Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Fifteen

The effects of their journey on their internal time clocks had not yet worn off, and the Smalls slept through the early hours of the morning— the rabbi, and Miriam since there was no Gittel to awaken her to the duties of the day, and even Jonathan. The bright sun shining directly into their faces awakened them; it was after ten o'clock and too late to go to the synagogue.

Miriam was remorseful. "I know you wanted to go to the synagogue on your first Sabbath in Jerusalem." she said.

"I had planned to," he said lightly, "but there'll be other Sabbaths. Why don't we all take a walk? There's a park bordering King George Street."

As they walked through the streets of the city, they realized that they were experiencing something new— a whole city observing the Sabbath. All the stores were closed— that was to be expected— but it was more than that. There were no buses running and almost no automobiles on the streets. The traffic lights were operating on flashing yellow instead of alternating red and green. And people were strolling along the streets as they were doing; men with their wives and children, all in their Sabbath best, walking three and four abreast, not going anywhere, just enjoying the weather.

Others, on their way home from the synagogue, were walking more purposefully, some of them still wearing their prayer shawls draped over their shoulders to avoid carrying them, which would of course be work of a kind and hence a breach of the Sabbath. Now and again they saw a Chassid. brave in his Sabbath finery, the broad-brimmed black felt replaced by a fur streimal, the short knickerlike pantaloons gathered just below the knee, the legs encased in white stockings. Some were garbed in the long black silk robe kept closed by a sash. Others, the younger ones for the most part, favored a Prince Albert, which because it was warm, they kept open, thereby displaying the fringes of the tallis katon, the small prayer shawl they wore all the time, showing beneath their vests; around their waists the braided girdle they put on for prayer and that served to separate the lower and more earthy portions of the body from the upper and presumably more spiritual portions.

"Why do they dress like that. David?" asked Miriam. He grinned. "Strictly speaking, pure conservatism. That's the costume of the well-to-do Polish and Russian merchant of the eighteenth century, presumably what Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the movement in the eighteenth century, wore, and in emulation of the rebbe, they wear it, too. I guess the Amish in Pennsylvania do the same thing and for the same reason. We tend to associate clothes with attitudes. That may be why people nowadays object to the new mod clothes; they consider them indicative of a rebellion and a break not only with traditional styles but with traditional morals and values."

"I don't mind it in the old ones." said Miriam, "but the young ones— that they should adhere so closely to the tradition— that one there, he can't be more than thirteen or fourteen."

The rabbi followed her gaze. "He's something of a dandy, isn't he? That streimal— it's mink isn't it?— must have cost his folks a pretty penny." His voice took on a melancholy note. "It's a sad paradox that while they adhere so strongly to the fashion in clothes, they have largely departed from the spirit of the movement. Chassidism was originally a kind of romantic mysticism, a movement of joy and laughter, of singing and dancing, that involved a kind of direct confrontation with God. It was a useful and necessary reaction to the meticulous observance of religious regulations that was characteristic of the time. But now it has come full circle, and this group is the most pedantic in its strict adherence to the letter of the law."

In the park, boys ranging in age from ten to twenty and more were playing football. The games were informal, with teams chosen at random; it was a vigorous game, and frequently players came crashing together, but no one seemed to get hurt.

The Smalls sat down on a park bench and watched. Other spectators were sitting on the grass on the edge of the improvised playing field, and although every now and then the ball would come sailing over their heads or players would race around them to get at it, no one seemed to mind.

They sat there on the park bench in the bright sunlight, reluctant to move on. Jonathan after a few minutes had wandered off and stood watching a group of younger boys playing with a smaller and lighter ball. Once it flew toward him and came to rest in front of his feet. "Kick it back," one of the children shouted in Hebrew. He did not understand, but automatically he kicked at it and was surprised and delighted to see it sail in an arc for some distance. Overjoyed at his success as well as a little fearful that he should not have kicked it so far. he ran to his parents, shouting. "I kicked it. I kicked it. Did you see me? Did you see me kick the ball?"

His mother gave him a hug.

"That was a fine kick." said the rabbi. "Maybe if you go back, you'll get a chance to kick it again, or maybe they'll let you play."

"David!" cried Miriam. "Those boys are two or three years older than Jonathan. He'd get hurt."

"Oh, I don't know, nobody seems to get hurt. And there doesn't seem to be any fighting among the kids. Look around you."

But Jonathan was unwilling to venture and snuggled against his mother. Presently, the games began to break up as the noon hour approached. The Smalls, too. decided to leave, walking at the leisurely pace that seemed in keeping with the spirit of the day.

"This is the first Sabbath in a long time that you haven't gone to the synagogue. David." said Miriam as they neared their house.

"So it is, but I don't feel that I missed anything," he said. "I’ve always gone, not only because it was expected of me as a rabbi and before that as a rabbinical student and before that as the son of a rabbi, but because I always had the feeling that it was the way to impose the Sabbath on my week. I'd dress a little differently, and I'd walk to the temple, leaving the house in good time so as not to have to hurry. And I'd walk back the same way because I knew there was no pressing business I had to come back to. I suppose I did it as much in an effort to establish as to celebrate the Sabbath. Well, here you don't have to establish the Sabbath. You don't have to impose it on your work-week. It's done for you. The whole city is keeping the Sabbath. You know, although I didn't get to go to the synagogue, it was the best Sabbath I can remember."

She looked at him curiously. "That's a funny thing for a rabbi to say."

"Yes, I suppose it is. But it's the way I feel."