Гарри Кемельман - Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

"Pie in the sky," said Luftig sarcastically. "That's a rather irreverent way of putting it, Mr. Luftig."

"What's the Jewish answer?" asked Lillian Dushkin. "Don't we believe in heaven and hell?"

"Not really. Miss Dushkin. Oh, the concept has crept in from time to time, but it's never really taken hold. Our 'answer,' as you put it, is best expressed in the Book of job, and I'm afraid it is not very comforting, we say it's just the nature of the world-the sun shines as brightly on the wicked as it does on the good and just— but that goodness is its own reward, while evil carries its own punishment, at least it has the virtue of being realistic and of focusing our attention on this world, and trying to improve it, whereas the Christian view can be said to focus on the next world, regarding this one as a mere stopping-off place. Of course, it developed at a time when the world was troubled, and traditional ideas and institutions were crumbling, much like the present."

"Like the present?"

"Yes, Mr. Luftig. Just look at the world-wide revolt of young people against what they call the Establishment."

"Well, maybe that does prove God is dead!" challenged Luftig. "I don't notice any movement to religion or any new cults—"

"No?" said the rabbi. "Then how would you describe your generation's sudden fascination with astrology and yoga and Zen and I Ching and Tarot cards and the macrobiotic diet and drugs and communes— Shall I go on?— all of them offering escape or instant knowledge or instant mystical ecstasy. "He realized from the tense silence that he had spoken with some feeling. To reestablish the easy informality, he went on in his normal voice: "Basically, Christianity is a mystical religion and offers the psychological satisfactions mysticism affords. It is other-worldly, heaven-oriented, while our religion is this-world oriented, we oppose what is evil in the world and enjoy the good things, spiritual and material, it has to offer, we do not shun the world by asceticism or try to rise above it by mysticism, which has no following among the main body of Jews."

"What about Hassidim?" ventured Mark Leventhal. The rabbi nodded. "Yes, they lean in that direction, but I would not say the Hassidic movement is central to our tradition. It's significant that Martin Buber, the chief modern apologist for Hassidism, was a lot more influential with Christian theologians than he was with Jews, we do not believe that the single ecstatic moment of near union with God ensures virtue forever after, with us, it has to be a day-by-day conscious practice of justice and virtue. But it is human virtue we require, not the superhuman virtue of the saint. Our religion calls for us to make a practical adjustment to the world as it is. It is a religion of work and rest, of life and death, of marriage and children, and their training and education, of the joys of living and the necessity to make a living."

"Well, their religion must work." said Shacter. "They're doing a lot more business than we are."

The class laughed and the rabbi joined in, relieving the tension.

"Yes, Mr. Shacter. Christianity is a very pleasant religion. It offers a number of highly desirable responses to questions that have beset man down through the ages, he fears death and finds life too short, and the church offers him a world after death with a life everlasting, all we can offer in that respect is the hope that he will live on in his children and in the memory of his friends, he sees the good man suffering and the wicked prospering, and the church assures him that in the next world all will be redressed, and all we can say is that this is the nature of the world. For the everyday trials and tribulations of life, the church offers him the peace that comes with surrender to the mercy of Christ and the good offices of countless saints to whom he can pray for assistance, even for miracles, and periodically he can renew his faith through communion with his Lord by a magical act, and for us there is no magic, no shortcut, only a lifetime of effort. I suppose that gives another shade of meaning to the saying that it is hard to be a Jew."

Lillian Dushkin was bewildered. "But if theirs is so much better, why don't we go in for it?"

The rabbi smiled. "There's just one little hitch. Miss Dushkin. You have to believe, and we cannot believe."

"So then what's in it for us?"

"What's in it, as you put it so bluntly, is the satisfaction of facing reality." He saw the class were all attentive now. "It doesn't permit us to dodge problems, but it does help us to solve them, if only by recognizing they exist, and, after all, isn't that what the modem world is beginning to do? So after thousands of years it appears our way is at last coming into style, as for who's doing more business, Mr. Shacter, look about you and you will find that the great changes in thought and attitude that produced modern Western civilization are paralleled in Jewish religious thought— the equality of people, the rights of women, the right of all men to the good things of this life, the improvement of conditions on earth, respect for life in the treatment of the lower animals, the importance of learning."

"You mean they got them all from us?"

"Whether they did or whether they finally developed them on their own is not particularly important. What is important is that these were inherent in our religion from the beginning, which suggests it accords with reality."

The bell rang, and with a start the rabbi realized that the hour was over, he realized, too, that he had not made his usual head count, and as he glanced about he saw there were twenty-one present, more than ever before on a Friday, he smiled and nodded to them in dismissal.

Annabelle Fisher was delighted when Selma Rosencranz called to invite her over Friday afternoon. It was so like Selma, to call up and have some friends on the spur of the moment, without planning, without preparation.

"I'll bake some brownies." said Annabelle Fisher.

Selma's home was modem, inside and out. Built of concrete with panels of black plate-glass set in chrome, it had been designed by an architect and even had been written up in a magazine— a fact Selma would casually mention to first-time visitors. "His idea is functional design for living,” she would say, searching for the article. "But here, read it for yourself, he says it a lot better than I can explain it."

Annabelle pushed the button and the chimes responded with the first four notes of "How Dry I am." She giggled as always when she heard it; Selma went in for the craziest things. Selma herself, elegant in lounging pajamas and silver slippers, opened the door for her, and then called back inside: "It's Annabelle Fisher, and she's brought brownies, any of you gals who haven't tasted Annabelle's brownies have a treat coming."

Annabelle gave Selma her coat and the box of brownies and went into the vast sunken living room. Flossie Bloom was there along with several others, all of whom Annabelle knew or had at least met. When Selma reappeared, Annabelle asked whether she was planning on two tables.

"If we get around to playing." said Selma. "We've just been gabbing, waiting for you, and we thought it might be fun if we all went to the service tonight. You've been, haven't you? What's it like?"

"To the Friday evening service? Oh sure I've been— once or twice— with Joe. Why, it's like, you know, like a Friday evening service, the cantor sings and you pray, and then the rabbi gives a sermon."

"He gives a sermon?" asked Selma. "You're sure? Every Friday night?"

"Well, every time I’ve been. I'm sure he gives a sermon every Friday. Why?"

"Oh, we wouldn't want to go if the rabbi weren't going to give a sermon." said Selma. Flossie Bloom giggled. "No point in going."