Read Online Friday the Rabbi Slept Late by Harry Kemelman - Free Book Online
Authors: Harry Kemelman
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minor peculiarities; we are a nation of priests, dedicated to God because He chose us.”
Wasserman nodded his head impatiently. “But it takes time, rabbi. These people who make up our congregation grew up during the period between the two World Wars. Most of them never went to a cheder or even a Sunday school. How do you think it was when I first tried to organize a temple? We had fifty Jewish families here at the time, and yet when old Mr. Levy died, just to get a minyan so his family could say Kaddish it was like pulling teeth. When we first started our temple, I went to see each and every Jewish family in Barnard’s Crossing. Some of them had arranged car pools to take their kids to Sunday school in Lynn; some had a teacher come out to give their boys instruction for a few months so they could hold a Bar Mitzvah, and they used to phone back and forth to make arrangements to deliver him to the home of his next pupil. My idea was to establish a Hebrew school first, and use the same building for services for the holidays. Some thought it would cost too much money, and others didn’t want their children to feel different by having them go to a special school in the afternoon.
“But little by little, I won them over. I got figures on costs, estimates, prices, plans, and then when we finally acquired a building, it was a wonderful thing. In the evenings, and Sundays, they used to come down the women in slacks, the men in dungarees, everybody working together, cleaning, fixing, painting. There were no cliques then, no parties. Everybody was interested and everybody worked together. They didn’t know very much, these young people. Most of them couldn’t even say their prayers in Hebrew, but the spirit was there.
“I remember our first High Holiday services. I borrowed a Scroll from the Lynn synagogue, and I was the leader and the reader, and I even gave a little sermon. For the Day of Atonement, I had a little help from the principal of the Hebrew school, but most of it I did myself. It was quite a day’s work, and on an empty stomach, too. I’m not a young man and I know my wife worried, but I never felt better in my life. It was a wonderful spirit we had in those years.”
“Then what happened?” asked the rabbi’s wife. Wasserman smiled wryly. “Then we grew. Jews really began to come to Barnard’s Crossing then. I like to think that our having: a school and a temple had something to do with it. When there were only fifty families everybody knew everybody else, differences of opinion could be hammered out in personal discussion. But when you have three hundred or more families, as we have now, it’s different. There are separate social groups now who don’t even know each other. You take Becker and his group, the Pearlsteins and the Korbs and the Feingolds, those who live on Grove Point, they keep to themselves. Becker is not a bad man, you understand. In fact, he’s a very fine man and all those I mentioned, they’re all fine people, but their point of view is different from yours and mine. From their point of view, the bigger, the more influential, the temple organization is, the better.”
“But they’re the ones that pay the piper, so I suppose that gives them the right to call the tune,” the rabbi remarked.
“The temple and the community are bigger than a few large contributors,” said Wasserman. “A temple ”
He was interrupted by the doorbell, and the rabbi went to answer it. It was Stanley.
“You been waiting so anxious for those books, rabbi,” he said, “that I thought I’d stop on my way home to tell you they came. It was a big wooden box, so I brought it up to your study and pried the lid off for you.”
The rabbi thanked him and returned to the living room. But he could barely conceal his excitement. “My books have come, Miriam.”
“I’m so glad, David.”
“You won’t mind if I go over to look through them?” Then he suddenly remembered his guest.
Wasserman nodded his head impatiently. “But it takes time, rabbi. These people who make up our congregation grew up during the period between the two World Wars. Most of them never went to a cheder or even a Sunday school. How do you think it was when I first tried to organize a temple? We had fifty Jewish families here at the time, and yet when old Mr. Levy died, just to get a minyan so his family could say Kaddish it was like pulling teeth. When we first started our temple, I went to see each and every Jewish family in Barnard’s Crossing. Some of them had arranged car pools to take their kids to Sunday school in Lynn; some had a teacher come out to give their boys instruction for a few months so they could hold a Bar Mitzvah, and they used to phone back and forth to make arrangements to deliver him to the home of his next pupil. My idea was to establish a Hebrew school first, and use the same building for services for the holidays. Some thought it would cost too much money, and others didn’t want their children to feel different by having them go to a special school in the afternoon.
“But little by little, I won them over. I got figures on costs, estimates, prices, plans, and then when we finally acquired a building, it was a wonderful thing. In the evenings, and Sundays, they used to come down the women in slacks, the men in dungarees, everybody working together, cleaning, fixing, painting. There were no cliques then, no parties. Everybody was interested and everybody worked together. They didn’t know very much, these young people. Most of them couldn’t even say their prayers in Hebrew, but the spirit was there.
“I remember our first High Holiday services. I borrowed a Scroll from the Lynn synagogue, and I was the leader and the reader, and I even gave a little sermon. For the Day of Atonement, I had a little help from the principal of the Hebrew school, but most of it I did myself. It was quite a day’s work, and on an empty stomach, too. I’m not a young man and I know my wife worried, but I never felt better in my life. It was a wonderful spirit we had in those years.”
“Then what happened?” asked the rabbi’s wife. Wasserman smiled wryly. “Then we grew. Jews really began to come to Barnard’s Crossing then. I like to think that our having: a school and a temple had something to do with it. When there were only fifty families everybody knew everybody else, differences of opinion could be hammered out in personal discussion. But when you have three hundred or more families, as we have now, it’s different. There are separate social groups now who don’t even know each other. You take Becker and his group, the Pearlsteins and the Korbs and the Feingolds, those who live on Grove Point, they keep to themselves. Becker is not a bad man, you understand. In fact, he’s a very fine man and all those I mentioned, they’re all fine people, but their point of view is different from yours and mine. From their point of view, the bigger, the more influential, the temple organization is, the better.”
“But they’re the ones that pay the piper, so I suppose that gives them the right to call the tune,” the rabbi remarked.
“The temple and the community are bigger than a few large contributors,” said Wasserman. “A temple ”
He was interrupted by the doorbell, and the rabbi went to answer it. It was Stanley.
“You been waiting so anxious for those books, rabbi,” he said, “that I thought I’d stop on my way home to tell you they came. It was a big wooden box, so I brought it up to your study and pried the lid off for you.”
The rabbi thanked him and returned to the living room. But he could barely conceal his excitement. “My books have come, Miriam.”
“I’m so glad, David.”
“You won’t mind if I go over to look through them?” Then he suddenly remembered his guest.
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