Гарри Кемельман - Tuesday The Rabbi Saw Red

"Maybe they ought to try the same thing in the city," Miriam suggested. The policeman shook his head. "It wouldn't work there. You take these young people, well, here we know all of them. I've umpired games for them when they were in Little League and Joe here has been coach and manager of a team for years, they call us by our first names. But in the city, they don't know the police and the police don't know them, the same ones that are so nice to us here, when they get into the city they can become a bunch of raving maniacs when they come up against the police." He turned to his partner. "Remember how they carried on the day we had to drive Miss Hanbury back to college?"

"Yeah, the day the place was bombed, they were pretty hot, I can tell you."

"You drove back Dean Hanbury after the bombing?" asked the rabbi. "Why was that?"

"Well, she'd just got home." said Joe. "and phoned us to say she'd found one of her windows open. Lots of times people leave them open and then forget, so when they get home they call the police on account they think somebody might have broken in." He turned to Miriam. "Now don't let that keep you from calling us any time you think there's anything wrong. Mrs. Small, we don't mind, we're only too happy if it turns out you did it yourself and forgot, well, anyway, we went right out to Miss Hanbury's house and I looked around, for footprints, maybe a mark of a jimmy on the sash, but I couldn't find anything."

"And while he was looking." his colleague continued, "a call came through on the radio about the explosion at the college, they wanted Miss Hanbury right back in Boston, and since she'd just driven out we offered to take her, and when we got to the school, there was this crowd of kids hanging around, ragging the officers who were guarding the building, they were jeering at them and laughing, even though the police were just doing their duty. Now if something like that happened here, we'd know every one of them and make a point of talking to their parents."

When they left. Miriam set about preparing dinner, as she worked, she talked— about the children, about conversations she had had in the supermarket that morning, her voice raised so that it would carry from the kitchen. But the rabbi was unresponsive. When she finally came into the living room to tell him that dinner was ready, he said. "I don't think I care for anything right now. Miriam."

"Is something wrong. David?"

"No. I'm just not hungry. I— I've got some work to do." And he got up and went to his study .Later, much later, he was still there, not reading, not working, but abstracted, gazing off into space. When she asked if he were coming to bed, he did not answer but just shook his head in momentary annoyance.

The morning traffic was heavier than usual and the rabbi did not find a parking spot until a few minutes after nine. By the time he reached his office, it was ten minutes past, he was quite certain that his students had already left, but he hurried nevertheless on the chance that a few might have waited. To his surprise, when he reached the classroom he found the normal complement of students.

"There was a breakdown on the bridge,” he explained by way of apology, "and traffic was single lane all the way."

"Oh, that's all right Rabbi," said Harvey Shacter magnanimously. "We voted to wait until a quarter past."

"That was very considerate of all of you." said the rabbi, he smiled. "It shows perhaps you have begun to acquire the traditional Jewish attitude toward learning and study."

"You mean we got a special one?" asked Shacter."Of course." said his friend Luftig scornfully. "Get A's and make honors or Phi Bete."

"No. Mr. Luftig, that's not it" said the rabbi. "Quite the contrary; in fact, the rabbis held that learning should not be used as a spade to dig with, by which they meant that it should not be put to practical or material use. Learning and study are with us a religious duty, and hence not competitive, a's, honors, Phi Beta Kappa— these are the rewards of competition."

"So if you're not going to get any practical benefit, what's the sense?" asked Shacter."Because the desire for knowledge, knowledge for its own sake, is what distinguishes man from the lower animals, all animals have an interest in practical knowledge— where the best food supplies may be found, the best places to hide or bed down— but only man goes to the trouble of trying to learn something merely because he does not as yet know it, the mind of man yearns for knowledge as the body yearns for food, and that learning is for himself alone, just as is the food he eats."

"So you mean it's not kosher if a guy studies to be a doctor or a lawyer?" asked Shacter."He means he's not supposed to get money for it." said Mazelman."No. Mr. Mazelman, that's not what I mean, the learning one acquires to become a doctor or a lawyer, or a carpenter or a plumber for that matter, is of a different kind. It is practical learning for the purpose of society, and we favor that kind of learning, too, there is also a rabbinical saying that a father who does not teach his son a trade is making a thief of him. So you see, there are two kinds of learning: one for yourself and the one for society."

"What a doctor or a lawyer learns, isn't that for himself?" asked Lillian Dushkin.

"It feeds his mind, to be sure; everything one learns does that. But primarily he is training himself to serve society, a doctor does not learn about all kinds of sicknesses just to cure himself. Certain branches of medicine don't apply to himself at all, such as obstetrics—"

"They apply to women doctors."

"You're quite right. Ms. Draper." acknowledged the rabbi. Luftig was struck by a thought. "If there are two kinds of learning, shouldn't there be two kinds of teaching, too?"

The rabbi considered this. "That's a good point. Mr. Luftig. Professional study should be relevant. I don't see any sense in teaching medieval church law to the law student or the humours theory of disease to a medical student."

"Shouldn't all study be relevant?" asked Luftig.

"Why? Why should that matter in liberal arts study? There, anything that interests you— and it could be medieval church law or Latin epigraphy for that matter— is worth studying. Or to put it another way, in liberal arts study everything is relevant."

"Then how do you justify quizzes?" asked Mark Leventhal. "Aren't you breaking your own rules by giving us grades?"

"Yes. I suppose I am. But I have to follow the regulations of the school."

"What would you do if you had your way?" Leventhal persisted. The rabbi thought a moment. "Well, since you receive credit toward an earned degree. I'd have to distinguish between those who made a proper effort and those who didn't. So I'd just have two marks— pass and fail, and I'd try to devise an examination that would indicate interest rather than just information."

"How could you do that?"

"I don't know offhand. I suppose you might have the choice of answering all the questions, or just a few, or even one at great length."

"Hey, that's a good idea."

"Right on. Why don't we do it that way?"

"Maybe the other teachers—"

"Hey Rabbi, you going to teach next semester, too?"

It was one of numerous questions, but the class fell silent after Shacter asked it, as though it had been in all their minds.

"I have not arranged to." said the rabbi.

"Mavbe you could teach full— time." said Lillian Dushkin. He realized that the questions indicated their approval of him as a teacher, and it was pleasant to hear.

"Why would I want to do that. Miss Dushkin?" he asked. "Well, it must be a lot easier than rabbi-ing."

"Yeah, but you make less." Shacter pointed out. "Aw, he wouldn't care about that." Luftig countered.