That Day the Rabbi Left Town (5 page)

“Didn't you like the one you left?”

“Oh, I liked it well enough, but I wasn't really comfortable there. They were an older congregation and …” He hesitated, and then in a more earnest tone, went on, “See, Rabbi, there's a difference between knowing something by studying it, and knowing it because you've grown up in it. My folks weren't the least bit religious. I mean, they never went to a temple or a synagogue, not even on the High Holidays. And I didn't even attend a Sunday School. I took a course in the History of Religion in my senior year in college because—because it was supposed to be a snap course. And it was, but I got terribly interested in Judaism as a result. And when I graduated I applied for admission to the Seminary. It took me seven years to get my degree there, but in dealing with my congregation I still felt like someone who has taken a Berlitz course talking to a native. See what I mean?”

“And here?”

“Well, this congregation is a lot younger, and I get the feeling that a lot of them have the same background I have. At least, that's the feeling I got when I met with the Board of Directors.”

“Really? From what was said, or—”

Selig laughed shortly. “More from the way they reacted to what I said. Like, I jog two or three times a week. Well, my old congregation, at least many of the members, were pretty upset if they saw me in shorts or a sweat suit. I mentioned to the Board here that I jog and a couple of them said they did, too, and maybe we could run together.”

“That would be Bob Kruger and Henry Myers, I imagine,” said Rabbi Small.

“I wouldn't know. I was introduced to all of them, of course, but I don't remember all of the names. Well, that was just one thing. There were other little hints that I got that suggested this was a different kind of congregation from my old one. When I was first contacted, for instance, I told them that if they hired me, that's all they'd get; that my wife would not be part of the deal. I mean she wouldn't be the traditional rebbetzin, going to all the Sisterhood and Hadassah meetings. She has her own career. She's a lawyer. It was the cause of some flak in my former congregation, but these guys just nodded, like it was only to be expected.”

“Will she be practicing here?” asked Rabbi Small. “Has she made arrangements with some local law office?”

“Not yet. See, she has to pass the Mass, bar exam in order to practice here. She's planning to take a bar review this year to prepare for it.”

“Well, I wish her luck.”

Later, after the Seligs had gone, Miriam asked, “What do you think of him, David?”

“I think he'll be popular with the congregation. He's just what they want. He's tall and good-looking, so the women will like him. And he's young, so the younger men who constitute the majority will feel he's one of them. Yes, he should do all right here. Probably a lot better than I did.”

A few days later, when the two rabbis met at the minyan, Rabbi Small asked, “Well, how do you like your new house?”

“It's fine. Yesterday, when it was so hot, we sat on the verandah, and it was delightfully cool. Oh, a funny thing happened. While we were sitting on the verandah, a man came walking up the driveway. I thought he was coming to see me, but he walked right on. So I hailed him, and when he didn't answer, I called out, ‘You're trespassing.' Without even stopping, he shouted back, ‘Right-of-way,' and went right on. So I called the agent that rented us the place and he said there might be a right-of-way to the beach; that he'd look it up.”

“It bothers you?”

“Well, if there is a right-of-way to the beach, not too many will be making use of it with the summer practically over. But I don't think I'd care to buy a place where people could come traipsing along with their kids and hampers and beach umbrellas.”

“That could be annoying, especially if you happen to be having a party outdoors. Your agent thinks there might be a reference to a right-of-way in a previous deed?”

“I guess so, but my wife says that if it's a right-of-way that has always been exercised, there might be no mention of it in any deed.”

“I could ask Hugh Lanigan. He'd know if anyone would.”

“Hugh Lanigan? Who's he?”

“He's the chief of police and he's lived here all his life.”

“Gee, I'd appreciate it if you could find out definitely one way or another.”

“I'll make a point of it.”

And because it occurred to Rabbi Small that if there was a legal right-of-way, it would certainly be likely to be used on a Saturday, and Rabbi Selig's Sabbath might be disturbed as a result, he made a point of taking a trip downtown to see Lanigan and ask about it.

