Monday the Rabbi Took Off (23 page)

“The God of Isaiah!” Ish-Kosher was outraged. “Tell me. Rabbi, do you believe in God?”

“I suppose as a police officer you’d like a yes or no answer.”

“It’s a difficult question,” the rabbi went on easily, “since it involves three variables –”

“Variables?”

“Of course. You ask if I believe in God. Do you mean at this moment in time, or the I of yesterday. or the I of three years ago? And what do you mean by ‘believe’? That’s another variable. Do you mean in the same way that I believe that two and two make four? Or the way that I believe that light travels a certain number of miles per second, which I myself have never seen demonstrated but which has been demonstrated by people whose competence and integrity I have been taught to trust? Or do you mean in the sense that I believe that there was a man named Washington who won independence for the American colonies from Britain, or in the sense that I believe there was a man named Moses who did the same thing for the Jews from Egypt. If you think about it, you’ll see that there are many more forms of belief, and all of them a little different from each other. And finally, the third variable – God. Do you mean a humanlike figure? Or an ineffable essence? One who is aware of us individually and responsive to our pleas for help? Or one who is so far above us that He can have no interest in us? Or any one of the other conceptions that men have had over the ages? But speaking more generally. I suppose I have the feeling of belief and certainty some times and lack it at others, just as you do, or the Chief Rabbi, or the Pope for that matter.”

Ish-Kosher stared at his visitor. Then he regrouped his forces, as it were, and said stiffly, “I did not bring you here for theological discussions –”

“I have been wondering why you did ask me to come.”

“Memavet made an appointment with your friend Stedman for later Saturday evening. I want to know if he kept it.”

“I didn’t see Mr. Stedman later, but I remember his telling his son he had no intention of keeping the appointment. He did not want to appear overeager. Is that all?”

“That is all. Good day to you.”

“My passport. You have it on your desk.”

“Oh, yes. Here it is.” Ish-Kosher handed the booklet to the rabbi and remained standing for some little while after the rabbi had left, his fingers drumming a light tattoo on the desktop.

The rabbi had not overlooked the fact that somehow the police had learned of his presence at Memavet’s. They must have been told either by Dan or Rov. If as seemed unlikely, Memavet had made some notation of his later meeting and the police had found it, the name referred to would certainly be Stedman. There was no reason for Memavet to have noted his name as well, since he was obviously not interested in buying a car. It was unthinkable – well, almost unthinkable – that the information had come from Dan. since he had pooh-poohed his suggestion that they report to the police. But if he had changed his mind and gone after all. would he not have called him first? And if he had not, then it could only have been an oversight or because for some reason he wanted to get him involved. And what reason could he have for that? His brother-in-law was perhaps interested in the job at Barnard’s Crossing and he was acting out of a sense of mistaken family loyalty?

He dismissed the idea as melodramatic, completely absurd. And vet what did he know of Dan Stedman? They had had some pleasant talks, to be sure, but he had never confided in him. Except that he had been a TV journalist. he knew nothing of his past. And this sudden decision to

go to Haifa, could that have some significance? It was

certainly strange. The normal thing would have been to

want to discuss the tragedy that had followed their visit.

He tried to put the thought out of his mind, and yet

His mind turned to Roy and he realized the son was a more likely source of information to the police. If Memavet had made a note, he probably would have listed only the name. Stedman, and a routine police check would have come up with Roy’s name. And then in routine questioning they would have learned that Roy had accompanied his father and his father’s friend. David Small. Roy would have no reason to conceal the information. But then why hadn’t Rov called to alert him that the police might be making inquiries? The answer was simple – the thoughtlessness and inconsiderateness of the young – and from what he had heard from Dan. quite characteristic.

He called Roy as soon as he got home. There was no answer. He called again later, and the next day. with no better luck. And then the rabbi put the matter out of his mind. Roy was coming to dinner Friday night, and he would see him then. And even if Roy had to beg off for some reason, common courtesy would require him to call.

