The Tenth Song (12 page)

“Rabbi, an honor and a pleasure, please come in out of the cold.” Adam smiled, taking his wet umbrella. “We are so grateful you’ve made the effort to come out in this weather to visit us personally. It is very kind of you.”

“Oh, don’t mention it. Of course, my place is here with you. We have shared so many wonderful dinners and
simchas
in your lovely home. It is only right that I come now.”

“Can I take your coat?” Abigail asked politely.

“Thank you, thank you.” He slid his arms out of the silk-lined sleeves and handed it to her, then rubbed his hands together. “I guess winter has arrived. It’s a shame. I was hoping we’d have at least another week or two. Especially since this week started off so mildly.”

“That’s true. Only last Tuesday when I was doing my shopping in Coolidge Corner, I kept staring at people in shorts.”

Could that be true? Was it possible that joyous, carefree walk had been less than a week ago? She looked out of the window at the falling snow now blanketing the lawn. A few days and a new universe ago, she thought, startled, turning her attention back to the rabbi.

“Can I get you something? A hot drink? Coffee, tea?”

“Straight scotch, if you’ve got it.”

She tried not to show her surprise. “Of course. Adam, why don’t you take the rabbi into the library. I’ll join you both in a moment.”

She poured the drink. Then she sat the glass in her palm, holding it up to the light, studying the clear amber liquid. Impulsively, she threw back her head, gulping it down. She gasped and choked, her throat burning indignantly. Then she poured two more, carrying them carefully into the library. “Here, Rabbi. And here’s one for you, Adam. Rabbi’s orders.” She felt light-headed, almost gay. The two men laughed.

“
L’Chaim!
” they said, in unison, draining their glasses. The rabbi’s face turned a pale pink. Adam coughed.

Cradling the empty glass, the rabbi began: “Needless to say, Adam, we are all deeply saddened by what has happened. We share your heartache, and hope you will feel that we are family, and will be there for you.
Kol Yisrael Arevim Zeh la Zeh.
Every Jew is responsible for every other Jew. We are still a tribe in the desert surrounded by hostile forces. We survive only because we stand together against them.”

“Rabbi, I am touched. Thank you.” Adam’s eyes shone.

“Yes, it means a lot to us to know that you feel this way,” Abigail smiled, touched.

“Such a difficult, complicated business. And the media… How they blow things up, twist everything around! Yes, that’s the world we live in. And most people see the headlines, and become judge and jury. They blindly judge, with no facts…”

“Rabbi, I can’t tell you how comforting it is to hear you say these things! That is the truth. Exactly that.”

“I know, Adam. I know. And once they spread these terrible stories, there is no taking them back. That is why our sages were so stringent in forbidding slander and gossip. Like feathers let loose into the wind, lies and evil talk about a person can never be retrieved because we cannot know where the wind will take them. That is the society we live in. A society that relies on slander and gossip to sell newspapers and magazines. A multibillion-dollar business. Such an unjust world.” He shook his head mournfully.

“Yes.” Adam nodded, feeling slightly uncomfortable for a reason he couldn’t quite pin down. “Well, it means a lot to us that you’ve come personally,” Adam repeated, at a loss at what to say next.

“There was no question that I needed to come.” The rabbi waved his hand
dismissively, obviously in no rush to get to the point of his visit, if there was one.

“Can I get you another drink, Rabbi?” Abigail inquired.

“No. I am sure you are both very weary with all that is going on, so I don’t want to keep you.” He exhaled. “There is something very important I need to discuss with you both.”

Adam and Abigail caught each other’s eyes.

“Please, go on.”

“Yes, well let me start by telling you an old Chassidic tale my
rebbe
used to tell. Once there was a king who was very wealthy and lived in a large castle at the edge of the forest. The king had everything: gold and silver, fertile fields, mines for iron and copper and rare jewels. Only one thing was lacking: He had no children. One day, an old peasant came to the king’s castle. He said he was from a faraway place and begged for food. The king’s servants were unkind, mocking him and turning him away. But the king was on his balcony and overheard. He came down by himself and apologized to the stranger. He ordered his servants to feed him and give him clothing and a purse of gold coins to make up for his ill treatment. He asked for the stranger’s blessing. The stranger asked what kind of blessing the king wanted. ‘I am childless,’ the king informed him.

