Erich Segal - The Class

“Well, don’t be so quick to draw conclusions, my boy,” Yossi responded. “Jews lived in Germany for more than twice as long as that. And they were just as successful —”

“— And just as integrated,” Eva quickly added.

“— That is, until that mad housepainter decided they were infecting Aryan society and should be exterminated, Then suddenly the fact that Heine was a Jew and Einstein was a Jew and most of their orchestras playing Mendelssohn were Jews meant nothing. They had to destroy us. And they almost did.”

Jason sat quietly for a moment and tried to tell himself that this was merely the propaganda that every visitor to Israel received.

Besides, he’d been brought up to think that there was another way the Jews could save themselves from the pogroms and persecutions of their long and painful history. His father’s way. Assimilation.

And yet, after the first week of orange picking by day and debates throughout the night, he still felt no desire to leave. In fact, it was only when reminded that Dov Levi would be returning from reserve duty and would want his bed back that Jason realized he had to make some sort of plans.

“Listen,” Yossi reasoned, “I’m not asking you to spend your lifetime here, But if you want to stay the summer, I can put you in a bungalow with six or seven other volunteers. What do you say?”

“I think that’s fine,” said Jason.

He sat down and wrote his parents:

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m sorry I’ve been so uncommunicative since our phone call, but my whole world has suddenly fallen apart.

Next month was supposed to be the wedding. I feel such aching sadness that the only solace I can find is staying near the place she died.

Also, I need time to think about what I want to do with the rest of my life. Losing Fanny has changed me a great deal. I seem somehow to feel less of the ambition I once had to go out and become a big “success” — whatever that means.

The attitude on this kibbutz is catching. Sure, some of the young men want to be doctors or professors. But when most of them have finished their studies they’ll come back and share what they’ve learned with the community.

It’s curious that among all the people I’ve met here, there’s not one whose aim in life is to be famous. They just want to live in peace and quiet and take pleasure from the real joys of life. Like hard work. And kids. And friendship.

I wish I could say that my mind is tranquil, but it isn’t. Grief is not the only thing I feel. There’s something primitive in me still crying out for vengeance. I know that’s wrong, but I can’t exorcise these feelings yet.

So I’ve decided to spend the summer as a volunteer working side by side with the rest of the kibbutzniks.

Since I can handle firearms I’ll also take a regular turn at guard duty. And if a terrorist is crazy enough to try to attack this place again, he’ll sorely regret it.

Anyway, thanks for letting me work all this out for myself.

From the Harvard Alumni Bulletin of June 1963:

Theodore Lambrosreceived his Ph.D. in Classics at mid-year’s. The Harvard University Press will publish his revised dissertation, under the title of Tlemosyne: The Tragic Hero in Sophocles . This fall he will join the Classics Faculty as an instructor.

I called up Lambros to congratulate him on fulfilling his dream — making it to the faculty of Harvard. This in addition to getting a book accepted for publication. The guy’s an absolute rocket.

He kind of downplayed it, telling me that an instructorship is not that big a thing, and that the real challenge is whether or not they give you tenure. But the guy’s in such a hurry. I know he’s going to make it all the way. I just wish he wouldn’t be so overanxious.

Then Sara took the phone to congratulate me.

I protested that credit ought to go to Faith. I mean, all I did was get home on time from the office one evening to sort of start things going. She carried little Andy for nine months.

Sara was keen to discuss diapers and breast-feeding and all kinds of maternal stuff. Which leads me to believe that she and Ted have got procreative inclinations. It makes sense. He’s reached the point in his life where he can be proud of what he’s accomplished. And that’s the time to start a family.

When Faith was preg, we splurged and bought a big house outside Stamford. It’s an easy commute for me. Indeed, since I’m now involved in IPO’s — otherwise known as underwriting — at Downs, Winship, I can sometimes use the commuting time to arm-twist an old school or college buddy from another institution on the Street into joining us in financing a new issue.

I’ve learned a good deal about banking in the past few years. There is some technical stuff but a lot depends on getting along with other preppies over lunch at their Wall Street clubs.

There’s nothing difficult for me in that, and so I’ve not been kicked out yet. In fact, just the other day, one of the vice-presidents told me to “keep up the good work.”

I don’t know how I can possibly improve, unless I have two lunches a day.

I like marriage. It’s not only enjoyable, it’s efficient from the point of view of time and motion. All the bachelors in my office are preoccupied with where their next date is coming from. While I know that after a hard day of being likable, when I get off the train and drive eleven minutes, there’ll be a great-looking blonde waiting to greet me with the driest martini in Conneticut. I mean, you can’t get any closer to bliss than that, can you?

Naturally, we go to all the Harvard football games, following the whole ritual from tailgate picnics before to cocktail parties after. Sometimes I even stay in New York after work and watch films of the previous Saturday’s game at the Harvard Club. And then sit around with the guys discussing what we did wrong.

Faith doesn’t mind. She’s a great kid that way.

Actually, I dream of taking my son along to the game someday. He’ll be the Harvard Class of ’84.

I know that the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in my whole life is becoming a father.

Of course, there’s not much for me to do yet. In fact, we’ve got this great English nanny, so there’s not much for Faith to do, either. But I really look forward to talking to Andy, teaching him how to swim and play ball, and having him — for a while at least, I hope — look up to me with respect.

And I’ll try to spare him all the pressures of the “Eliot tradition.”

I talk to him already. Sometimes I sneak into his room when the nanny’s not around and say stupid things like, “Hey, old buddy, why don’t we two slip down to Cronin’s for a few beers?”

I think he smiles at this, so maybe he understands more than I imagine.

All in all, my life seems to be “a fun thing.”

I’m bullish on the future.

On the first Sunday in July, the kibbutz volunteers arrived at Vered Ha-Gaul, and Jason moved into the small barracks that had been set aside for them. They were from Scandinavia, France, and England, as well as the United States and Canada. Almost all were younger than he. And surprisingly, many were Christian.

They rose at 5:00 A.M. and, with few complaints, worked in the orange groves till 8:00. Then after breakfast when the others returned to the fields, they went to the classroom for elementary language instruction. Even though he felt like their grandfather, Jason tagged along.

But in the evenings while the others partied, he would work alone in the kibbutz garage repairing and tuning their vehicles. What had once been a pleasant hobby was now a necessary activity. To keep him from thinking.