Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home

Chapter Seventeen

Sunday night supper was usually a pickup meal in the Gorfinkle household, where dinner was served at midday. But with Stu home, Mrs. Gorfinkle felt guilty about not providing him with a hot meal. So when he came in and asked what was for supper, she answered, “How about some hamburgers? I’ve got buns and potato chips.”

“Oh, sure, anything.”

“Why, I’d like hamburgers for a change,” said his father. “And a Coke.”

“I’ll take milk,” said Stu.

“Milk with hamburgers?” questioned Mr. Gorfinkle.

“You suddenly kosher since you became president of the temple?” Stu asked sarcastically.

“No. but in my own house I don’t like to see them eaten together.”

“But in a restaurant you don’t mind? That doesn’t make sense to me.” said his son.

Gorfinkle resented being challenged by his son, but he tried not to show it. “Tastes in food never make sense, Stu. That’s just how I feel about it. Your mother never serves butter, for example, when she’s serving meat. When I was a youngster, the thought of it turned my stomach. But I always expect butter for my bread when I’m eating in a restaurant.”

He was even more annoyed when his wife brought a pitcher of milk to the table, and automatically—as always happened whenever he was angry or crossed—the corners of his mouth turned up in a frozen little smile that had no humor in it, as some of his subordinates at the plant had found to their cost.

“He’s so thin.” she said apologetically as she filled Stu’s glass.

Gorfinkle looked away from her and said abruptly to his son, “Where were you all afternoon?”

“Oh, some of the kids dropped in to see the rabbi. He sort of expects it. I did it during Christmas vacation, too. It’s a kind of open house.”

“And what did he have to say?” He could not help adding. “I’m sure he didn’t talk about the kashruth regulations.”

“Oh no. We just talk about what we’re doing at school. Didi Epstein kind of kidded him about what they were teaching her in art school—learning to make graven images, you know.”

“That Didi” said Mrs. Gorfinkle. “I bet he thought she was fresh.”

“I don’t think so. He said he didn’t mind as long as she doesn’t worship them. So then she told him about this painting she’s doing on Moses receiving the Law. And he said he’d like to see it. She promised to bring it over tomorrow.” Stu chuckled. “He’s a pretty free-minded guy. You should’ve heard him down at Binkerton at this party they gave for him.”

“Oh?” his mother remarked.

“There was this Father Bennett who’s head of the Newman Club—like the Hillel Club but for Catholics. He came over while I was sitting with him, and the rabbi kind of needled him about his religion. Very smooth, very cool. And then this priest comes right back and asks how he stands in the faith department. ‘Do you believe?’ So the rabbi kind of smiles and says. ‘I guess I’m just like you; sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.’ Pretty sharp.”

“Well. I don’t think that’s the proper thing for a rabbi to say.” said Mrs. Gorfinkle flatly.

“Why not?”

“Well, if he’s a rabbi, it seems to me the least he could do is believe all the time.”

“That’s just exactly where you’re wrong. Do you believe all the time? Does Dad?”

“Now, just a minute, just one minute.” said his father sternly. “I don’t, and I don’t suppose your mother does, but, then, we’re not rabbis. What your mother means is that as a rabbi, it’s his duty to believe. I can see him talking that way with a priest when they’re alone together. After all, they’re both in the same profession. But I certainly don’t think he should have said it in front of you or any of the other young people who were there.”

“Why not?” demanded Stuart.

“Because you’re not old enough or mature enough to—”

“And this business that’s happening right here in the temple. I suppose I’m not old enough or mature enough to understand that either?”

“And what’s happening here in the temple?” asked his father quietly.

“There’s going to be a split.” his son said hotly. “That’s what’s happening.”

Gorfinkle’s voice was tight, controlled. “Did the rabbi say that? Did he say there was gong to be a split?”

“No. not exactly—but he didn’t seem surprised when Sue Arons asked him about it.”

“I see.” said the elder Gorfinkle. “And what did he say?”

“Well, if you must know.” said Stuart belligerently, “he said there was no reason for a split and that if one occurred, it would be as much the fault of one side as the other.”

Gorfinkle drummed the table with his fingers. “I see. And did he indicate what his attitude would be in the event of this supposed—split?”

“Yeah. A plague on both your houses.”

“A plague on—?”

“He didn’t use those exact words, of course.” Stu showed his exasperation with his father’s literal-mindedness. “What he said was that if a split should take place, well, he wouldn’t care to serve any longer.”

The corners of Gorfinkle’s mouth turned up now. “He shouldn’t have said that, not to you kids.”

Stu was aware that his father was angry, but he resented the implication that he and his friends were not concerned. “What do you mean, ‘you kids’?”

“I mean that he was trying to influence you, and he has no right to.”

“Isn’t that what rabbis are supposed to do, influence people, especially kids?”

“There’s legitimate influence, and there’s influence that’s strictly out of line.” said his father. “When the rabbi gets up in the pulpit and explains about our religion and its traditions, that’s legitimate. That’s what he gets paid for. But the rabbi is not supposed to interfere in temple politics. If he prefers one side to another, he’s supposed to keep it to himself. And when he urges his point of view on a bunch of kids who don’t know what’s involved, then he’s out of line. And I think I’m just going to have a little conference with him and tell him so.”

“Look here.” said Stu, suddenly worried. “You can’t do that.”

“And why can’t I?”

“Because he’ll know it came from me.”

“What do you suppose he told you for? If he didn’t think it would get back to me—and to the other parents?”

“He did no such thing. He wouldn’t, not the rabbi. He’s straight.”

“Straight? He’s just a guy who’s trying to keep a job.” Stu put down his half-eaten second bun and, pushing his chair back from the table, he rose, his face white with anger. “Yeah, you can go and wreck an organization, and that’s all right, an organization that’s just a sideline with you, a hobby that makes you feel like a big shot. You don’t even care about it enough to keep kosher or anything like that, but if someone whose whole life is involved in it tries to preserve it, then you got to rub him out.”

“Finish your meal. Stu,” pleaded his mother.

“Sit down.” ordered his father. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But the young man flung away from the table.

“Where are you going, Stu?” his mother called after him.

“Out!”

A moment later they heard the outer door bang.

“Why do you always fight with him?” asked Mrs. Gorfinkle plaintively.

“Because he’s an idiot.” He, too, rose from the table.

“Where are you going?”

“To make some telephone calls.”

But the phone rang just as he reached for it. It was Ted Brennerman on the other end. “Ben? Ted. I got it via the grapevine that Paff and his gang are beginning to line up people.”

“You mean to vote against my appointments? Naturally—”

“No. Ben, not to try to outvote us—to pull out and start another temple.”

“Where’d you get that from?”

“Malcolm Marks. Paff called him.”

“And I just found out that the rabbi has been shooting off his mouth to the kids to have them bring pressure on their parents. I think I’m beginning to understand. Look, we’ve got to have a meeting on this, and tonight. You got a list of the board members? Well, you know which ones are with us a hundred percent. Start calling them. You take the ones from A to M, and I’ll take the rest. We’ll meet here at my house, say around ten o’clock. That’ll give everybody plenty of time.”