has worked in some places.'
'But not forever,' said Simon, alert, from next to Phryne.
'No, nothing works forever,' agreed Mr Abrahams.
'The only solution is Palestine,' said Simon.
'No, no, no,' said his father. 'What is there of the Holy Land now but mud and swamps and deserts and Turks? And Arabs? It is not ours any more. We were dispersed. We are exiles.'
'Then it is time we went home,' said Simon. 'Two thousand years wandering, it is enough. Already we have bought land there. Now that Zionism is established and we have a clear goal, we must go forward, purchase the land from the Arabs, and build a Promised Land again.'
'Palestine does not flow with milk and honey any more,' argued his father. 'It flows with dirty water and diseases. It is a dead land, and dead land cannot be resurrected. Besides, are we farmers? Can I milk a cow, turn a harrow, reap corn?'
'When they let us be farmers, we were,' protested Simon. 'There is the fruit-growing colony at Shepparton. And the settlers at Berwick have even their own Torah.'
'Enough,' scolded Mrs Abrahams. 'We invite an accomplished lady to dinner and what do we give her? Arguments about Zionism. She does not wish to hear them. Neither do I. We talk of other things,' she declared, and the conversation, dragged by the neck, was diverted into a discussion of art which lasted through three courses.
The food was delicious if, as the driver said, foreign. The entree was extremely good chicken bouillon, clear and salty. The roast was a conventional baron of beef, surrounded with crisp vegetables including roasted pumpkin and rich, garlicky wine sauce. Dessert was a collation of sliced exotic fruit: pineapple, mango, banana, pawpaw. Phryne was looking about for cream when she remembered a laborious chapter in Mr Goldman's book on the concept of kosher and the separation of milk dishes and flesh dishes, and accepted black coffee without a flicker.
The butler set an ashtray in front of Miss Fisher and she lit a gasper, complimenting her hostess on an excellent dinner. She drew in the smoke with pleasure. A really good dinner always made Phryne feel virtuous and benevolent, prone to love the whole human race.
The effect, regrettably, wore off fairly quickly.
Mr Abrahams lit a cigar, leaned back, and asked, 'And what has happened with the unfortunate Miss Lee?'
'I've spoken to her and I'm convinced she didn't do it. However, I don't know who did or why, and until I do Jack Robinson isn't going to let his prime suspect go free.' Phryne ran through her investigations so far, which had yielded remarkably little, and said, 'I need to know what is in those papers, and I need to know quickly. No one can read the Hebrew letters. Can you recommend a learned man for me?'
Husband and wife exchanged glances.
'Yes, well, yes, we know who might be able to read them, but ... he's a difficult man,' said Mr Abrahams carefully, consulting his wife with a waggle of one eyebrow.
She nodded and said slowly, 'Difficult, yes, but it is possible that Phryne could handle him. I don't think he's met anyone like her before, Bennie. Neither have I, hmm?'
'His name is Rabbi Elijah,' said Benjamin. 'He lives near you, in St Kilda. He is a very holy man, very learned, but ...'
'Difficult?' finished Phryne.
Mr Abrahams nodded ponderously 'Difficult.'
'I'll go and see him tomorrow. Can you give me a letter of introduction?'
'I don't think that would help. He is ...'
'Difficult,' conceded Simon. 'I can take you to him, but the only one of us Godless almost-gentiles he would speak to is Yossi Liebermann, and you had such a startling effect on him, Phryne ...'
'What happened to Yossi?' asked his father, and Simon described Yossi's abrupt exit from Mrs Grossman's house.
'Too much study, it turns the brain in the end, especially studying the Kabala, that is not meant for humans to understand,' commented Benjamin. 'Also of course he would not be comfortable in the presence of so beautiful and stylish a
'But not forever,' said Simon, alert, from next to Phryne.
'No, nothing works forever,' agreed Mr Abrahams.
'The only solution is Palestine,' said Simon.
'No, no, no,' said his father. 'What is there of the Holy Land now but mud and swamps and deserts and Turks? And Arabs? It is not ours any more. We were dispersed. We are exiles.'
'Then it is time we went home,' said Simon. 'Two thousand years wandering, it is enough. Already we have bought land there. Now that Zionism is established and we have a clear goal, we must go forward, purchase the land from the Arabs, and build a Promised Land again.'
'Palestine does not flow with milk and honey any more,' argued his father. 'It flows with dirty water and diseases. It is a dead land, and dead land cannot be resurrected. Besides, are we farmers? Can I milk a cow, turn a harrow, reap corn?'
'When they let us be farmers, we were,' protested Simon. 'There is the fruit-growing colony at Shepparton. And the settlers at Berwick have even their own Torah.'
'Enough,' scolded Mrs Abrahams. 'We invite an accomplished lady to dinner and what do we give her? Arguments about Zionism. She does not wish to hear them. Neither do I. We talk of other things,' she declared, and the conversation, dragged by the neck, was diverted into a discussion of art which lasted through three courses.
The food was delicious if, as the driver said, foreign. The entree was extremely good chicken bouillon, clear and salty. The roast was a conventional baron of beef, surrounded with crisp vegetables including roasted pumpkin and rich, garlicky wine sauce. Dessert was a collation of sliced exotic fruit: pineapple, mango, banana, pawpaw. Phryne was looking about for cream when she remembered a laborious chapter in Mr Goldman's book on the concept of kosher and the separation of milk dishes and flesh dishes, and accepted black coffee without a flicker.
The butler set an ashtray in front of Miss Fisher and she lit a gasper, complimenting her hostess on an excellent dinner. She drew in the smoke with pleasure. A really good dinner always made Phryne feel virtuous and benevolent, prone to love the whole human race.
The effect, regrettably, wore off fairly quickly.
Mr Abrahams lit a cigar, leaned back, and asked, 'And what has happened with the unfortunate Miss Lee?'
'I've spoken to her and I'm convinced she didn't do it. However, I don't know who did or why, and until I do Jack Robinson isn't going to let his prime suspect go free.' Phryne ran through her investigations so far, which had yielded remarkably little, and said, 'I need to know what is in those papers, and I need to know quickly. No one can read the Hebrew letters. Can you recommend a learned man for me?'
Husband and wife exchanged glances.
'Yes, well, yes, we know who might be able to read them, but ... he's a difficult man,' said Mr Abrahams carefully, consulting his wife with a waggle of one eyebrow.
She nodded and said slowly, 'Difficult, yes, but it is possible that Phryne could handle him. I don't think he's met anyone like her before, Bennie. Neither have I, hmm?'
'His name is Rabbi Elijah,' said Benjamin. 'He lives near you, in St Kilda. He is a very holy man, very learned, but ...'
'Difficult?' finished Phryne.
Mr Abrahams nodded ponderously 'Difficult.'
'I'll go and see him tomorrow. Can you give me a letter of introduction?'
'I don't think that would help. He is ...'
'Difficult,' conceded Simon. 'I can take you to him, but the only one of us Godless almost-gentiles he would speak to is Yossi Liebermann, and you had such a startling effect on him, Phryne ...'
'What happened to Yossi?' asked his father, and Simon described Yossi's abrupt exit from Mrs Grossman's house.
'Too much study, it turns the brain in the end, especially studying the Kabala, that is not meant for humans to understand,' commented Benjamin. 'Also of course he would not be comfortable in the presence of so beautiful and stylish a
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