“No question.”

“Once having made Hirsh a nominal member of the congregation in accordance with the regulations they themselves made up, they then have to treat his burial exactly as they would any other member’s.”

“That’s not only in the bylaws, but it’s in accordance with our tradition,” said Wasserman.

“Now, suppose sometime later evidence is adduced, incontrovertible evidence, that Hirsh had actually committed suicide-and such is not the case-then once again it becomes a decision entirely for me, and me alone, whether his presence compromises the cemetery. And if I were to decide that it did, it would be up to me, and me alone, to decide what measures of purification were necessary. But the Board chooses to follow Mr. Goralsky in this matter. Why? Is his smichagreater than mine? Did he perhaps receive his from the Vilna Gaon?”

The rabbi’s voice had risen, and his normally pale face showed the heat of his indignation. He sat back in his chair and smiled, a small, deprecatory smile. “I told Mr. Schwarz and Mr. Brown that I would forbid this desecration of Hirsh’s grave. Of course, in the present congregation-rabbi relationship, my ban has no force behind it. So when Mr. Brown called to say that the committee was going ahead anyway, I did the only thing I could do: I sent in my resignation.”

“You resigned!” Wasserman was aghast.

“You mean already, you’ve already sent it in?” said Becker.

The rabbi nodded. “When Brown hung up, I wrote out my resignation and dropped it in the mailbox.”

“But why, Rabbi, why?” Becker pleaded.

“I’ve just explained that.”

Wasserman was upset. “You could have called me. You could have discussed it with me, explained your position. I could have talked to Schwarz. I could have brought the matter up before the Board. I could-”

“How could I do that? This was between Brown and Schwarz and me. Could I come running to you to help me exercise my authority? Besides, what good would it have done? You would have split the congregation, and in the end the Board would have voted with Schwarz. As you yourself said, given the choice between an unknown’s corpse and a hundred-thousand-dollar building, is there any question which way the Board would vote?”

“And how does Mrs. Small feel about this?” asked Wasserman.

“Just a minute, Jacob,” interrupted Becker. “You say you sent this letter out Friday morning? So it must have been received no later than Saturday. If it was addressed to the president of the temple it would have been put in with the rest of the temple mail, and the corresponding secretary would have got it and showed it to Mort Schwarz. So why didn’t Schwarz have it read at the meeting?”

“That’s a good question, Becker.”

“It must mean that Schwarz just isn’t accepting it.”

“That could be,” said Wasserman slowly, “but I don’t think so.”

“You think he wanted to discuss it with the rabbi first?”

“That could also be, but I doubt it.”

“So how do you figure it?”

“I think he wants to talk it over with his group on the Board first, and get them all to agree. Then when he brings up the matter in the meeting, they’ll railroad it through just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

“But why, Jacob? You think he wants the rabbi out?”

“I don’t think he’ll let anything interfere with his new building.”

“Why is the building so important to him? We don’t really need it.”

“Because it’s a building, that’s why. It’s that progress they were talking about. It’s something he can point to, something solid and substantial. It’s a hundred- to a hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar property. It’s a value that he can say he brought into the temple organization. Now the present building came in during my administration.”

“I didn’t put up any buildings,” said Becker.

“The cemetery-that you bought. When they put up the central gate, your name will be on it. Schwarz wants something he can say, ‘This is what I did.’ What do you say, Rabbi?”

The rabbi, who had promised to say nothing about Schwarz’s personal involvement, nodded slowly. “Yes, I think it might be something like that.”

“Well, Rabbi,” said Wasserman, “it’s not going to be easy, but we’ll try our best.”

Outside, Becker said, “What really gets me is why he didn’t get in touch with us. We’re his friends, and we’re not the only ones. And he sure went out of his way to help me that time my partner Mel Bronstein was in all that bad trouble. So I, for one, sure owe him one mighty big favor.

“You know, the rabbi has changed in the few years he’s been here. I remember when he first came, he was so shy you could hardly hear him when he spoke. Now he lays it on the line like he’s in complete control of the situation.”

“That’s because he’s grown; he’s matured,” Wasserman said. “When he came here, he was fresh out of the seminary, a boy. He had ideas, and he was firm about them, but he said them so quietly no one really paid attention. But in these few years he’s got confidence, and he doesn’t mind asserting himself. I tell you, Becker, he’s got like a radar beam in his head.”

“What do you mean, radar beam?”

“It’s like the way an airplane flies at night. He’s got an instrument, the pilot, and it’s as if he’s flying an invisible line. The minute he goes off to one side or the other, the instrument gives out a beep. It’s like that with the rabbi. He’s got in his head the principles of the Jewish tradition. When the congregation goes off to one side or the other, the rabbi gets a warning, like a beep, and he knows we’re making a mistake.”

“Yeah, well, this time that beep may cause a crash landing.”

“Why?”

“Because the poor bugger is apt to lose his job. And his wife’s going to have a baby soon.”

“You might at least have told me,” said Miriam. “It was all I could do to restrain myself from coming in when I heard you tell Mr. Wasserman and Mr. Becker. I noticed when one of them asked how I felt about it, you were careful not to answer. Evidently they thought it was my concern.”

“I’m sorry, Miriam dear. It was foolish of me; I was wrong, but I didn’t want to distress you at this time. I thought that by today, by this morning, the whole affair would have been properly settled. It didn’t occur to me that Schwarz would suppress my letter.”

“And suppose he had read your letter and the Board had gone along with him?”

“I didn’t think they would have-not with me there to explain it.” He had been talking apologetically, but now his tone changed. “If they did, then I would have no choice but to resign. I could not remain here. The issue, as far as I’m concerned, is basic and fundamental. Either we are a religious group, a congregation, or we are nothing and I have no job here.”

“So what are you going to do now?”

He shrugged. “What can I do now? The matter is out of my hands. We can only hope that Wasserman and Becker can rally enough support-”

“You mean you’re going to sit with your hands folded and wait until the matter is resolved one way or the other?”

“What do you suggest?” He was nettled.

“You called this desecrating a grave. Very well, then you can appeal to the town authorities. You could talk to Mrs. Hirsh.”

He shook his head. “I could never do that. I am still an employee of the congregation, and if their elected representatives want to do something I disapprove of, I can’t protest to authorities outside.”

“It seems to me,” she said tartly, “that you’re a lot more concerned with your struggle with the Board than you are with Hirsh. You’ve dissociated yourself from their action, but if as you say it’s the desecration that really concerns you, what are you doing to prevent it?”

“Well-”

“The least you could do is prove what really happened.”