By Friday as the rabbi waited for his guests to arrive, he decided not to bring up the subject. It was the Sabbath, a day of peace and rest. Of course, if either of the Stedmans were to bring up the matter, he could not refuse to discuss it. But he would not bring it up himself.

Both Stedmans came separately but at almost the same time. He had no sooner opened the door to welcome one than the other arrived. And because it was late, they went immediately to the table, then stood while the rabbi recited the kiddush, the prayer for wine that began the Sabbath observance.

The dinner was the customary Sabbath meal of chicken soup, gefilte fish and chicken. To Roy who had been eating in restaurants and the university cafeteria, it was a treat. He raved over each course to Miriam, and agreed when she urged him to have another helping. “I don’t often get this kind of food.” he said by way of explanation, “at least not this kind of cooking.”

Gradually, mellowed by the food and wine, he dropped his original reserve and relaxed. The atmosphere at the table and in the house, perhaps because of the presence of little Jonathan or because Rabbi Small and his wife were relatively young, was pleasantly informal, very different from the occasional Sabbath meal he had had at his Uncle Hugo’s. There, in spite of Aunt Betty’s attempts at lightheartedness, the solemn emphasis on the holiness of the day tended to dampen its joyousness.

As they sipped their tea afterward, the conversation focused on him and his life at the university. Completely at ease now. Roy told them of his difficulties there. “My Hebrew is not so hot, and that doesn’t help matters, I suppose. But mostly it’s the Israeli students. They’re so cliquey. And the American is shut out. My closest friends are Arabs.” He said it defiantly, but his father refused to pick up the challenge.

Instead he said with jovial heartiness, “Why, I think that’s fine. Roy. I want you to see all sides.” Curiously. Roy did not feel grateful. He looked at the rabbi, who had remained silent.

“I guess the rabbi doesn’t agree,” he said.

Rabbi Small shook his head slowly. “No, I don’t think I do. If there was dissension between me and my neighbors, the Rosens, and a guest of mine, newly arrived, took their side and showed a preference for them, I think I’d have a right to feel resentful.”

“Well, let me tell you. Rabbi, there are plenty of Israeli students who are friendly with the Arabs.”

“I am glad to hear it.”

“But I thought you just said?”

The rabbi nodded. “The quarrel is between them, and it is a good thing if one or the other or both parties to the dispute make overtures, just as it would be if Mrs. Small were to make overtures and try to become friendly with Mrs. Rosen. But the case for the guest is different.”

“That’s the old way of thinking – my side, your side. It’s what’s made for all these wars and things.” Roy sat forward. “My generation, we don’t think that way. We don’t care whose side we were born on. It’s which side that’s right that’s important. Look at our attitude. I mean the attitude of Americans of my generation, toward Vietnam. Your generation tells us they are the enemy, but we refuse to go along. Your generation’s thinking has given us wars, pollution, hunger, disease. My generation is changing all that.”

“He’s got a point there. Rabbi.” said Dan. “I guess we have made a mess of things, and they’re the ones that are trying to clean it up.”

“No.” The rabbi shook his head vigorously. “It’s not our generation that caused whatever is wrong with the world. It’s all the generations of mankind. The same generations of mankind that are responsible for all the good things, too. It’s a world we live in. not a Garden of Eden. And it is the older generation that is doing the cleaning up. too. simply because the new one has not as yet acquired the necessary skills. It will be a dozen veers at least before your generation. Roy. gets a chance to try its hand. And if it is your generation that transcends national boundaries, why do you call the Israeli students at the university cliquey? They’re your generation. For that matter, why don’t the Arabs of your generation try to make peace in this little part of the world instead of trying to terrorize the civilian population? Most of the terrorists are of your generation, you know. If there were peace, they could begin to make inroads into poverty and disease in their own countries –”

“Why don’t the Israelis do it in their country?”

“Don’t they?” asked the rabbi.

“How about the Sephardim who live in slums and don’t have a chance for a decent life?”

“The Israeli government is trying to help them,” Dan Stedman pointed out.

“Well, they could do a lot more.” Roy said, returning to the rabbi.

“Every country could do a lot more for its unfortunates than it is doing.” he said mildly. “Name one that is doing all it can.”

