Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry Read Online Free PDF Page B

public mourning. No Kaddish would be recited in your memory. According to strict interpretation of the Law, you might be buried in a corner off to one side of the cemetery – you couldn’t even be placed beside your dear wife – and your children and grandchildren would be shamed –”
    The old man held up a thin, blue-veined hand. “Look, Rabbi, in all my life I never did anybody any harm. I never cheated; I never bore false witness. Fifty years I’m in business for myself and show me one person who can say I took from him a penny. So I’m sure God will take care of me and not let me die tonight.”
    The rabbi couldn’t resist the gambit. “If you are on such good terms with the Almighty, Mr. Goralsky, then why did He let you get sick in the first place?”
    The old man smiled as though his opponent had fallen into the trap he had set. “Such a question! If He didn’t let me get sick, so how could He make me well?”
    “He can stop you like that every time,” said the son.
    “Don’t worry, Rabbi,” said the old man. “I’m not going to die tonight. Benjamin, send in the woman. You better go now; you’ll be late for Kol Nidre.” He closed his eyes in dismissal.
    As the two men walked down the stairs, the rabbi said, “I’m afraid I wasn’t of much help.” He looked at his host curiously. “But I would have thought he would listen to you –”
    “When does a parent ever listen to a child, Rabbi?” asked Goralsky bitterly. “To him, I’m just a boy. He’s proud when other people say nice things about me. Last year, I was written up in Time magazine and he carried the clipping in his wallet and pulled it out and showed it to people whenever my name was mentioned. And if it wasn’t mentioned, he’d bring it up himself: ‘Did you read about my son, Benjamin?’ But when it comes to taking my advice, that’s another story. In matters of business, at least, he listens; but when it’s his own personal health – talk to the wall.”
    “Has he been well all along?”
    “He’s never sick. He doesn’t see a doctor from one year to the next. That’s the trouble: he thinks he is indestructible and when something like this happens, he won’t do anything about it.”
    “He must be pretty old.”
    “Eighty-four,” said Goralsky proudly.
    “Then maybe he’s right,” suggested the rabbi. “After all, you can’t argue with success. If, at his age, he is well and never sees a doctor, then he’s probably learned instinctively how to take care of himself.”
    “Maybe, Rabbi, maybe. Well, thanks anyway for trying. I’ll drive you and Mrs. Small to the temple now.”
    “Aren’t you coming to services?”
    “No, I think tonight to be on the safe side I better hang around here.”

Chapter Five
    A light panel truck bearing the sign Jackson’s Liquor Mart drove up to the Levensons across the street from the Hirsh house. The driver got out and stood at the front door with a small parcel under his arm. He pushed the doorbell and waited. He rang again, his fingers drumming a nervous tattoo on the aluminum cover of his voucher book. Just then he saw Isaac Hirsh leave his house and start for his car. He hailed him and walked over.
    “You live in that house, Mister?”
    “That’s right.”
    “You know” – he peered at the name on the package – “Charles Levenson?”
    “Sure. That’s his house right there.”
    “Yeah, I know.” Suddenly the driver was exasperated. “Look, this is my last delivery today and I’m running late. And tomorrow all my deliveries are on the other side of town. There’s no one home, and I hate to leave this where anyone can get at it, if you know what I mean. Would you mind taking this and giving it to Mr. Levenson when you see him tomorrow?”
    “Why not?”
    “Fine. Sign here.”
     
    Tweaking the belly of the toy troll suspended from the rearview mirror, Hirsh set it dancing on its elastic. “Wasn’t that a gurgle we heard, Herr Einstein?” The little figure with