Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Twelwe

The two men. father and son. shook hands, patted each other on the back, and stood back to look at each other. Dan Stedman indeed had been thinking of dining in the Grill where he would be likely to point out important people to his son— the wife of the British consul, the American first secretary. He was no name-dropper, but he wanted so much to have his son think well of him. And he had then decided against it for the same reason: People who knew him might come over to talk, and he wanted to have his son all to himself tonight.

But when he saw how Roy was dressed, he was doubly glad he had made no reservation at the Grill; Avram, the headwaiter. would be certain to raise objections to the boy's attire. So he suggested the Artist's Club, which proved to be a happy choice since several of the young patrons were dressed much like his son.

Dan had given Roy news of his mother and of his Uncle Hugo and Aunt Betty; he had described conditions in the States; the weather there—"the worst winter they've had in years. You don't know how lucky you are to be here"— and his own immediate plans: "I'll spend some time in Jerusalem and then go on to some of the other cities — Haifa. Tel Aviv, and some of the smaller places, maybe even some of the moshavim and the kibbutzim." But transportation might be a problem. "Trouble is, buying a new car is a matter of a couple of months, and renting will cost me an arm and a leg."

"Whyn't you get a good secondhand?" Roy asked.

"Well, you know how it is with secondhand cars. You don't know what you're getting, and if you bring in an expert, how do you know he's not in cahoots with the seller?"

"There's this guy, Memavet, that advertises in the Jerusalem Post, maybe in the Hebrew papers, but I don't read them. He acts like an agent for buying and selling cars. And the way things are going right now, there's a good chance that when you go to sell it, you can get more than you paid for it."

"Memavet?" Dan repeated. "Funny name."

"Yeah, 'from death,' right? My Hebrew is not so hot, but I know that."

"That's right." his father said. "I might look in on him. I’ve already looked around a little— not here, but in Tel Aviv— and what I saw were a bunch of clunkers."

"Oh, yeah? How long you been here. Dad?"

Dan colored and then said lightly, "Oh, a couple of days. I decided to look up some people I knew in Tel Aviv, get that out of the way before coming up to Jerusalem and seeing you. You understand."

"Oh, sure." Roy did not really understand, but he saw no point in making an issue of it. It crossed his mind that "the people" his father might have looked up was a woman.

"Your mother said you were unhappy here." said Dan. to change the subject.

"Well, you know how it is." Roy said, sipping his coffee. "The guys here and the chicks, too, they're all such a bunch of bloody heroes. You know how Texans are supposed to be in the States? Well, that's what they are— Jewish Texans. You'd think that each and every one of them personally won the Six-Day War. They're always asking you how you like Israel. And if you fall all over yourself telling them how wonderful it is and how wonderful they are. like some of the American students do, they either smirk like they're kind of embarrassed or look like you hit the nail right smack on the head, although you get the impression they're a little surprised a clod like you could be so understanding. But if. God forbid, you should happen to say anything the least bit critical of their precious country, like about people hanging out their bedding on the front porches and beating their rugs right in the main street, or take this begging that goes on all the time, they land on you like a ton of bricks and explain how it has to be that way. or it's something that's ordained in the Bible. Like, take this business of the beggars. I was saying something about somebody always putting the bite on you, and this guy says that since the Bible says you got to give charity, these guys are doing an important service by being there to take it. They're like enabling you to earn a blessing."

His father laughed. "Well, it's a new country—"

"Yeah, but it's not the only country, and the rest of the world wasn't created just to help them. And they're always challenging you. Why is America in Vietnam? Why do we mistreat the blacks? Why don't we do something about the poor? Why do we allow our rivers and lakes to get polluted? You find yourself on the defensive all the time."

His father looked at him quizzically. "Weren't you always complaining of the same thing?"

Roy flushed. "Sure, but they put it in such a way that if you agree with them, you feel like you're brown-nosing them. And they exaggerate everything, so you try to tell them how it really is, and pretty soon you find yourself practically defending every thing American, even the things you object to yourself. And cliquey! You can hardly get one of them to tell you the right time. Especially the chicks. You try to get a date and they're out to lunch."

"How about the other American students?"

"Well, they're not the kind I'd hack around with in the States. I can tell you." Roy said. "Besides, they're in the same boat, so what's the point? It's like a bunch of wallflowers at a dance trying to make out with each other. It's even worse for the girls. The guys here act like they're doing them a favor if they say hello. Me. I hang around with the Arab students mostly." he added casually.

"The Arab students?"

"Yeah. Don't sweat it. Dad. It's the in thing right now.

Make friends with an Arab. Matter of fact, a lot of the Israelis take the point of view that they're a lot closer to the Arabs than they are to us. since they're Israelis, too."

"I see." his father said. "So that's why you're unhappy."

"Well, you know, I was like on a kind of down cycle when I wrote Ma. I was homesick and dying for a hamburg or a pizza or a first-run movie, and I was alone here—"

Dan was glad of the opening. "But I'm here now," he said.

"Sure, and don't think it doesn't make a difference. And these trips you're planning, maybe I could go along and help out with the driving?"

"But your school—"

"Oh, everybody takes off. sometimes as much as a month. It's kind of expected. How about it. Dad?"

It was a tempting picture, the two of them taking long trips together, putting up at small hotels for the night, stopping at out-of-the-way places to eat, and talking, confiding in each other, making up for the years of separation. He might even be able to influence his son, reorient his thinking, mold his character, do for him what a father should do for a son. He smiled. "Roy. you’ve got a deal." he said, and in spite of his efforts to control it. his voice was tremulous.