Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Seventeen

Sunday the Smalls set out to see the city. They were free for the morning at least, since Jonathan would be kept in school until two, and the school would give him his lunch at noon.

"And don't worry about hurrying back exactly on time." said Mrs. Rosen, their neighbor. "He can play with Shaouli until you get home."

"We want to go to the Old City and the Wall" said Miriam. "Will we be able to get back in time?"

"Of course." And she gave them directions on what bus to take to get to the Jaffa Gate. "You'll see signs directing you to the Wall. It's not far. You could even walk it. But this first time, better take a bus."

So they took a bus. No sooner had they paid their fares than the driver swung his vehicle away from the curb and they lurched to their seats. But a car zoomed ahead of the bus, and their driver had to put on his brakes in a hurry. He poked his head out the window and shouted at the driver of the car. "May no harm befall you, but you are a great fool." Then filming and red-faced with indignation, he put his bus in gear again, and they zoomed forward.

They rode for some minutes, the rabbi and Miriam, eagerly watching the scene as it fled past their window. One of the passengers, a middle-aged woman with a couple of string bags full of groceries on the vacant seat beside her and parcels on her capacious lap, pulled the signal cord and then, for fear that the driver had not heard, pulled it again.

He looked up in his rearview mirror and shouted. "It's all right. I heard you, I heard you. Or do you think you're playing a musical instrument?" He pulled over to the curb and came to a stop.

The woman gathered up her bags and her parcels and headed for the door. "He acts like his father built the road." she complained. "And how many times do you pull the cord and he doesn't stop? And how many times when it's raining and you're waiting at the stop, they ride right by?"

"Lady, lady, we've all got places to go, and if you don't hurry, you won't have time to cook your husband's dinner before he comes home. You'll finish the story the next trip."

"Bus drivers are all the same." said Miriam.

Her husband smiled. "This one is the same, but with a difference."

The bus deposited them in front of the Jaffa Gate, and before entering, they turned back to look at the portion of the new city that they had left.

"It's all so white, David." Miriam exclaimed.

"It's built of Jerusalem stone. If I remember rightly, during the British Mandate there was a law requiring it. Maybe there still is. But it's quite an effect, isn't it?"

They passed through the gate, crossed a wide-open plaza and. following the other visitors, entered a narrow corridor less than ten feet wide, the main street of the Old City. It was covered over like a tunnel, and on either side were stalls and shops with their Arab proprietors sitting outside on low stools, gesturing the passersby inside.

The street sloped precipitously; every few feet there were two or three steps so that they seemed to be descending constantly deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. The street was crowded with Arabs, tourists, clerics of various orders, and everywhere children. Side streets led off the main street and. like it. were covered over and lined with shops. Here and there, however, they caught glimpses of squares or courtyards that were obviously residential. As they paused at one corner, a small boy of eleven or twelve approached them. The lad was clean and dressed in Western jacket and trousers.

"Do you need a guide, lady and gentleman? I can direct you anywhere. Do you wish to go to the Western Wall? Are you from America?"

"Yes, we are from America." said Miriam.

"Perhaps from Chicago? Or Pennsylvania? I have many friends in Chicago and Pennsylvania. Perhaps you know some of them. Dr. Goldstein of Pennsylvania is a very good friend of mine."

"No. I don't know Dr. Goldstein of Pennsylvania." said Miriam, amused in spite of herself.

"Perhaps it is the Via Doloroso you wish to see? I can show it to you and arrange for you to go inside the monastery. Father Benedict is a very good friend of mine." Miriam shook her head.

"Perhaps you are interested in buying rugs or jewelry? I can direct you to the best shops. As my friend you will be given the best prices. Or Persian enamels— I know a shop where the proprietor is planning to give up his business and everything is being sold very cheap."

"We don't want to buy anything," said Miriam.

