Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home by Harry Kemelman

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