Lieberman's Folly by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online Page A

fooling around, would I have her meet me at Maish’s in the afternoon in front of the Alter Cockers?”
    Bess smiled and kissed him on the mouth as two couples moved past.
    The services were, as always, the major meditation of Abe Lieberman’s week. He had, in his life, gone through the usual range of emotions about religious services. For ten years, through his twenties, he had been a silent atheist, boycotting the services his father had made him attend as a boy. For another ten years, after he was married, he had toyed with becoming a Buddhist, a secret Buddhist but a Buddhist nonetheless. When Bess insisted that Lisa have religious training and tradition, Lieberman had gone to services when he couldn’t avoid it. The constant thanks to God were at first an irritant. Then, one Yom Kippur, he had had an insight. The services, he discovered, were a meditation, something he could get lost in, not greatly different from Buddhist meditation. The Hebrew words of praise, said by the congregation and Rabbi Wass and sung by Cantor Fried, were a mantra.
    Having made this discovery at the age of fifty, Lieberman had stopped fighting his tradition, though he was still not sure about what he made of the universe. But he was not only comfortable with services, he looked forward to them, to being lost in prayer, to sharing the ritual with others. He wasn’t sure whether he attributed this to his age or wisdom. He did not choose or need to explore the question. That it was comforting was sufficient.
    Rabbi Wass was the son of the original Rabbi Wass, who was himself the son of Rabbi Wass of the town of Kliesmer north of Kiev. He had been head of the congregation for nine years and was, in Lieberman’s opinion, a definite improvement over his father, though some thought the reverse. The old Rabbi Wass, who still appeared a few times a year from Florida to lead the congregation, was a constantly smiling man whose sermons almost always dealt with his infancy in Poland and childhood in New York City. He had endless stories about his mother’s compassion and his father’s wisdom. The stories never seemed to have a point and Lieberman had found himself at times wondering what it would be like to get the old Rabbi Wass into an interrogation room and work him into a confession, to break the spell of clichés and smiles. Shortly before old Rabbi Wass retired, Lieberman finally acknowledged to himself that the old Rabbi was not now and had never been particularly bright.
    Upon old Wass’s retirement, Lieberman and Bess had considered moving to Temple Beth Israel, whose rabbi was young, smart, and progressive and whose congregation included many families with small children, but loyalty prevailed, and even when the new Rabbi Wass revealed himself to be no brighter than his father, they stayed because it was familiar, because it was convenient, because they didn’t want to abandon their friends and they didn’t want to hurt the new rabbi.
    Rabbi Wass did have one saving grace. He was relevant. Israeli politics, Arab terrorism, racial relations, Jewish politicians at the local, state, and federal level were all material for Rabbi Wass’s sermons, and he always concluded them with a sincere call for the comments of his congregation. It was at this point that Abe Lieberman usually left the sanctuary and headed for the lobby to wait for Bess. To listen to the meanderings was more than he could bear.
    But tonight’s sermon was of special interest to Lieberman.
    â€œThe issue,” said the young Rabbi Wass, who was forty-eight years old, “is one our building committee has been exploring. The young have moved and are moving from our community. Can we continue to survive without new blood? Do we move where the Jewish families are moving or do we slowly fade and watch our numbers drop till we are in danger of losing even a morning minyan ? More questions upon questions. Can we afford to maintain