“That's the old Clark estate,” said Lanigan. “Ezra Clark was a big-shot realtor in Boston. He bought the land from the old Boston Road all the way to Gardner's Cove on the ocean. Got it dirt cheap, too, because it was mostly ledge. He built a house on what is now Evans Road. It's now occupied by a man named. Miller, Professor Miller, I think. He teaches at your school and he was one of those I was going to ask about a ride for you. There was no street there at the time, but Clark chose that spot because there is some soil there so he could have a lawn. Then when his kids were grown and were having their friends come out, he put up another house on the top of the hill, the one your rabbi is in. Both houses were just summer shacks, but after the town put the street in, Evans Road, that is, he winterized them because he planned to sell them, I guess. See, the kids were grown now, and traveling—to Europe and elsewhere summers—and weren't using the place much. Well, of course, he still thought of it as one parcel of land even though one of the houses was now on Evans Road and the other on the old Boston Road. And he'd just walk across the land that was now part of the house on the hill if he wanted to take the bus in to Boston, or if he came from Boston. And the kids and their friends would walk across his land when they wanted to go down to the beach. When he sold one of the houses—to a fellow named Willoughby—it was assumed that he'd have access to the beach. So Willoughby gave him access to the bus stop at the foot of the driveway. And though both properties have changed hands a couple of times, it's been that way ever since.”

On his way downtown, the rabbi had circled to get a look at Rabbi Selig's house, so now he asked, “That hedge that runs alongside the driveway, that's the boundary of Rabbi Selig's lot?”

“No, it runs about three feet beyond the hedge, right to where the ledge drops off. By a sort of general agreement, it's that three-or four-foot strip that has become the right-of-way. That's not why the hedge was put up, though. It was put up because one of the Willoughby kids, while playing, roller-skating, I think, on that asphalt terrace at the end of the driveway, took a tumble off the ledge. Broke his leg, I remember. And that level land beyond the ledge, that was part of the property originally, but it was too narrow—it comes down to a point between Evans Road and the curve of the Boston Road—to build on, according to the zoning code, I mean. So Willoughby ceded it to the town, which cut his taxes a little and also put the burden of maintaining it on the town, cutting the grass and planting a few flowers, that sort of thing. But if your rabbi is worried about kids with sand pails and umbrellas traipsing across his land to the beach, tell him to forget it. It leads to Gardner's Cove, which is more pebbles than sand and is apt to be pretty much covered with seaweed most of the time.”

“I'm sure he'll be glad to hear it. He was quite concerned.”

“And you were concerned for him?”

“Him and the congregation. The last thing they need is for their rabbi to get into a hassle with their neighbors.”

Chapter 7

Rabbi Selig had driven around the town not only to acquaint himself with the location of the various buildings that might prove important to him—the town hall, the post office, the library, and the various churches—but also the route he might take for his morning jog. This last he had gone over very carefully, checking to see that it was fairly level all the way, but also to make sure that it did not involve heavily trafficked streets where he might be recognized and greeted and perhaps have to stop to talk. The route he finally decided on ran for two miles on a street that followed the shoreline to the public wharf. For a good part of the way, it ran parallel to Abbot Road, the main street, and was connected to it at several points by intersecting streets.

Monday morning, he tested it. He drove to what he decided would henceforth be his starting point, a couple of hundred yards beyond his driveway, parked his car, and began jogging easily with the intention of gradually increasing his pace. The total run, back and forth, would be just four miles as measured on the odometer of his car and would constitute what he thought would be a good workout for the day.

The weather was warm but with a slight breeze off the ocean, which kept him relatively cool. At one point he passed a large estate fenced in with a shoulder-high iron railing behind which a small white terrier barked at him as he approached and then ran alongside yapping hysterically until he passed the end of the fence.

When he finally reached the wharf, his turning point, he was perspiring nicely and reluctant to stop for fear of cooling off. But there was a lobster boat that had just docked, and he could not help watching as the catch was being unloaded.