"My brother can get you leather goods at wholesale—"

Miriam shook her head and hurried after her husband, who had marched straight ahead, refusing to be drawn. As they turned a corner, they saw the young man approach someone else.

"You mustn't encourage them," said the rabbi, "or you'll never get rid of them."

"That one must be rather special. He'll probably be mayor of the city someday."

The rabbi grinned. "Not he. He'll be a merchant, the proprietor of a small store like one of these, and sit on a stool in front of his shop smoking his water pipe and drinking cups of coffee all day long. He'll own half the city, and the mayor will be on his payroll."

As they penetrated deeper into the ancient city, always descending, they noticed a change in the character of the street. The stores were no longer intended for the tourist trade, but rather for residents of the town. There were shops where radios and clocks were being repaired and others where pots and pans were being mended. There were butcher shops with whole carcasses of sheep hanging by their heels and stores where strange foods were sold. There were shoe repair shops and barbershops. There were small cafes in which radios were turned up so that the eerie, piercing Arab music to which they were tuned could be heard yards away. And the proprietors who sat in front of their shops were no longer smiling and ingratiating; they gazed at the passersby indifferently, knowing it unlikely that they would be interested in their wares.

Once Miriam and David had to flatten themselves against the wall as two donkeys, each loaded with a huge arch of empty wooden fruit boxes, came mincing down the street, urged along by the shouting of a small boy. On another occasion, they had to retreat into a convenient doorway to avoid being jostled by a flock of sheep that were being herded through the narrow corridorlike street.

At one point the street widened unaccountably into a kind of square where some little girls of five or six were playing a street game similar to hopscotch. As soon as they saw the Smalls, they came running up, their grimy little hands held out in supplication, crying. "Money, money."

"Pay no attention to them." said the rabbi and shook his head sternly at them. One little girl clutched her belly to indicate hunger, and when even this brought no response, she staggered and fell to the ground. Miriam was tempted to stop; but her husband was striding right along, and she was afraid she might lose sight of him. When she looked back a minute later, she was glad to see that the little girl had picked herself up and was once again playing with the other children.

"Do you suppose she might have been hungry. David?"

"Not that one certainly. They all seem to be well fed, and she's wearing new shoes."

There was a sign that directed them to a narrow flight of stairs, and they followed the crowd. When they had mounted, they saw a wide plaza and beyond it, the Wall. A soldier was stationed on either side of the pathway, and the women had to open their handbags for inspection.

The Smalls found themselves on a stone balcony looking down on the scene. A fence at right angles to the Wall separated the women's portion on the right from the men's on the left. A couple of dozen women were standing close to the Wall on the women's side, touching it. On the men's side, there were many more, most of them praying, rocking and swaying in their ecstasy.

Miriam looked up at him. "Does it do something for you, David?" she asked softly.

He shook his head slowly, considering. "Not the Wall itself. To me, it's just a wall. Although probably part of the temple, it was probably built by Herod, and he is no great favorite of mine. I find the people praying there affecting, though. Maybe a particular holy place is necessary for a people."

"Shall we go down?" They separated at the barrier. "I'll meet you here in about twenty minutes," he said.

He strolled about and then approached the Wall, not to pray but to stand in silent meditation for a few minutes. Then he began walking again, stopping occasionally to inspect the massive stones, passing his hand over them to feel the texture. He went through the archway that adjoined the Wall where excavation was in progress and inspected a shaft that had been sunk to what was supposed to be the original level of the temple. Then he made his way back to wait for Miriam.

When she rejoined him. he asked. "Well, did you pray?"

"I did. But I won't tell you about what."

"I don't think you should."

"Well, I won't then. There was a woman who tried to get me to put on a long skirt she had with her. I refused."

He looked down at her legs. "She was probably just jealous."

"There were all kinds of little bits of paper stuck in the cracks between the stones on my side."

"On mine too. I looked at some of them."

"You didn't!"

He nodded. "Sure I did. Why not? I put them back afterward."

"What did they say?"

