'Then settle your differences some other way. But in the temple we shouldn't have two prominent members who they can't even stand to be in the same minyan. It's a shame.'
'Look, Jacob-'
'Did you ever think that's the real function of a temple in a community like his? It should be a place where Jews should settle their differences.' He beckoned the rabbi over. 'I was just saying to Ben here that the temple is a holy place, and all Jews who come here should be at peace with each other. Here they should make up their differences. Maybe that's more important for the temple than just a place to pray. What do you think?'
The young rabbi looked from one to the other uncertainly. He reddened. 'I'm afraid I can't agree, Mr. Wasserman,' he said. 'The temple is not really a holy place. The original one was, of course, but a community synagogue like ours is just a building. It's for prayer and study, and I suppose it is holy in the sense that anywhere a group of men gathers to pray is holy. But settling differences is not traditionally the function of the temple, but of the rabbi.'
Schwarz said nothing. He did not consider it good form for the young rabbi to contradict the president of the temple so openly. Wasserman was really his boss, besides being old enough to be his father. But Jacob did not seem to mind. His eyes twinkled and he even seemed pleased.
'So if two members of the temple quarrel, what would you suggest, rabbi?'
The young man smiled faintly. 'Well, in the old days I would have suggested a Din Torah.'
'What's that?' asked Schwarz.
'A hearing, a judgment,' the rabbi answered. 'That, incidentally, is one of the rabbi's main functions-to sit in judgment. In the old days, in the ghettos of Europe, the rabbi was hired not by the synagogue but by the town. And he was hired not to lead prayers or to supervise the synagogue, but to sit in judgment on cases that were brought to him, and to pass on questions of law.' 'How did he make his decisions?' asked Schwarz, interested in spite of himself.
'Like any judge, he would hear the case, sometimes alone, sometimes in conjunction with a pair of learned men from the village. He would ask questions, examine witnesses if necessary, and then on the basis of the Talmud, he would give his verdict.'
'I'm afraid that wouldn't help us much,' said Schwarz with a smile. 'This is about an automobile. I'm sure the Talmud doesn't deal with automobile cases.'
'The Talmud deals with everything,' said the rabbi flatly.
'But automobiles?'
'The Talmud doesn't mention automobiles, of course, but it does deal with such things as damages and responsibility. Particular situations differ from age to age, but the general principles remain the same.'
'So, Ben,' asked Wasserman, 'are you ready to submit your case for judgment?'
'It wouldn't bother me any. I don't mind telling my story to anybody. The more the better. I'd just as soon the whole congregation knew what a louse Abe Reich is.'
'No, I mean it seriously, Ben. You and Abe are both on the board of directors. You've both given I don't know how many hours of your time to the temple. Why not make use of the traditional Jewish way of settling an argument?'
Schwarz shrugged his shoulders. 'As far as I'm concerned…'
'How about you, rabbi? Would you be willing-' 'If Mr. Reich and Mr. Schwarz are both willing, I will hold a Din Torah.'
'You'll never get Abe Reich to come,' Schwarz said. 'I'll guarantee that Reich will be there,' said Wasserman.
Schwarz was interested now, even eager. 'All right, how do we go about it? When do you have this-this Din Torah, and where do you have it?'
'Is this evening all right? In my study?'
'Fine with me, rabbi. You see, what happened was that Abe Reich-'
'If I am to hear the case,' the rabbi asked gently, 'don't you think you ought to wait until Mr. Reich is present before you tell your story?'
'Oh sure, rabbi. I didn't mean-'
'Tonight, Mr. Schwarz.'
'I'll be there.'
The rabbi nodded and strolled away. Schwarz watched his retreating figure and then said, 'You know, Jacob, when you come right down to it, this is a kind of silly thing that I've agreed to do.'
'Why silly?'
'Because-because here I've agreed to what amounts to a regular trial.'
'So?'
'So who is the judge?' He nodded in the direction of the rabbi, moodily, noting the young man's ill-fitting suit, his rumpled hair, his dusty shoes. 'Look at him-a boy, like a college kid. I'm practically old enough to be his father, and I should let him try me? You know, Jacob, if that's what a rabbi is supposed to be-I mean, a kind of judge-then maybe Al Becker and some of the others who say we ought to have an older, more mature man, maybe they're right. Do you really think Abe Reich will agree to all this?' A sudden thought occurred to him. 'Say, Jacob, if Abe doesn't agree, I mean if he doesn't appear at the what-do-you-call-it, does that mean the case goes to me by default?'
'There's Reich now,' said Wasserman. 'We'll begin in a moment. And about tonight, don't worry; he'll be there.'
The rabbi's study was on the second floor, overlooking the large asphalt parking lot. Mr. Wasserman arrived as the rabbi drove up, and the two men went upstairs together.
'I didn't know you were planning to come,' said the rabbi.
'Schwarz began to get cold feet, so I said I would be present. Do you mind?'
'Not at all.'
'Tell me, rabbi,' Wasserman went on, 'have you ever done this before?'
'Held a Din Torah? Of course not. As a Conservative rabbi, how would I have been likely to? For that matter, in Orthodox congregations here in America, who thinks to go to the rabbi for Din Torah these days?'
'But then-'
The rabbi smiled. 'It will be all right, I assure you. I am not entirely unaware of what goes on in the community. I have heard rumors. The two men were always good friends and now something has come up to upset their friendship. My guess is that neither one is very happy about this quarrel and both are only too anxious to make up. Under the circumstances, I ought to be able to find some common ground between them.'
'I see,' said Wasserman, nodding. 'I was beginning to be a little worried. As you say, they were friends. And that for a long time. In all probability when the story comes out it will turn out to be the wives that are behind it. Ben's wife, Myra, she's a regular
'I know,' said the rabbi sadly. 'Only too well.' 'Schwarz is a weak man,' Wasserman went on, 'and in that household it's the wife who wears the pants. They used to be good neighbors, the Schwarzes and the Reichs, and then Ben Schwarz came into some money when his father died a couple of years ago. Come to think of it, it must have been a couple of years ago today, because he came to say Kaddish. They moved out to Grove Point and began to hobnob with the Beckers and the Pearlsteins-that crowd. I suspect that a good part of this is just Myra trying to break away from her old associations.'
'Well, we'll know soon enough,' said the rabbi. 'That must be one of them now.'
The front door banged and they heard steps on the stairs. The outer door opened and closed again and in came Ben Schwarz and, a moment later, Abe Reich. It was as though each had waited to see whether the other would show up. The rabbi motioned Schwarz to a seat at one side of the desk and Reich at the other.
Reich was a tall man, quite handsome, with a high forehead and iron-gray hair brushed back. There was a touch of the dandy about him. He wore a black suit with narrow lapels and side pockets aslant in the continental style. His trousers were slim and cuffless. He was the division sales manager of a national low-price shoe company and he had an air of dignity and executive decisiveness. He strove to hide his present embarrassment by looking indifferent.
Schwarz, too, was embarrassed, but he tried to pass off the whole matter as a joke, an elaborate gag his good friend Jake Wasserman had cooked up and which he was prepared to go along with, as a good guy.