A voice behind him said, “Maybe another drop in the price of lobster at the local restaurants.”

He turned, and saw a man of approximately his own age similarly dressed in jogging togs. He was tall, with shrewd eyes and a pointed chin and dark hair. The rabbi didn't want to start a conversation, but out of simple politeness he felt he had to answer. “That's a large catch, is it?”

“It sure is. Look how many in each trap. Of course, some of them are too small and will have to be thrown back in the water, but there are lots of big ones, and that makes for lower prices in the fish markets and the restaurants. But I don't suppose that would interest you particularly. You're the new rabbi, aren't you? Someone pointed you out the other day.”

Rabbi Selig nodded. “That's right, and no, the price of lobster doesn't concern me.”

“Well, me, I generally keep to kosher food because my folks were observant. No pork products, no butter on my bread when I'm having meat because, well, you know, your stomach can't help reflecting its early training even when you've outgrown the reasons for it. But somewhere along the line, I acquired a taste for lobster and I like it once in a while, but only when I eat out.”

“Are you a member of my congregation, Mr.—er—?”

“Baumgold,” the other said, and held out his hand.

They shook hands. “No, I'm not a member of any temple or synagogue. My folks were members of the place in Salem and I went to the Religious School there when I was a youngster, but I resented having to go after school when all the other kids were on the street playing. I stood it until my Bar Mitzvah and then I dropped the whole business entirely.” He chuckled. “My wife is not Jewish, but she's a lot more interested in it than I am. She teaches at Windermere College in Boston and she's planning to audit a course in Judaism there. Come to think of it, it's your predecessor here who'll be giving it.” He chuckled again. “Maybe she'll convert me.”

Rabbi Selig managed a smile. “Stranger things have happened,” he said, and then, “I've got to be getting back.”

“Which way do you go? Ocean Street? I could run with you part of the way. I cut off at Endicott.”

Rabbi Selig jogged every day that the weather permitted. He would start out a little after six, get home usually by a quarter to seven, shower, and drive to the temple in time for the morning service. The service lasted only about twenty minutes, so that even when he stopped to talk to one of his congregants, he was back at home by half past seven when he would have his breakfast.

More often than not, Baumgold would join him at Endicott Street and the two would run side by side to the wharf. There they would stop for a minute or two, ostensibly to remove a pebble from a shoe or to retie a lace or just to stare out at the harbor; Selig, more zealous, usually jogged in place. But they always managed to talk before starting back. On learning that Baumgold was a lawyer with an office in Salem, the rabbi remarked that his wife was also a lawyer.

“That so? With some local firm, or a Boston outfit?”

“She was with a large firm in Connecticut, but she has to pass the Massachusetts bar exam first before she can practice here,” said Rabbi Selig. “She is planning to take a bar review.”

“Oh yeah? She signed up for one yet? Because a fellow I know gives one right here in Salem. And he's good. He gives them right in his house and he only takes about a dozen at a time. If she's interested—”

“I'll mention it to her.”

He did mention it to his wife, and she said, “It's an idea. I've been asking around, and everyone said I'd have to go in to Boston. If I could get one in Salem, it would be a lot easier. Why don't you ask him to drop by so I could ask him about it? I'd also like to ask him about this trespasser and the right-of-way business.”

“Okay, next time I see him. But look here, it's a legal matter, isn't it? Couldn't you—”

“Oh, I know the law in general. It's the local practice I'm concerned with. It could be that the law is against it, but that it is common practice to ignore it. And if we go against the common practice on the ground that there is a law against it, we might get in bad with the locals, and that wouldn't be good for us, or for the congregation either.”

Chapter 8

Rabbi Selig was somewhat surprised to find that he had to tell Baumgold how to get to his house when he invited him to drop over for coffee some afternoon. “It's on the Boston Road,” he explained, “right where Barnard's Crossing adjoins Swampscott.”