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

this building with fewer and fewer members? Your annual dues go up each year and the number of events we have has dwindled.”
    Rabbi Wass was obviously engaged in a conspiracy with Bess, a conspiracy which might well require that Lieberman sit through the discussions to respond to and defend against it or at least slow it down. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. After all it would take time, possibly years and years, to find a new location, raise money, start building.
    Ancient Ida Katzman, eighty-five, in her usual seat in the front row, put her hand on her cane and turned to examine the congregation. Her eyes met Lieberman’s. Ida Katzman, whose husband Mort had died almost twenty years earlier leaving her ten jewelry stores, was the congregation’s principle benefactor. Talk of fund raising was always, ultimately, directed at her, but Ida invariably looked around to see who might reasonably join her in her philanthropy. Lieberman was decidedly uncomfortable.
    â€œThe building committee has only this week reported to me,” said Rabbi Wass with a knowing smile, “that the Fourth Federal Savings Building on Dempster Street is available for purchase at a very reasonable figure, that it could be quickly and beautifully redesigned, and that a generous offer for the building in which we now sit has been made by the Korean Baptist Church Foundation. The money we could make on the sale of this building would more than cover the cost of purchase of the Fourth Federal Savings Building and most of the needed renovations.”
    There was a stir of conversation around the room. Most, but not all, sounded to Lieberman like approval.
    â€œAssuming we are to pursue this momentous change,” Rabbi Wass continued, “and I am well aware that it will take extensive discussion, though I remind you that the offer from the Korean Baptist Church and the price on the Fourth Federal Savings Building are subject to change if we do not move quickly, then we will need a fund-raising committee to deal with renovations to our new Dempster location. We will need a chair and …”
    Lieberman had had enough. In thirty years he had never said a word during or following a sermon, but Rabbi Wass was trying to railroad this thing through.
    Lieberman raised his hand, caught Wass’s eye, and began to rise. Ida Katzman strained to see what was going on.
    Before Lieberman could say anything, he felt a tug at his sleeve. He was certain it was Bess trying to get him to sit down and shut up. But this was the moment to act. He was Mr. Smith and Congress would listen. Rabbi Wass, who looked vaguely like a pudgy Claude Rains, would listen. The tug came again and Lieberman turned his head slightly.
    â€œMr. Lieberman, telephone,” said an old black man, who had been pulling his sleeve. Whitlock normally came into the sanctuary only to clean up. He seemed decidedly uncomfortable in front of the congregation, all of whom were looking directly at him.
    â€œMan says it’s emergency,” Whitlock repeated.
    â€œLisa,” said Bess. “Something’s happened to …”
    Lieberman and Bess followed Whitlock to the door and Lieberman was vaguely aware of Rabbi Wass saying. “Thank you. We have a renovation committee chair.”
    The congregation applauded.
    â€œMr. Lieberman,” Rabbi Wass said, “please feel free to call upon me or any member of the building committee to assist you.”
    Lieberman paused for an instant at the door of the sanctuary, turned to protest, and was pulled outside by Bess.
    The phone was in the rabbi’s office, a small wood-paneled box lined with shelves filled with heavy books. One window looked out on the parking lot. Lieberman picked up the phone and touched Bess’s hand.
    â€œLieberman,” he said.
    â€œShe’s dead, Abe,” came Hanrahan’s voice.
    Lieberman looked at his wife.
    â€œShe?” he repeated.
    â€œEstralda Valdez,”