Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home by Harry Kemelman Page A

drummed the table with his fingers. “I see. And did he indicate what his attitude would be in the event of this supposed – split?”
    “Yeah. A plague on both your houses.”
    “A plague on – ?”
    “He didn’t use those exact words, of course.” Stu showed his exasperation with his father’s literal-mindedness. “What he said was that if a split should take place, well, he wouldn’t care to serve any longer.”
    The corners of Gorfinkle’s mouth turned up now. “He shouldn’t have said that, not to you kids.”
    Stu was aware that his father was angry, but he resented the implication that he and his friends were not concerned. “What do you mean, ‘you kids’?”
    “I mean that he was trying to influence you, and he has no right to.”
    “Isn’t that what rabbis are supposed to do, influence people, especially kids?”
    “There’s legitimate influence, and there’s influence that’s strictly out of line.” said his father. “When the rabbi gets up in the pulpit and explains about our religion and its traditions, that’s legitimate. That’s what he gets paid for. But the rabbi is not supposed to interfere in temple politics. If he prefers one side to another, he’s supposed to keep it to himself. And when he urges his point of view on a bunch of kids who don’t know what’s involved, then he’s out of line. And I think I’m just going to have a little conference with him and tell him so.”
    “Look here.” said Stu, suddenly worried. “You can’t do that.”
    “And why can’t I?”
    “Because he’ll know it came from me.”
    “What do you suppose he told you for? If he didn’t think it would get back to me – and to the other parents?”
    “He did no such thing. He wouldn’t, not the rabbi. He’s straight.”
    “Straight? He’s just a guy who’s trying to keep a job.” Stu put down his half-eaten second bun and, pushing his chair back from the table, he rose, his face white with anger. “Yeah, you can go and wreck an organization, and that’s all right, an organization that’s just a sideline with you, a hobby that makes you feel like a big shot. You don’t even care about it enough to keep kosher or anything like that, but if someone whose whole life is involved in it tries to preserve it, then you got to rub him out.”
    “Finish your meal. Stu,” pleaded his mother.
    “Sit down.” ordered his father. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    But the young man flung away from the table.
    “Where are you going, Stu?” his mother called after him.
    “Out!”
    A moment later they heard the outer door bang.
    “Why do you always fight with him?” asked Mrs. Gorfinkle plaintively.
    “Because he’s an idiot.” He, too, rose from the table.
    “Where are you going?”
    “To make some telephone calls.”
    But the phone rang just as he reached for it. It was Ted Brennerman on the other end. “Ben? Ted. I got it via the grapevine that Paff and his gang are beginning to line up people.”
    “You mean to vote against my appointments? Naturally –”
    “No. Ben, not to try to outvote us – to pull out and start another temple.”
    “Where’d you get that from?”
    “Malcolm Marks. Paff called him.”
    “And I just found out that the rabbi has been shooting off his mouth to the kids to have them bring pressure on their parents. I think I’m beginning to understand. Look, we’ve got to have a meeting on this, and tonight. You got a list of the board members? Well, you know which ones are with us a hundred percent. Start calling them. You take the ones from A to M, and I’ll take the rest. We’ll meet here at my house, say around ten o’clock. That’ll give everybody plenty of time.”

Chapter Eighteen
    From the bureau drawer Moose Carter selected a pair of Argyle socks. Though it was Monday and nearly noon, he still wasn’t dressed. He sat on the edge of the bed as he drew them on absentmindedly while contemplating the immediate problem – money. In