the accelerator all the way to the floor, turned the key, and miraculously the motor caught.
He grinned at the rabbi. “How about a drink at our place?”
“I’d love one. You drive.”
“All right.” Effortlessly Lanigan threaded the maze between oncoming and parked cars, and when he reached his house he ran the right wheels up on the sidewalk to obstruct as little of the road as possible. Opening the gate of his white picket fence he marched the rabbi up the walk and short flight of steps that led to the verandah. He shouted through the screen door, “We got some company, Gladys.”
“Coming,” his wife shouted back from inside, and a moment later appeared at the door. She was dressed in slacks and sweater and looked as though she had just finished helping her husband with the lawn. But her white hair was carefully combed and her makeup was fresh. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise, Rabbi Small,” she said and held out her hand. “You’ll join us in a drink? I was just fixing Manhattans.”
“That will do very nicely,” said the rabbi with a grin.
“I can’t help thinking,” said the rabbi, as she left to prepare them, “that on the few occasions I have called on you it always starts with a drink ”
“Spirits for the spiritual, Rabbi.”
“Yes, but when you dropped in on me, I always offered you tea.”
“At the rate I was coming around it was just as well,” said Lanigan. “Besides, I was usually on business, and I don’t drink during business hours.”
“Tell me, were you ever drunk?”
The chief stared at him. “Why, of course. Haven’t you ever been?”
The rabbi shook his head. “And didn’t Mrs. Lanigan mind?”
Chief Lanigan laughed. “Gladys has been kind of high herself on occasion. No, why would she mind? It isn’t as though I’ve ever been really blind drunk. Always it’s been on some special occasion where it’s kind of expected. Why? What are you getting at?”
“I have just been to see Mrs. Hirsh ”
“Ah-hah.”
“And I’m just trying to understand. Her husband was an alcoholic, and that’s something I haven’t had much experience with. We Jews don’t run to alcoholism.”
“That’s true, you don’t. I wonder why.”
The rabbi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. The Chinese and the Italians also have low incidences of alcoholism, yet none of us are teetotalers. As far as Jews are concerned, all our holidays and celebrations involve drinking. At the Passover feast, everyone is expected to drink at least four glasses of wine. Even the young children partake. It’s sweet, but the alcoholic content is there nonetheless. You can get drunk on it, but I can’t remember any Passover when anyone did. Maybe the very fact that we do not forbid it enables us to enjoy it in moderation. For us, it doesn’t carry the joys of forbidden fruits.”
“In France, I understand, they drink wine as freely as water, but they have a lot of alcoholism there.”
“That’s true. I don’t suppose there’s any single explanation. There are certain similarities among the three groups that do encourage speculation. All have a strong family tradition that might provide a sense of security other people may look for in alcohol. The Chinese, especially, feel about their elders somewhat as we do. You know, we have a saying that other people boast of the beauty of their women; we boast of our old men.”
“Well, that might apply to the Italians, too respect for elders, I mean, although they seem to lean more toward the mother than the father. But how does that help?”
“Simply that the embarrassment of being seen drunk might act as a deterrent in societies where elders are greatly revered.”
“Possible,” Lanigan said judiciously.
“But there’s another explanation and here we share a similarity with the Chinese. Their religion, like ours, emphasizes ethics, morals, and good behavior; and like us they attach less importance to faith than you
He grinned at the rabbi. “How about a drink at our place?”
“I’d love one. You drive.”
“All right.” Effortlessly Lanigan threaded the maze between oncoming and parked cars, and when he reached his house he ran the right wheels up on the sidewalk to obstruct as little of the road as possible. Opening the gate of his white picket fence he marched the rabbi up the walk and short flight of steps that led to the verandah. He shouted through the screen door, “We got some company, Gladys.”
“Coming,” his wife shouted back from inside, and a moment later appeared at the door. She was dressed in slacks and sweater and looked as though she had just finished helping her husband with the lawn. But her white hair was carefully combed and her makeup was fresh. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise, Rabbi Small,” she said and held out her hand. “You’ll join us in a drink? I was just fixing Manhattans.”
“That will do very nicely,” said the rabbi with a grin.
“I can’t help thinking,” said the rabbi, as she left to prepare them, “that on the few occasions I have called on you it always starts with a drink ”
“Spirits for the spiritual, Rabbi.”
“Yes, but when you dropped in on me, I always offered you tea.”
“At the rate I was coming around it was just as well,” said Lanigan. “Besides, I was usually on business, and I don’t drink during business hours.”
“Tell me, were you ever drunk?”
The chief stared at him. “Why, of course. Haven’t you ever been?”
The rabbi shook his head. “And didn’t Mrs. Lanigan mind?”
Chief Lanigan laughed. “Gladys has been kind of high herself on occasion. No, why would she mind? It isn’t as though I’ve ever been really blind drunk. Always it’s been on some special occasion where it’s kind of expected. Why? What are you getting at?”
“I have just been to see Mrs. Hirsh ”
“Ah-hah.”
“And I’m just trying to understand. Her husband was an alcoholic, and that’s something I haven’t had much experience with. We Jews don’t run to alcoholism.”
“That’s true, you don’t. I wonder why.”
The rabbi shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. The Chinese and the Italians also have low incidences of alcoholism, yet none of us are teetotalers. As far as Jews are concerned, all our holidays and celebrations involve drinking. At the Passover feast, everyone is expected to drink at least four glasses of wine. Even the young children partake. It’s sweet, but the alcoholic content is there nonetheless. You can get drunk on it, but I can’t remember any Passover when anyone did. Maybe the very fact that we do not forbid it enables us to enjoy it in moderation. For us, it doesn’t carry the joys of forbidden fruits.”
“In France, I understand, they drink wine as freely as water, but they have a lot of alcoholism there.”
“That’s true. I don’t suppose there’s any single explanation. There are certain similarities among the three groups that do encourage speculation. All have a strong family tradition that might provide a sense of security other people may look for in alcohol. The Chinese, especially, feel about their elders somewhat as we do. You know, we have a saying that other people boast of the beauty of their women; we boast of our old men.”
“Well, that might apply to the Italians, too respect for elders, I mean, although they seem to lean more toward the mother than the father. But how does that help?”
“Simply that the embarrassment of being seen drunk might act as a deterrent in societies where elders are greatly revered.”
“Possible,” Lanigan said judiciously.
“But there’s another explanation and here we share a similarity with the Chinese. Their religion, like ours, emphasizes ethics, morals, and good behavior; and like us they attach less importance to faith than you
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