The Rabbi

“There seem to be two courses,” he said, “though they both may be one. But I do not think they are.”

“Go on,” the Rabbi said.

“The first is to do these things to better ourselves; or to become … I don’t know how to say it, but the end, I think, is to become … the words I might use are ‘fuller,’ or ‘wiser,’ or ‘more happy’—I think that those are the words—through the things that we do.

“The second, for want of a better word, is ‘to serve God.’” He looked at the other man. “What do you think of that?”

“There are many ways to serve God,” the Rabbi said.

Frank’s face fell.

That night he thought about the Rabbi.

“Well, what was he but a man? An overworked man, out of goodness or, perhaps, if he was paid for it, out of necessity—but lump them together under one head and say, ‘from a sense of duty’—working as a prison chaplain.

“A tired man, of necessarily stock responses. He was sent not to ‘share my enlightenment’ but to enlighten me—which, in fact, he does. Through his unconcern. It is not to him, but to me, to reason,” he thought. “Why should he care for me at all?

“He, I am sure, in fact, has prejudice against a man he cannot but think guilty. Ah.” He nodded.

“Guilty and ‘Bad for the Jews.’ What could be worse for the Jews than I? What could be worse?

“And perhaps, to suffer in silence is to Sanctify the Name.

“What trash runs through my head,” he thought. “What nonsense.

“What effort there is in weaning oneself from the world. We can succeed for one second, then we are drawn back into it. Briefly, briefly, free of regret. Free of our anger. For a moment. And then drawn back into it. All those beasts …”

He thought he saw pictured before him the courtroom, and the faces of the reporters, transfixed in perfect completion. Perfect in their happiness, in their submission in the Tribe—as Levites assisting the sacrifice.

“You swine,” he thought. “You Christians.”