Гарри Кемельман: Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

"As for the main dish. I think we offer greater latitude than most houses. In addition to the usual roast chicken and roast beef, we do a lot with fish and lobster, but the market is so uncertain these days that we've had to withdraw the lobster, then we have beef stroganoff..."

Edie just loved beef stroganoff.

"We served it at a wedding at the big Reform temple in Boston, B'nai Jacob, they received all sorts of compliments on it."

Edie absolutely adored compliments.

Rabbi David Small opened the door and then stood aside for Edie and Mrs. Chernow to enter, although the Chernows had been living in Barnard's Crossing for several years, it was the first time Edie had been close to the rabbi. On the rare occasions that she had gone to the temple, for half an hour or so on the High Holydays, he had been slouched in one of the thronelike chairs that flanked the Holy Ark or in the pulpit making a short announcement— she had never remained through the sermon— and she had been unimpressed. Nor did she see any reason for changing her opinion now, he was of medium height, but thin and pale, he held his head forward in a scholarly stoop and peered near sightedly through thicklensed glasses, she had also noted when they entered, because she had an eye for such things, that his shoes were dusty and that his tie, inexpertly knotted, was slightly askew.

"Isn't the groom coming?" the rabbi asked. "Oh, Roger couldn't get away," said Edie."He's a professor in a college in Boston." explained her mother. "He has classes."

"Ah well, it's no great matter." said the rabbi. "Once the principals are gathered together under the chupah, the canopy, that is. I will give you the necessary instructions."

"Is there any special rule about who goes up first?" asked Mrs. Chernow.

"No, Mrs. Chernow, you can arrange that pretty much as you like, as long as the bride comes last, usually on the arm of her father. Sometimes the groom enters from the side, either alone or with his parents; but he can walk down the center aisle if you prefer it that way. You can arrange a procession of the groom, his parents, the best man, perhaps with the maid of honor, then the mother of the bride, and finally the bride on her father's arm. In general, the tendency is to keep the bride's party separate from the groom's until they meet under the canopy, and even there I usually arrange them on either side with the bride's people on her side and the groom's on his." He smiled. "How you get there isn't as important as what happens after you arrive. I read the ketubah, that is the marriage contract, which the groom has signed previously, and of course the license as well. I recite the blessings, or you may have the cantor chant them, then the bride and the groom sip from the same cup of wine. If you are going to wear a long veil, Miss Chernow, your maid of honor usually lifts it so that you can drink, then the groom repeats after me, word by word, a short statement in Hebrew to the effect that you sanctify him by the ring which he places on your finger in accordance with the laws of Moses and Israel, the wine is sipped once again, and then the groom breaks a glass which is placed under his foot."

"Is that necessary, breaking the glass?" asked Edie.

The rabbi looked his surprise. "Do you object to it?"

"Well, it seems so silly, so— so primitive."

He nodded. "It's a tradition that may very well go back to primitive times. It's certainly an ancient tradition, so old in fact that the reason for it is lost in antiquity. Of course, there are conjectures, the most common being that it reminds us of the destruction of the temple. Or that it suggests that even in the midst of happiness and joy there is sadness. Frankly, I find neither explanation particularly convincing. I prefer to regard it as symbolizing that just as the glass out of which the bride and groom have drunk together is now broken, so can no one partake of the new unit thus formed. Let's just say it's a tradition, as sensible as wearing the wedding ring on the left hand rather than the right. But it's a tradition that has characterized Jewish weddings for centuries, so we keep it up." He turned to Mrs. Chernow. "I can tell you one purpose it serves, and that very nicely: it's a dramatic climax for the ceremony, the groom breaks the glass and everyone says Mazel Tov, Good Luck, and the groom kisses the bride and it's over. You're married."

"It's only that the boy is lame," said Mrs. Chernow.

"Oh?" said the rabbi. "And you think he might be unable to crush the glass with his foot?"

"Oh Ma! Of course he can." Edie snapped crossly.

"Well, then." said the rabbi hastily, "there's no problem." He hurried on. "Then everyone goes downstairs to the vestry, this time bride and groom first, of course, followed by the rest of the chupah group. I suppose you'll have snacks and drinks before dinner, and you can set up a receiving line there. By the time everyone has passed through, the Lubovnik people will have everything in order and open the doors of the larger vestry room, which serves as a signal that dinner is served. You can rely on them to coordinate the times properly, they're quite adept at it, they've had a lot of experience."

"Oh, but we're not using Lubovnik Caterers." said Edie.

"No?"

"We're using Stillman's of Boston."

"I don't believe I've heard of them, are they new?" Edie laughed gaily. "Hardly, Rabbi, they've been in business for a long time. Surely you know Stillman's restaurant in Boston?"

"Oh yes. I've heard of them. But I was under the impression that it was not a Jewish restaurant, certainly not a kosher restaurant."

"Well, of course they're not. Rabbi—"

"Then they can't serve in our temple. Miss Chernow. Our kitchen is kosher."

"But that's ridiculous." cried Edie. "I’ve already arranged it."

"Then you'll have to unarrange it." said the rabbi quietly.

"And lose the money we paid on deposit?" demanded Mrs. Chernow indignantly.

The rabbi's fingers tapped a quiet tattoo on the desk, then he said. "It's no worse than the money you've lost on your temple dues the last few years."

"Temple dues? What do you mean?"

"Because if in the several years you've been here you haven't found out the principles on which our temple operates. I'd say all the money you paid in annual dues was wasted."

Roger Fine, slim and tanned, sat with his long legs outstretched in the Chernow living room, moodily tapping the side of his shoe with his cane as he listened to Edie's account of her meeting with the rabbi, her voice choking with indignation, she said.".., and the man had the nerve, the unmitigated gall to tell us to our faces that the money we had spent in joining the temple and the dues my father pays each year were just wasted. I’ve been on the phone all afternoon calling every place within twenty miles to see if we could rent it for the night, but they're all taken, and even if they weren't, most of them do their own catering, and then there's the problem of sending out notices of the new location and finding another rabbi. I even thought maybe we should just slip off to some justice of the peace. Oh, Roger, I'm so upset."

Roger Fine knew he should take her in his arms and soothe her, but he remained silent and continued to stare down at his shoe. Finally he said. "I'm sure my folks wouldn't feel we were really married with a justice of the peace." He worked his cane in circles on the carpet. "They're coming out from Akron for the wedding. I'm hoping you'll like them when you meet them, and that they'll like you. I'm hoping they hit it off with your folks, too. Of course they're a little older than your folks and kind of old fashioned, they go to an Orthodox synagogue and my mother keeps kosher at home. I don't think they'd eat this beef stroganoff you were planning to have, but it's just possible they might make a bluff at it because they'd be sitting at the head table and wouldn't want to spoil their son's wedding. More likely though, they'd just eat rolls and butter and the salad and the fruit cup, they wouldn't make a scene because they're not that sort. But how do you suppose I'd feel?"