Chapter 31

Soon thereafter, as the last men were coming back from the war, Gershon assumed concerns about national security had loosened and made one last attempt to find out where the Navy had shipped his nephew over two years ago. It surprised him that the information was still classified. He would have to return to the Community Board and petition them to intervene on his behalf.

Stepanic, reclining at the head of a long polished table, was now the board’s chairman. Unlike Gershon, who’d continued to get thinner, his old nemesis had grown more substantial. He dressed in style, broad chest nearly popping the buttons on his silk vest, in contrast to Gershon’s own flapping suit jacket and sagging trousers. Only Stepanic’s worm-like lips looked the same as they had over twenty years ago, the first time he’d relished having power over Gershon’s fate.

Those lips now smiled with confidence. “We meet again. Still trying to find your son?”

“My nephew.”

“Ah, yes. You only had girls. I have four sons who served bravely and came home alive.”

Gershon let the remark pass and explained his new petition to track down where Shmuel was first deployed and whether he was later transferred to the Eastern Front. He needed the board to approve his request before it could work its way through channels to the Navy’s top command.

“I don’t understand why the information can’t be released at this point,” one of the board members said, “but we don’t make the rules. The petition seems reasonable to me.”

Another disagreed. “We’ve reviewed a score of similar requests in the last month alone, and we can’t grant them all without annoying the higher ups. We’ve got to debate each one on its merits. Some parents are searching for a second or third son after losing their other boys.”

Gershon tried to maintain control in front of Stepanic, but his voice choked as he pleaded with the divided board. “If only you could see the boy’s mother. She’s aged thirty years in less than three.” He described Rivka’s worn face, all the while picturing Avram’s gloating one.

Stepanic had remained silent, but now he leaned forward. Gershon was sure he’d lost until Stepanic looked each board member in the eye and said, “The poor woman’s been waiting a long time to find out what happened to her son. Let the other requests take their place in line.”

Gershon stepped outside while they voted. Before he could decide whether to eavesdrop or pace up and down the hall, Stepanic called him back in to announce the board’s unanimous approval. Moreover, Stepanic would urge that the matter be expedited and that the Navy write to him, instead of sending a form letter to the family. He intended to relay the news to Gershon in person. When all the men said they’d light votive candles for his nephew’s safe return, Gershon didn’t question whose God they would pray to. Stunned, he simply thanked them for their help.

Stepanic stepped out from behind the table to pump his hand. “Whatever the outcome, you’ll be able to rest in peace.” He licked his swollen lips like the serpent who tricked Eve in the Garden of Eden. Gershon wondered what Stepanic was plotting. Was he flaunting his power? Or was it just possible that, having grown fat and happy, he could embody the Talmudic ideal of generosity, giving with no expectation of reward? Gershon’s head ached from debating with himself. He put on his hat to drown out the cacophony of inner voices.

Heading home, Gershon reflected that the Psalms exalted qavah, patience. We are told to be still and neither fret about those who prosper nor those who do evil, for the Lord holds all to account. At the same time, Judaism wasn‘t satisfied with mere belief; it also demanded action. Gershon had done all he could. Now he had to be still and wait.