“ ‘And, so, what is it you wish?’ the peasant persisted. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ the king answered in surprise. ‘A child.’ ‘Most noble King, I will do as you ask,’ said the stranger, ‘but God does everything for a reason. Are you certain you wish to ask for something He has withheld from you?’ The king nodded. ‘Like Abraham, I too ask for a child.’

“ ‘So be it,’ said the stranger, offering his blessing. He quickly disappeared. And the following year, to everyone’s great joy, the queen had a child, a son.

“You can imagine how precious the child was to his parents and to the kingdom. He was pampered and spoiled. He learned to be cruel to the servants and mocked his parents and teachers. He was extravagant in his spending, and wasteful of the kingdom’s riches. The old king was heartbroken, fearing what would happen to his prosperous and happy kingdom when the young, wastrel prince took over. But, still, his love for his only child did not alter. One day, the old king took ill. He called in his servants and told them to take the prince for
a journey to a far kingdom, telling him that he was to meet his future bride there. ‘But when you cross over the mountains into the far country, strip the boy of his crown and fine clothes, give him sturdy workman’s garments and a bag of coins, and send him on his way. Only in this way will my kingdom be saved, and my son learn to be a man. And when I die, choose the wisest and best man in the realm to take my place.’ The courtiers were amazed: ‘This goes against all human feeling! How can you make such a sacrifice?’ And the king answered: ‘I am king. Shall I behave no better than a frog? For the frogs of Egypt were willing to jump into the Egyptians’ ovens to accomplish God’s will, sacrificing to help the nation of Israel be free and prosperous. I can do no less than the frogs.’ ”

Abigail and Adam, who had been listening with ever-growing perplexity, said nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“No, Rabbi. I’m afraid I don’t,” Adam said, shaking his head. “It’s been a long week.”

“Adam, you are a treasured member of our congregation. You and Abigail and the children are our family. But sometimes, even in families who love each other, decisions have to be made for the good of the family as a whole. Difficult decisions.”

“Difficult for whom, Rabbi?” Adam said, suddenly wary.

“There is a wave of anti-Semitism sweeping over the world. I mean, right here in America, that anti-Semitic black preacher and his hate sermons were broadcast all over America.”

“He was roundly denounced, Rabbi. By everyone,” Abigail pointed out.

“Yes. All positive signs. And in time, we all hope, anti-Semitism will once again be ridiculed and abhorred. But right now, that is not the case. There is suspicion and bad blood. There are some who want to view your situation as one more instance of a greedy Jew destroying America. We have been getting some vicious e-mails—all the synagogues in Boston have. Horrible threats.”

“I hadn’t heard about it!”

“We are trying to keep it quiet, Adam.”

“Rabbi, are you saying you want us to distance ourselves from the synagogue?”

He looked hurt. “Abigail, how can you even think such a thing? Of course not! All I wanted was to ask you if there is any way—of course you must consult with your lawyers—to make this go away? A plea bargain, perhaps? Sometimes, even the most innocent person has no choice in certain situations but to make compromises.”

They were both speechless.

“Let me understand this, Rabbi. Are you telling me to admit I did something wrong when I didn’t? To sacrifice myself for the greater good? To…”

“To jump into the oven with the frogs?” Abigail interrupted, furious.

He looked from him to her, hesitating. “What I’m asking of you is to be completely honest with yourself, Adam. We are all human. We all make mistakes. We can’t move forward until we recognize and atone for them.”

Abigail shot up. Adam reached out for her, putting a restraining hand over her arm. She shook it off. “I can’t believe that I sat in your synagogue for fifteen years! I can’t believe that I listened to all that stuff you said about righteousness, and faith, and courage, and helping one another. All that stuff about community, and tradition, and truth…”

“Believe me, I am here because I care about you and your family. Think of what this is going to do to your children, your grandchildren. They will be dragged through the mud. All of us will. Sometimes one has to forget one’s personal pride and think of the wider picture.”

“The moment Adam admits he is willing to negotiate with the FBI, it’s as much as admitting that he deliberately transferred money to terrorists who killed American soldiers. His life will be over, and so will mine. What do you think that will do for our children?”

“You’re being overemotional, Abigail. Be reasonable…”

Adam stood up. “Rabbi, what about integrity? What about honesty?”

“I think that’s exactly what I’m asking of you, Adam. Both of those things.”

