Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home by Harry Kemelman Read Free Book Online Page B

grow older.” said the rabbi.
    “Perhaps,” said Father Bennett, “although frankly, I’m hoping the church will grow more tolerant, too. On this matter of birth control, for instance, the committee the Pope set up to study the question, opinion was overwhelmingly in favor of permitting the use of the pill.”
    “But the Pope has come out against the pill.”
    “For the present, yes. But there’s a good chance one of these days he may change the doctrine.”
    The rabbi shook his head. “He can’t. He really can’t.”
    The priest smiled. “It’s not a dogma, you know, and the church is a very human institution.”
    “It’s also a very logical institution, and the question of birth control impinges on the sanctity of marriage, which is a dogma.”
    “And what is your position?”
    “Well, we regard monogamous marriage as a highly artificial institution which is nevertheless the best system we have for organizing society. It is like a legal contract, which can be broken by divorce in the event that it becomes impossible for the two principals to continue. But with you, marriage is a sacrament and marriages are made in heaven. You can’t permit divorce, because that would suggest that heaven had erred, and that is unthinkable. The best you can afford is annulment – a kind of legal fiction that it never happened.”
    They had left Hillel House and were strolling along the neat campus walk. Now they had arrived in front of the Dorfman home. “And how do you see birth control affecting our teaching on marriage?” asked Father Bennett.
    “It becomes a question of what the function of marriage is.” said the rabbi. “If it is procreation, then I suppose it makes sense to consider it the business of heaven. But it is hard to imagine heaven being greatly concerned with an institution that is largely intended for recreation. And that would be the effect if the use of the pill were condoned.”
    When Father Bennett had left them and the baby-sitter had departed and they were alone together. Miriam asked. “What got into you tonight. David? Were you deliberately baiting that nice Father Bennett?”
    He looked at her in surprise and then grinned. “I suppose it’s hardly the sort of discussion I would be likely to hold with Father Burke in Barnard’s Crossing. Somehow I feel freer here. Perhaps it’s the academic atmosphere. Do you think he was annoyed?”
    “I don’t know.” she answered. “If he was, he took it well.”
    Professor Richardson lived in an old Victorian house. A large, square vestibule was separated by sliding doors from the living room, at the other end of which was another pair of sliding doors, which led to the dining room. Both pairs of doors had been pushed back to form one huge L-shaped room. By nine Saturday night the party was in full swing. People were standing around in small groups sipping their drinks. At one end of the room several chairs were clustered around a small table where the rabbi and Mrs. Small were sitting with their host. Professor Richardson, a youngish-looking, athletic man who kept interrupting his conversation with the rabbi to jump up to greet some new arrival, whom he would bring over to present. Mrs. Richardson circulated among her guests with occasional hasty forays into the kitchen to replenish the supply of food and drinks.
    Invariably there were questions: “Why do you people wear that shawl thing with the fringed edges at your services?”
    “Do you have to have ten men in order to pray?”
    “Those dietary laws you people have – they were a health measure, weren’t they? Why do you need them now that we have modern methods of refrigeration?”
    “What’s being done to bring the synagogue up to date?”
    Most of the older people, faculty members, made a point of coming over; and they, too, asked questions, meaningless, polite questions, intended only to make conversation: “You from around here. Rabbi?”
    “How do you like our school?”
    “You