“You’re spitting on your father’s grave!” Malka shouted.
The entire Luria family was up in arms. It was the first Sabbath evening after the official seven days of mourning had ended, and at Rachel’s insistence (“I rule this house now.”) Danny was allowed to attend.
Time had not stood still in the outside world, and the moment of Deborah’s ordination was fast approaching. She had therefore chosen this night as the first remotely appropriate occasion for her announcement that she was going to become a rabbi. Her elder sister’s reaction was predictable. Its vehemence was not.
Rav Moses’s death revealed a well of strength in Rachel that none of them had ever seen. It became clear that, despite the difference in their ages, her husband had held her in high esteem and relied greatly on her opinion.
The succession to the Silczer throne might still have been in dispute, but there was no question about who now held the authority in the Luria family. That night Danny saw Rachel grow from Mama to matriarch. She stood up and addressed her children.
“Listen to me, all of you, and listen good. There will be no words of hatred expressed in this house.”
Deborah leapt to her own defense. “Malka, I’ll bet that you didn’t know that we’re all descended from a female rabbi—”
“There’s no such thing!”
“Don’t flaunt your ignorance in public. Her name was Miriam Spira and she’s a glory to our heritage. All right, so maybe they didn’t call her ‘Rav Miriam.’ But she did teach the Law and now, five hundred years later, the Lurias are still known everywhere as scholars.”
“She’s right,” Danny interposed quietly but firmly. “She’s absolutely right.”
“You,” Malka shouted, “you and your sister. You’re both a disgrace to our family!”
At this point, still traumatized by his grandfather’s death and frightened by this new outburst of emotion, young Eli burst into tears. Danny picked him up to comfort him. “I don’t understand, Uncle Danny,” the little boy sobbed.
“You will some day,” Danny reassured his nephew, secretly relieved that he did not have to explain why some people would regard his mother’s wonderful accomplishment as a slap in the face to Almighty God.
The reaction of her sisters was so fierce that Deborah saw no point in informing them that she had all but accepted an out-of-town pulpit for the following year. The task she had taken on was especially challenging. The majority of her classmates did not feel they had the confidence to lead congregations on their own and were all seeking positions as copilots. They could thereby continue their education on the job—and learn from the senior rabbis’ mistakes.
With her superb credentials, Deborah could set near-impossible criteria and fill them all. Having faced the daunting assignment of ministering to the New England Diaspora—not to mention having watched her father nearly all her life—she did not hesitate to present herself for the post of Senior Rabbi in a relatively young and growing community.
She wanted to stay within driving distance of New York so Eli could see his grandmother and visit the favorite sites of his childhood—the park, the zoo, the botanical gardens.
There was no shortage of possibilities to do this, and Deborah found a pulpit that offered the luxury of living in sylvan Connecticut and yet an easy journey to New York City.
Congregation Beth Shalom in Old Saybrook was relatively new. Moreover, because of its proximity to Yale, the percentage of intellectuals was high. There were no religious day schools like the one Eli had been attending in New York; but Fairchild Academy, with its reputation for high academic standards and liberal philosophy, was only a fifteen-minute drive from the gray saltbox house Deborah rented on the placid shores of Long Island Sound.
The night she officially accepted the appointment, Deborah was so excited that she took Eli to their neighbor Uncle Danny’s to open a bottle of champagne. Somehow, her brother was far less enthusiastic than she had expected.
As soon as they were alone, Deborah confronted him.
“You’re right, Deborah, I’m not crazy about the idea,” he admitted. “I know there’s a famous song, ‘I Talk to the Trees,’ but I never heard of anybody who got an answer. You won’t like my saying this, but I think Old Saybrook is a picturesque cop-out.”
“From what?”
“From eligible men. Did you ever think of that when you applied?”
“Yes,” she answered candidly.
“So you want to be the first rabbi in history to take a vow of celibacy, huh?”
“Come on, Danny,” she protested, knowing in her heart he was right. “I haven’t done anything of the sort.”
“But you have,” said her brother shrewdly. “By choosing Old Saybrook you’re ipso facto putting yourself out of circulation.” He added in a wistful tone, “Besides, I’m gonna miss our heart-to-heart talks. You’re not just my sister, you’re my spiritual adviser.”
“There’s still the telephone.”
“C’mon, Deb, you know that’s not the same.”
“Well, you can come up for weekends,” she assured her brother affectionately. “And anyway, we’ve got two whole months of summer nights for you to unburden your heart.”
Unfortunately, in the ensuing weeks Danny somehow could still not summon the courage to confide in his sister what was preying on his mind and gnawing at his conscience.
For when the grateful congregation had cashed the check that had been their salvation, they were accepting money that was not really his to give.
Since he’d had less than a day to come up with such a vast sum, he had been unable to convert his own assets in time. Hence, he had, with an act of desperate computerized legerdemain, temporarily “borrowed” the amount from the coffers of McIntyre & Alleyn. To be sure, he’d paid it back in less than a week—with interest: But there was no escaping the fact that by the letter of the law the noble end did not justify the dishonest means.
And some day—sooner or later—there would be no escaping the consequences.