“But this is supposed to be a nation of idealists.” Roy protested.

“Is it? I certainly hope not.” said the rabbi.

“You do?” Roy was startled. “That’s a funny thing for a rabbi to say. Don’t you want the country to be idealistic?”

“No. I don’t. The whole thrust of our religion is toward a practical ethics rather than an absolute idealism. That’s how Judaism differs from Christianity, as a matter of fact. We don’t ask of our people that they be superhuman, only human. As Hillel said. ‘If I am not for myself, who will be for me?’ Traditionally, we have always felt that parnossah, the making of a living, was necessary for a good life. We have no tradition of an idealistic asceticism, or superhuman dedication as in monasticism or self-imposed poverty.”

“What’s wrong with idealism?” asked Roy.

“It’s the worship of an idea, and the idea comes to count for more than people. Sometimes people are cruel because – well, because they’re people. But it’s self-limiting. If someone’s normal, his act of cruelty is apt to be followed by a bad attack of conscience. But if he’s an idealist, then any kind of wickedness can be justified in its name. The Germans killed millions in pursuit of the idea of racial purity. In Russia thousands were slaughtered for the quite human weakness of hoarding a bit of food against the winter. I might add that right now some of your fellow students in America are perpetrating all kinds of wickedness in the name of peace or social equality or academic responsibility or any other ideal that someone happens to think up.”

They argued late into the night. Sometimes the argument went in circles, as arguments frequently do, and sometimes it slid off into areas wholly unrelated to the immediate subject of discussion. But for the most part the adversaries were Roy and the rabbi, with Dan occasionally chiming in to give moral support to his son. The subject of the bombing of Memavet’s apartment did not come up until the guests were getting ready to leave. Some mention was made of Haifa, and Roy asked his father if he had had a successful trip there.

“I’d say it was successful. Roy. I’m hoping you’ll think it was. too. I happened to notice that the Athenia had docked and was loading. I used to be quite friendly with the skipper, so I went down to see him. He was just as friendly as ever, and it ended up with an invitation to sail with him – a ten-day trip to Greece. Sicily, and back to Haifa – for both of us. if you can make it. What do you think of that Roy?”

“Gee. that’s great. Dad. When would we go?”

“We’d leave Haifa Sunday –”

Roy snapped his fingers. “Uh-uh, I just thought of something.”

“What’s the matter? You got an exam?”

“No. as a matter of fact, we get a break from school about then. But I’ll need a passport, won’t I?”

“Of course. What’s the matter, did you lose it?”

“/didn’t lose it.” And he went on to tell what happened. “They lost it – one of those Keystone Kops evidently misplaced it.” he added indignantly. “And if they sent it out today. I won’t get it tomorrow because it’s the Sabbath and they don’t deliver on the Sabbath. And even if it comes Sunday. I won’t get it until noon because that’s when my mail is delivered.”

“I don’t think you’ll get it Sunday either.” said his father slowly.

“Why not?”

“Because – well, because although the police here may be a bunch of bunglers, even Keystone Kops as you call them, but on passports they never make mistakes – except on purpose.”

“What are you getting at?” Roy was uneasy. “You were questioned Monday? Tuesday?”

“Tuesday.”

“All right.” said Dan. “and today is Friday. That’s four days, and you still haven’t received it. I think they’ve pulled your passport. And in a country like this, surrounded by countries at war. you might just as well be in jail. You can’t go anywhere, not even to a hotel in another city. And any time they want to, they can pick you up. Why didn’t you go down and see them when it didn’t come in the mail?”

“I did. I was there this morning. Nobody knew anything about it. And when I tried to see this inspector, the one I told you about, the one with the yarmulke, they said he was out and wasn’t expected back.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” his father muttered.

“But surely.” said the rabbi, “if you go to the American consul here –”

“No. I don’t think that’s too good an idea. Maybe Sunday I’ll take a run down to Tel Aviv and see the people at the embassy.”

“But then it will be too late for the trip.” Roy protested.

“There’ll be other chances. Maybe his next trip out.”