Thursday The Rabbi Walked Out

39

ALTHOUGH RABBI SMALL PREFERRED WORKING AT HOME. ON Thursdays he made use of the rabbi's study in the temple, because on that day the cleaning woman came to help Miriam ready the house for the approaching Sabbath, and the whine of the vacuum cleaner and the odor of furniture waxes and polishes made concentration all but impossible.

He had no sooner entered, doffed his topcoat and seated himself behind the desk, when there was a knock at the door, and before he could answer, it opened and Morton Brooks, the principal of the religious school, entered, he was a flamboyant youngish man of roughly the rabbi's age, that is, in his early forties. Because he had once been a bookkeeper in a Yiddish theater in New York, and had occasionally been given a walk-on part to save the cost of another actor's salary, he considered himself essentially of the theater and was presumably merely marking time while waiting for a call from an agent to return to it, he was dressed very modishly in a leisure suit with flared trousers and a fancy shirt, open at the throat. His neck was encircled by a colorful kerchief, negligently knotted at the side.

"Why do you knock, when you don't wait until you're invited in?" asked the rabbi petulantly.

"Why? I saw you from the end of the corridor, so I knew you were alone."

"Then why do you bother to knock?"

Brooks perched unceremoniously on the corner of the desk, crossed his legs and said. "Oh, just to give you a chance to get dignified and stuffy."

The rabbi smiled and tilted back in his chair. "All right. I'm as dignified and stuffy as I'm likely to get, anything special?"

"I came to ask you about the decision of the selectmen on the traffic lights, they met last night, didn't they?"

"I'm sure they did."

"Then you didn't go? Look. David, that was important. You should have been there."

"Oh, I did better than that." said the rabbi with quiet satisfaction. "Before the meeting I went to see Albert Megrim, the man who asked for reconsideration, and he agreed to withdraw his motion."

"You did?" He looked at the rabbi with a new appreciation. "How'd you happen to do that?"

"Oh, it was Chief Lanigan's idea, the police are as interested in getting those lights as we are, we decided it would be best if I didn't go to the meeting so that Megrim's request would be regarded as a straight parliamentary procedure."

The phone rang. It was Henry Maltzman. "I called your house. Rabbi, and you weren't home." The tone was accusing.

"No, I'm here."

"I just wanted to let you know that the board of selectmen agreed to go ahead with the traffic lights."

"Oh, that's good news."

"I expected to see you at the meeting. Rabbi. It's your job."

"Well I—"

"However, it worked out all right. I spoke to Megrim just before the meeting started, and he agreed to withdraw his motion."

"Well, that's fine."

"Just wanted to let you know."

When the rabbi hung up. Brooks, who had been able to hear both sides of the conversation, said. "Why didn't you tell him, David?"

"To vie with him for the credit?"

"To let him know you were on the job, and that you pulled it off, he accused you of neglecting your work."

The rabbi shrugged.

Brooks shook his head pityingly. "David. David, you just don't understand. In a job like yours, or like mine, you've got to be covered every minute. You can't let them get a single thing on you. Remember, they are the enemy."

"Who are 'they'?"

"The president, the board of directors, yes, the congregation, the parents. Remember, we are public figures, which means the public is always looking for something to criticize in us, and that means we've got to fight back." He got off the desk and began to stride up and down the room, and as he continued, it was in the tone of a professor lecturing to a class. "There are two reasons why it's important. One is to set the record straight, and the other, and perhaps more important, is to let them know you can't be kicked around. It makes them think twice before they tangle with you. Now, this Maltzman, he doesn't like you, David."

"How do you know he doesn't like me?"

"I can see it. I can see it when he talks to you. Your vibes don't harmonize."

"Vibes?"

"Vibrations. You know, everyone gives off vibrations like a—like a tuning fork, and when two people get together and their vibes don't match or harmonize, there's a discord."

"I see, and my vibrations don't match his?"

"To tell the truth. David, yours don't match most people's. You're not everybody's cup of tea. You're not an easy man to like, /can because of my training."

"Really? What training is that?"

Brooks showed astonishment. "Why my training in the theater, of course, an actor takes on the personality of the character he is playing. Right? So this gives him practice in understanding people, and remember. David, to understand is to forgive, even to like."

"I'll try to remember."

The sarcasm was lost on Brooks. "All right. So we can take it for granted that Maltzman would like to get rid of you, and for a man like Maltzman, to want is to act. So what else is new, you say. It comes with the territory. But this time. David, it's different." He stopped his pacing in front of the desk and looked down sympathetically at the rabbi. "You know what's kept you here all these years. David? I'll tell you. Inertia. Just plain inertia, the presidents and their good friends on the board may have wanted to get rid of you on occasion, but the congregation wouldn't go along. Why? Inertia. It was too much trouble. It meant argument and fighting and taking sides. But tha situation is different now. I’ve heard women say that the only way they'll ever get equality in the service is to get another rabbi first. See, it's the congregation, or at least the women in the congregation, that wants you out now. So, I ask you, what are you going to do?"

"I'm getting out of here." said the rabbi, pushing back his chair.

"You are?" Brooks was aghast.

"That's right. I'm taking the afternoon off. It's too nice to be indoors."

"Oh, for a minute there. I thought— Gosh. I'd go with you, but I’ve got to coach a couple of Bar Mitzvahs."