Acts of Faith Read Online Free PDF

Hogan.”
    “I’m not running anywhere,” Tim persisted bravely.
    The bus driver interrupted. “Hey, officer. I’ve got a schedule, y’know.”
    “Yeah, okay, okay.” The big man nodded and, keeping a firm grip on Tim’s arm, said, “We won’t be making any joyrides today.”
    The moment captor and captive descended, the bus door hissed closed and the vehicle pulled away from the curb, heading for a destination Tim now knew he would never reach.
    The cruelty of this encounter—the fleeting, tantalizing seconds that had robbed him of a lifelong goal—now evoked in him a feeling of sadness so profound that he began to sob.
    “Hey, take it easy, kid,” the police officer murmured in a more kindly voice. “What’d you try the escape act for, anyway? Did you misbehave or something?”
    Tim shook his head. Now he really did want to run away and never see the Delaneys again.
    Unfortunately, he saw his uncle all too soon. He had waited less than a half hour in the terminal’s police headquarters when Tuck appeared.
    “So, you little twerp,” he saluted Tim. “Thought you could pull a fast one on me, didja? Boy, are you dumb—you didn’t even look in the papers to see if the Knicks were playing in town.”
    He looked at the arresting officer. “Thanks for nabbing him, pal. Have you got a room where I can talk to the kid alone?”
    The black man nodded, indicating a small door in the rear. Tuck grabbed Tim by the elbow and started to pull him, but this time the boy protested.
    “No! No! I didn’t do anything—I didn’t.”
    “
I’ll
be the judge of that. Now you gotta take what’s coming to ya.”
    As they disappeared into the room, the policeman lit a cigarette and began to flick through the
Daily News.
Moments later he winced at sounds he recognized: the repeated slaps of a belt against bare buttocks, followed by a muffled groan as the truant child attempted manfully to deny the pain.

    On the subway home, Tim stood and gritted his teeth. He glared at his uncle and swore inwardly, I’ll kill you some day.

5

Daniel
    A s I walked along the snowy sidewalk, Bible in hand, I could distinguish shadows of the faithful coming home from morning Mass.
    It was Christmas morning. And I was doing what my ancestors had always done on this day—deliberately ignoring it. Which is why I was going to school. And the rest of my father’s followers had all gone to work. This unfestive action was meant as a lesson in itself: Remember, this is not
your
holiday.
    During the twilight of the year, our yeshivas and high schools also gave their students two weeks’ holiday—which they pointedly designated as merely “winter vacation.” To accentuate even further the difference between us and our gentile neighbors, school reopened for one day on December twenty-fifth. It was a gesture of defiance.
    Our teacher, Rabbi Schumann, dressed in his customary black suit and homburg hat, watched solemnly as we filed in and took our seats. He was an austere and demanding tyrant who often berated us when we made even the tiniest error.
    Like many of our other teachers, he had spent several years in a concentration camp, and pallor seemed ingrained in his features. In retrospect, I think his severity with us was a personal way of disguising the grief, andperhaps the guilt, he felt at having survived the Holocaust when so many had not.
    The Bible passages he had chosen that day all emphasized the otherness of our religion, and as the morning progressed, Rabbi Schumann grew increasingly upset. Finally, he closed his book and with a deep sigh, rose and transfixed us with his hollow, dark-ringed eyes.
    “This day, this awful, awful day is when
they
found the fuel for the torches that would burn us everywhere. In the centuries since our expulsion from the Holy Land, has there ever been a country that has not persecuted us in
his
name? And our own age has witnessed the ultimate horror—the Nazis with their ruthless efficiency—
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