The Day the Rabbi Resigned by Harry Kemelman

you?”
    â€œI—I think so. Yes, I’m sure of it.”
    â€œWhat does he do?”
    â€œWhat’s he look like?”
    â€œWhat’s his name?”
    â€œWhen are we going to see him?”
    â€œWhy haven’t you invited him to have dinner with us so we can get a look at him?”
    â€œHe’s old-fashioned about these things. He feels that if he should come to dinner here with my parents, it’s like announcing our engagement.”
    â€œWell, what’s wrong with announcing your engagement if you’re serious?”
    â€œWhere’d you meet him?”
    â€œHow long have you known him?”
    â€œI met him when I was still at school and he was doing graduate work at Harvard. We met at a party and we went out together a few times. He didn’t have much time. He was working on his thesis and studying for his orals. And he didn’t have much money either, I suspect. Then I bumped into him in town one day, and he asked me to have dinner with him. And we’ve been seeing each other ever since.”
    â€œBut what does he do?” her father insisted.
    â€œHe’s a teacher,” she said defensively. “He’s a professor, an assistant professor of English at Windermere Christian.”
    â€œWindermere Christian?”
    â€œWindermere Christian is nonsectarian, you know. And his name is Mordecai Jacobs.”
    Further questioning elicited the information that right now he was uncertain of his future; and that while it had been hinted to him by the head of the department that he would in all probability get tenure at the end of the year, he’d prefer to wait until he had actually received it.
    â€œBut we want to see him,” her mother urged. “All right, I can understand about his reluctance to come to dinner here, sort of. But I have an idea. Why doesn’t he come to Ben’s Bar Mitzvah party Saturday night? The whole family will be here, but there’ll also be a lot of friends of the family, so his presence won’t be noticed.”
    â€œI had the same idea,” said Clara, “and I sent him an invitation. The trouble is that the Windermere faculty is having a dinner that same night, and it was intimated to him that he ought to be there. It’s going to be held at the Breverton Country Club. He thinks he might be able to get away early, but he can’t promise.”
    Later, alone with Clara in her bedroom, Mrs. Lerner asked, “What’s he like? Is he tall? Is he good-looking?”
    â€œHe is to me,” said Clara stoutly. “He’s not tall, but he’s not short either. Sort of medium. At least, I don’t have to tilt my head back to talk to him. And he’s not, you know, movie-actor handsome, but he’s nice-looking. He’s nice and warm and friendly, and fun to be with, and I’m going to marry him.”
    â€œHave you met his folks? Are they from around here?”
    â€œNo, he comes from a small town in Pennsylvania, so—”
    â€œBut he wants you to meet them, doesn’t he?”
    â€œSure, but where they live so far away, it will have to wait until we can arrange it.”
    â€œBut he’s right here,” Mrs. Lerner insisted, “so there’s no reason why we can’t meet him. Now look, Clara, I want you to tell him that he can come to see us Saturday night, no matter how late his faculty dinner ends. There’ll be people here even after midnight.”
    â€œAll right, I’ll tell him.”

15
    As the rabbi and Miriam dawdled over their second cup of coffee at breakfast, the mail came, and Miriam went to gather it up from the floor beneath the chute. As she came back to the table she said, “The usual junk mail: a couple of mail-order catalogues, pleas for donations from the local public broadcasting station and from—let’s see—from Support the Children, AIDS research, and the Heart Fund: a chance to win a