Adam’s jaw flinched, then tightened. “Well, in that case, I think we have nothing left to talk about, Rabbi. I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Rabbi Prinzak’s distinguished face crumpled into the face of an ordinary middle-aged man who was five parts frightened, two parts offended, and three parts annoyed. “Adam…”

“No! This conversation is over. Thank you for sharing your rabbinical wisdom.
But, begging humbly to differ, I don’t think God—that is, the Jewish God I believe in—wants human sacrifices to appease the forces of evil, fanaticism, and prejudice. I think He’d want me to have some courage, to fight to clear my name if I am innocent, which I am. Totally. Thanks for asking. Abby, would you get our rabbi his coat and his umbrella. He’s leaving.”

“And Rabbi,” Abigail began.

The rabbi looked at her warily.

“When you first started talking about Jews sticking together, I had this image in my head of those emperor penguins, the ones that stand together huddled for warmth, withstanding any blizzard. But I see now you weren’t talking about that kind of community. You were talking about the Donner party, those pioneers in wagon trains on their way west, who got caught in the mountains during the winter; or those Argentinean soccer players whose plane crashed into the Andes, communities that survived by eating one another when the chips were down…”

“Never judge a man when he is suffering,” the rabbi said piously, rising and hurrying to the door. Abigail handed him his things. “I hope we can talk again soon. I hope you’ll reconsider. For your own sake, as well as for the community’s.”

“What community?” Abigail asked. “You mean all those people who are willing to feed me and eat my food Friday nights? People who collapse like a house of cards at the first puff of trouble? You don’t have to throw us out of your synagogue, Rabbi. We’re gone.”

When the rabbi left, they called Kayla on her new unlisted number. She was cheerful, noncommittal.

“Please don’t worry about me. That’s the last thing you need. I’m fine. Yes, I’m in touch with Seth. And I have every intention of making those interviews. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Seth came to see us. He said you two aren’t speaking.”

“He had no business doing that! Look, Mom, don’t you have enough problems without adopting mine?”

It was the Kayla she knew, Abigail thought, freezing at her daughter’s cold,
superior tone, the tone that made her feel like she didn’t know anything and had no right to an opinion.

“And Kayla, what about the engagement party?”

“I guess everyone’s decided to put it off, right? I don’t care anymore. Do what you want.”

“Well, I am happy to make it, but you and Seth have to decide,” Abigail answered, hating herself for the apologetic tone she always used when Kayla got on her high horse. I am afraid of her, she thought.

“Oh, all right. Just tell the caterer we are putting it off for the time being.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

Abigail forced herself not to hang up, to listen for the suffering she knew must be hiding behind this rancor. “Do you have the airline tickets to New York for your interviews?”

“It’s all arranged, Mom,” she answered, exasperated. “Just don’t nag me about it. Okay? I’m a big girl.”

She and Seth would work it out, Abigail told herself, putting down the phone. Besides, Kayla didn’t seem noticeably upset, although there was something in her tone which, under other circumstances, Abigail would have wanted to explore. But now she was happy to tell herself it was her imagination, and she shouldn’t go looking for trouble. She had enough of it coming to look for her.

9

Please note that Kayla and Seth’s engagement party has been postponed. Please keep a lookout for updated information.

Abigail read it over a number of times on her computer, wondering if she could do better. But anything she thought of changing, i.e., “It is with great sadness that we announce…” or “Due to an unexpected family illness… ,” just made things worse. She hit the send button, feeling as if she’d sent out a death notice.

Nobody would believe how fast a life can unravel, Abigail thought. Like a Nordic sweater of intricate and complicated design, one good tug was all you needed to turn it back into a ball of yarn.

The incessant ringing and ringing of the phone of the first few days was replaced by an eerie silence. Except for their children, reporters, lawyers, lawyers’ secretaries, and people wanting bills paid, everyone seemed to have forgotten about them. She reflected bitterly on the hundreds of expensive charity events she and Adam had attended, the endless wedding and Bar Mitzvah ceremonies they had endured, the time-consuming shopping, cooking, and cleaning they’d undertaken to host guests over the years. What had come of all those social investments? The account stood empty, just when she needed to cash
out. Except for a handful, like her best friend, Debra, and Joyce and Helen, and some of Adam’s clients, all their friends, admirers, and acquaintances seemed to have vanished, to be glimpsed from afar across the abyss of a street, or a parking lot, pretending not to see.