Monday the Rabbi Took Off

Chapter Nineteen

The formula of short and snappy Friday evening services proved to be successful in Barnard's Crossing, and within two months Rabbi Deutch succeeded in doubling the attendance. The direct mail campaign helped some, but as Malcolm Slotnick pointed out. "If the product hadn't come up to its billing, there wouldn't have been any repeat business." With the large majority of those who attended it had become a habit.

"Friday night? Oh, I'm afraid Friday night is out. Friday night we go to temple.

Well, we're not religious either, but it makes for a pleasant evening for one thing. You get out of the house and of course, the rabbi is a dear, and Betty Deutch— well, we've become such good friends, I'd feel I was letting her down if I missed a Friday evening service. She's such a lovely person. She's a Stedman, you know— the TV Dan Stedman."

There were critics, of course. Meyer Paff, for example. "I'm not saying the new rabbi ain't good. I'm just saying maybe he's too good. Me, when a guy starts speaking, I look at my watch. Makes no difference if it's a political speech or some highbrow lecture the missus dragged me to or a rabbi giving a sermon— I look at my watch when he starts, and I look at my watch when he stops. Now Rabbi Deutch averages about fifteen minutes. Sometimes he goes seventeen minutes, or eighteen minutes, but usually from start to finish it's fifteen minutes. Now the delivery is good, I'll give him that, but it's still fifteen minutes. Now me. I figure. I can't help it; I figure all the time maybe because I been doing it all my life. So you take fifteen minutes and you multiply by the number of Fridays— say. thirty-five because in the summer, of course, there's no Friday evening services— and that comes out to a little less than nine hours. Then you divide that into what we're paying the guy, and let me tell you that works out to a helluva lot per hour. So that's what I mean about him being good. I mean, anybody that can make that kind of dough per hour is not only good, he's damn good. But then I start wondering about another thing: Can the guy make a long speech? Has he got enough stuff for a long speech?"

At the Purim service. Rabbi Deutch proved at least that he could make a long speech. His sermon ran fifty minutes by Meyer Paff s watch. It was the first holiday since he had taken over, and the greater portion of the sanctuary was filled. The title of his sermon was "The Purim Story; Fact or Fable?" It went well. Dozens of the congregation came over to tell him that they had never really understood the significance of the holiday until just now. And Bert Raymond called him the next evening to say, "I just had to call. Rabbi. I’ve got so many wonderful comments on your sermon. I just had to let you know that we're grateful."

Rabbi Deutch was immensely pleased, and when he hung up, he could not help philosophizing to his wife on the success of his sermon. "You see, all I really do is tell the story of Purim, but it happens to be a corking story. Of course, the congregation has a recollection of the general outline of the story, but that only adds to their enjoyment. Still, if I were to do nothing but tell the story, they'd feel they were being treated like children and would be indignant. Justifiably so. So I embellish it with all sorts of speculations to give it plausibility in a modern context, such as suggesting that the Persian king feared a palace revolution by Haman and plotted with Esther to bring about his ruin." He chuckled. "I could tell it was going over well as I gave it."

She smiled sympathetically. "Yes, dear. You like it here, don't you?"

"Very much," he said without hesitation. "It's a nice town and convenient to Boston and Cambridge. I’ve enjoyed being able to go to a symphony concert now and then — which is gratifying the way I feel about music."

Betty Deutch shook her head to indicate he was missing the point. "I mean you like this temple, the congregation, the work you're doing."

"That's the best part of all. No problems with the board, everyone going out of their way to be agreeable, and I only do whatever work I care to do. That sermon now. you know when I wrote that?"

"Of course. You used it in your first pulpit in Coventry, Michigan, and again when you first came to Darlington. Connecticut. And I didn't really have to ask if you were happy here." she said with a smile. "I can see that you like it. Have you thought that it might be a good idea to stay on?"

"Oh, that's out of the question. Betty. This is just a temporary job. Rabbi Small will be back in another month. Besides." he said. "I’ve retired. Remember?"

"Yes, I remember, dear. And I also remember that you weren't very happy in your retirement. A man like you, a man in good health and vigorous, you've got to have something to do. You can't just spend your time moping around."

"I wasn't aware that I was moping around." he said stiffly. "I was planning to do some writing, some scholarly work that I’ve had in mind for some time now—"

"Oh, Hugo, face reality. If you had writing to do, you would have started right in doing it. You would have done it while you were still the rabbi of the congregation in Darlington. You certainly wouldn't have spent those months just hanging around."

"I was mulling over in my mind a number of projects." he said.

"No. Hugo. If you really want to write, you write." She shook her head. "Don't you see? The work you're doing here, running a temple and a congregation, that's your work. And you're awfully good at it. So why not continue?"

He turned away, hurt. "Well, I'm sorry you think that my writing plans were just so much make-believe—"

"But they were, Hugo. dear. Don't you remember when you thought the congregation in Darlington was sure to ask you to stay on, and you wondered what you'd do if they didn't. Then you said at least it would give you time to put your papers in order and that you might edit your sermons for publication. But that just meant that you weren't ready to face the thought of retirement. But they didn't ask you to stay on, and you had a few months of retirement—"

"I was sure they were going to ask me to stay on." he said quietly. "They hadn't picked a replacement yet. At least, they hadn't been able to agree on one. But." he said resignedly. "I guess after thirty years, they get tired of you."

"The congregation changed. Hugo." she said in a tone that suggested they had had this discussion many times before. "A different class of people came into power and began running things." She smiled. "Besides, you were getting tired of them, too."

"Yes, that's true."

"But here." she went on. "everyone respects you. If you were to stay on—"

"It would be the same." he said. "Everyone is kind and courteous and pleasant because they know I'm here for only a short while. If I had a regular long-term contract, it would be the same here as it was in Darlington."

"Don't you believe it. Hugo." she said quickly. "You were a young man when you came to Darlington. You had nothing — no money, no reputation. They were in a position to push you around, and they did. until over the veers you gained strength and won their respect. But here, they know you don't need them. Your pension is almost what they're paying you. Nobody here can push you around, and they know it, so they won't try. Oh, Hugo," she pleaded with him. "you could stay on for another five veers or seven years, and then we'd move to Florida or perhaps go to Israel."

"Well, it's not a bad idea. I mean taking another pulpit," he conceded, "but of course, this one is out of the question. You seem to forget that Rabbi Small will be back in another month."

"How do you know?" she said sharply.

"Well, that was the— the general agreement. I was hired for three months because Rabbi Small was due back in three months."

"It's not quite like that. Hugo." Even though they were alone. Betty Deutch lowered her voice. "There are a couple of girls in the Sisterhood that I'm really friendly with, and they let down their hair. Did you know, for example, that Rabbi Small is not being paid while he's on leave?"

"Not being paid?" He was horrified. "You mean they stopped his salary?"

"As I understand it, he refused it. He refused to talk about a contract and even refused to promise that he was coming back here."

Rabbi Deutch found that hard to believe. "He seemed like a very level-headed young man. It seems quixotic for a young man with a family to refuse to take his salary. Of course, it could be the way it was offered."

"But it also could suggest—"

"Let's say, it makes one think about possibilities." He nodded. "Yes, it makes one think."