"Well." said the rabbi, "one wanted God to cause an earthquake in Egypt. I was tempted not to put that one back, but then I thought God could probably take care of Himself. And there was one that asked for a winning number in the lottery. And one asked to be cured of a sickness."

Noting his tone of voice, she said. "You don't approve, do you?"

"No, but it was rather touching. I think at home. I might voice my disapproval but here"

Miriam put her arm through his. "There is a difference, isn't there?"

He nodded soberly. "So many different types, and all coming here to seek something. See that tall blond man? He looks just like a fellow I knew in college. He's a little stockier, but then he would be. I suppose." He knitted his brows, straining to remember. "Abbot. William— no. Willard Abbot. He came from one of those fashionable, exclusive private schools where all the teachers are very British and they go in for games. The rest of us were largely from city high schools. He was Jewish, but very few knew it. He was totally assimilated."

"One seems to know so many people here. Everyone looks like someone you know."

"That's to be expected. I suppose. There are a number of definite types of characteristic Jewish faces. But that wouldn't apply to Billy Abbot. In this case the old cliché was true: He didn't look Jewish."

They were turning to go when the rabbi heard his name called. "Small! Dave Small!"

They stopped, and the tall blond man came striding toward them, his hand outstretched.

"Billy Abbot! It's really you."

"In the flesh. You're touring, of course. You have the look."

"That's right." He introduced Miriam. "And you? Are you here on business?"

"I live here, up near Caesarea. I'm an Israeli citizen. I'm what's called a chartered accountant here. I get up to Jerusalem about once a month on business, and when I do. I make a point of coming to have a look at the Old City and the Wall. Most of my clients are in Tel Aviv and Haifa, so I live halfway between the two and get a chance to play some golf."

"And is there a Mrs. Abbot?" David asked.

"Oh, yes. And three little Abbots, two boys and a girl. And you? Do you have children?"

"One boy. Jonathan." said Miriam. "He's here in Israel with us."

"I seem to remember that you were planning to go on to the rabbinical seminary. Dave—"

"I went. I have a pulpit in Massachusetts. Barnard's Crossing—"

"Right," said Billy Abbot. "I know the place. A friend of mine used to go down for the boat races. I went along once to crew for him. Nice town, as I recall."

"We like it." said Miriam.

"It's curious, your coming here to settle." the rabbi offered.

"Well, I lived in London for a while and in Rome." said Abbot. "My folks were in the music world— my father was a concert pianist— and we traveled around a bit. After the Six-Day War I decided to come and settle here."

"But why here?" the rabbi persisted.

"I had no religious instruction and no sense of national or religious affiliation, if that's what you mean. My parents thought of themselves as citizens of the world. And that's how I was brought up. They never denied the fact that they were Jewish, but they never advertised it either. But the world isn't ready to have citizens of its own. Jews are everywhere, and the Jew as a subject of conversation— and discrimination— keeps coming up. An insulting remark about Jews, on the assumption that you're not one— your pride, your manhood, doesn't permit you to let it go unchallenged. There was a girl I was interested in — well, never mind; it's not important." He grinned. "Anyway. I finally decided that if I was going to escape the bloody Jews. I had to come here."

The rabbi grinned back. "You certainly chose a funny place to escape Jews."

"Ah, but here I don't feel like a Jew."

The rabbi nodded. "I think I know what you mean."

It was after two when they got home, and Mrs. Rosen greeted them with. "Jonathan is playing with Shaouli. You could have staved away all afternoon."

"The morning is enough for the first day." said the rabbi.

"By the way, were you expecting anyone the other night, Friday night?" asked Mrs. Rosen.

"Friday night? We had only just arrived. And we know no one here. Why?"

"The police were here making inquiries." Mrs. Rosen said. "They spoke to each of the neighbors. They wanted to know if anyone here in the building was expecting someone late Friday night."

The rabbi looked at Miriam inquiringly and then shook his head.