according to their lights. You see, yours is traditionally a snap course, that's why so many elected it. So why get yourself in a sweat. Rabbi, trying to change it? Why not do as the rest of us do and go along with things as they are?"

"Because I'm a rabbi,” he said, and then added with obvious disparagement, "not a teacher."

Hendryx laughed uproariously in acknowledgment of the thrust. "But Rabbi. I thought that's what a rabbi was. Isn't that what the word means— teacher?"

"Not that kind, a rabbi is one who is learned in the law by which we are expected to order our lives. His major traditional function is to judge, but he also expounds the law on occasion for the benefit of his congregation and community, the kind of teacher you have in mind, the kind that coaxes the young and immature to learn, a teacher of children— that's something else. Him, we call a melamed, and the term has a derogatory connotation."

"Derogatory?"

"That's right. You see, since Jews have had practically one hundred percent literacy for centuries." the rabbi said, enjoying this, "anyone can teach. Naturally., the social prestige or the financial reward for doing what everyone else can do is not great. So the melamed was usually someone who had failed at everything else and finally had to fall back on teaching children to make a living."

"And you feel that by going easy with your class, you will be a melamed! Hendryx asked, interested in spite of himself. "Is that it?"

"Oh, I'm not so much concerned about my status as I am about their attitude, we Jews expect to tease and coax children to learn, that's why when a child starts school we give him cake and honey so he will associate learning with something sweet and desirable. But I don't feel I should have to continue the treatment with adults. Of course, not all adults want to become scholars, but those who do and come to college should have an adult attitude toward instruction. I shouldn't have to tease and coax them to learn."

"You don't," said Hendryx. "And neither do the rest of us, we give our lectures. Those who want to come, come; and those who don't, stay away."

"And those who decide to stay away— do they pass?"

"Well, of course—"

"But that's cheating!" he exclaimed. "I'm afraid I don't follow you. Rabbi."

"Let me put it this way." said David Small, searching for an analogy. "Traditionally, the way you become a rabbi is to present yourself to a rabbi for examination. If you pass his examination, he gives you what we call smicha, a seal of approval, ordination. Of course some rabbis were harder, more exacting, in their examination than others because they were themselves more subtle in their thinking and even more knowledgeable. But I expect they were all honest in their decisions, because in designating the candidate a rabbi they were certifying him capable of sitting in judgment throughout the Jewish world.

"Now the degree granted here also has value and meaning throughout the world and the authority to grant it was conferred by the state, as I understand it, the college system calls for the candidate to accumulate credits toward the degree by sitting under a number of instructors and then satisfying them that he has properly completed their courses of instruction. I am being paid to pass on some small part of the total. So if I don't do my work thoroughly, I'm acting dishonestly. I'm cheating."

"Cheating whom?"

"Cheating everyone who assumes the degree indicates a body of knowledge has been successfully assimilated."

"You mean you are planning to flunk students who cut their Friday classes?"

"Those who don't take the exams, or fail in them."

"Very interesting. Ve— ry interesting." said Hendryx. "In a little while we're supposed to submit to the dean's office the names of all students who are failing at mid-semester. Do you intend to submit such a list?"

"If that's the system, of course I shall comply. Don't you?"

"Well, the last few years. I haven't bothered with it much, as a matter of fact, last year I didn't flunk anyone in any of my classes. But I expect you're planning to."

"If they do not pass the examinations. I will give a failure mark of course."

"Well, all I can say, Rabbi, is that you're going to have a very interesting year."

The college bulletin appeared at the end of October following the semi-annual meeting of the trustees of Windemere Christian College. It was studied not only for what it included but for what it omitted. Thus, while it announced that Associate Professor Clyde had been appointed to full professor, the fact drew little interest; everyone knew that President Macomber was recommending him for the promotion and the trustees always followed the president's recommendations.

On the other hand, considerable attention was paid to the omission of any mention of the appointment of a permanent head of the English department. Clearly, this suggested that Professor Hendryx, the acting head, was only on temporary assignment until the administration could find a more suitable candidate.

This delighted a considerable number of older members of the department and most of the younger, in sharp contrast to their reaction to another omission in the bulletin— the reappointment of Assistant Professor Roger Fine. Fine was well-liked by most faculty members, but even those who did not hold him in high regard were displeased, since the reason was assumed to be purely political.

Albert Herzog, a young instructor in anthropology who was also an officer of the teachers' union, sought out Fine. "Hey Rog, what's this I hear about you being dropped at mid years?"

"I'm not being dropped, that's when my contract runs out."