Theology Today - Vol 48, No.4 - January 1992 - ARTICLE

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One Day the Rabbi Speculated

"When I got my S'michah--you call it ordination--I was not questioned on my beliefs and I took no oath of any sort" . "But faith, Rabbi. If you have faith in the majesty and glory of God " " Ah, but we don't. " "No faith?" The priest was shocked. "None that is enjoined upon us. It is not a requirement of our religion, as it is of yours. "

SERIOUS theological reflection is not confined to the field of academic study. One area of literature that has attracted theological attention is the modern detective story. G.K. Chesterton used his Father Brown stories to express his own religious convictions. Dorothy Sayers usually inserted profound theological issues in her Lord Peter Wimsey books. The current popular "Father Dowling" TV series is based on stories by Ralph Mclnernay. And for a growing and enthusiastic readership, Harry Kemelman's Rabbi Small detective stories provide not only good sleuthing but serious conversation between the rabbi and some of his Christian friends.

Harry Kemelman was born in Boston in 1908. He graduated from Boston University and received a master's degree from Harvard in 1931. For several years, he taught in the Boston public schools, but between 1947 and 1967 he published a series of short stories in Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine. These were gathered together and published in book form under the title The Nine Mile Walk (1967).

With the encouragement of his publisher, Kemelman began his series of Rabbi Small stories partly to give expression to his own religious and Jewish ideas, especially as contrasted to Christian views. The titles for the series: Friday the Rabbi Slept Late (I 964), Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry (1966), Sunday the Rabbi Stayed Home (1968), Monday the Rabbi Took Off (1972), Tuesday the Rabbi Saw Red (1973), Wednesday the Rabbi Got Wet (1976), Thursday the Rabbi Walked Out (1978), One Day the Rabbi Will Leave (1985), One Fine Day the Rabbi Bought a Cross (1987), and to these can be added a more formal essay,

Kenneth Barker is the minister of St. Andrews Presbyterian Church, Owen Sound, Ontario. He is a graduate of the University of British Columbia, Knox College, Toronto, and the University of Toronto Graduate School of Theology. During a pastorate in Montreal, he taught a course on "Newspaper Comics" in the English Department of John Abbott College. He is the author of a collection of chancel dramas, Dramatic Moments in the Life of Christ (1978), and for THEOLOGY TODAY he has written two articles, one relating to the comic strip Little Orphan Annie (July, 1978), and the other on church architecture and worship (April, 1984).

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Conversations with Rabbi Small (1981). Kemelman received the Best First Novel Award in 1965 and the Faith and Freedom Communications Award in 1967.

Permission to quote from the Rabbi Small series has been graciously granted by Harry Kemelman through the Scott Meredith Literary Agency, Inc., New York. Since the pagination of the novels differs according to the edition, references are made only to the chapter involved.

In the course of the Rabbi Small series, several provocative comparisons between Jewish and Christian beliefs are discussed. These provide an opportunity for both Jews and Christians to see themselves vis-a-vis each other. The rabbi speaks as a Jew, as is evident in the citations that follow, but the brief accompanying commentary represents a Christian's sometimes critical response.

"There is very little in the way of faith that is demanded of us. And that little, such as the existence of a single All-Powerful, All-Knowing, Ever-Present God, we do not forbid to be questioned. We merely recognize that it leads nowhere. But we have no articles of faith which must be subscribed to. For example, when I got my S'michah-you call it ordination-I was not questioned on my beliefs and I took no oath of any sort" (Friday, ch. 17).

He is even more daring in his dialogue with Father Bennett of the Newman Club:

"But faith, Rabbi. If you have faith in the majesty and glory of God "Ah, but we don't."

"No faith?" The priest was shocked.

"None that is enjoined upon us. It is not a requirement of our religion, as it is of yours. I suspect it's a kind of special talent that some have to a greater degree than others. Basically, our thinking is in line with the passage from Micah: 'What doth the Lord require of thee but to walk in His way?'" (Sunday, ch. 10).

Despite such a sweeping espousal of free thought, the rabbi nevertheless has his convictions. As Roger Epstein explains to his wife Samantha:

"From what I've seen of him, the rabbi isn't the sort of man you just tell what to do."

Samantha looked up from her glass. "You mean he's stubborn?"

"No-o, not exactly stubborn. Maybe it's just that he knows just what he believes. Most people don't, you know. And he isn't the sort to do something that he believes wrong" (Sunday, ch. 37).

Whether enshrined in creedal statement and secured by ordination vows or not, the rabbi has his share of religious belief.

The social ethic of Micah, mentioned above, is one. In the words of Small, "You can walk in His way and still have doubts of His existence. After all, you can't always control your thoughts" (Sunday, ch. 10). But

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why the unconditional affirmation of the one without the other? If one can doubt God's existence, one can surely doubt the practicality of Micah's ethic. Indeed, traditional morality, no less than traditional religious belief, has been seriously questioned in some modern skeptical circles.

Even more important, can Judaism be reduced to ethics? Rabbi Small comes perilously close to such an affirmation. In conversation with one of his own parishioners, Dr. Al Muntz, he explains:

"With us.... faith in the Christian sense is almost meaningless, since God is, by definition, unknowable. What does it mean to say I believe in what I don't know and can't know? Theoretically, Christianity has the same view of God, which is why His Son was born on earth and lived as a man. Because being a man, He could be known. But we don't share this belief. Our religion is a code of ethical behavior. The code of Moses, the Torah, is a set of rules and laws governing behavior. The prophets preached ethical behavior. And the rabbis whose discussion and debates form the Talmud were concerned with spelling out in meticulous detail just how the general rules of behavior were to be implemented" (Wednesday, ch. 49).

Even Muntz is puzzled, "You mean that's all there is to our religion? Only ethics?" (Wednesday, ch. 49). A variation on this general distinction is the claim by Rabbi Small that Christianity is essentially a mystical religion and Judaism an ethical religion. When pressed by Muntz to admit the existence of mysticism within Judaism, he is insistent that it is a fringe element.

"But there have been Jewish mystics, haven't there?" Muntz objected. "I was reading ."

"Oh yes," the rabbi interrupted impatiently. "The Essenes, the Dead Sea community, the Kabbalists, the Sabbatean movement, and I might add, Christianity, all were mystical movements in Judaism. But we sloughed them off, because from the point of view of traditional, central Judaism, they are errors. Only Chasidism has persisted, and that's because their mysticism is in addition to their adherence to traditional ethics and the Jewish customs which reflect and symbolize them" (Wednesday, ch. 49).

Yet, surely within mainstream Judaism itself, there is ample evidence that ethical behavior has been seen as the grateful response to God's prior mercy and grace, and not simply the intense legalism so fervently promoted by Small.

Though aberrations can be found in Christianity as well as in Judaism, Rabbi Small's description of Christianity as a mystical religion and Judaism as an ethical religion is overly simplistic. The Old Testament prophets were as much concerned about the proper worship of God as they were of social justice and personal integrity. And there is no major section of the New Testament that fails to place strong emphasis upon religious faith manifesting itself in high ethical living.

The importance of Jerusalem in the Jewish religion is also described by Rabbi Small as a strong article of belief. As he explains to Chief

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Lanigan:

"Our interest in the place is not accidentally historical. I mean, it is not significant merely because we happened to come from there, but rather because it is the particular place assigned to us by God."

"You believe that, Rabbi?"

The rabbi smiled. "I have to believe it. It's so large a part of our religious beliefs that if I doubted it, I'd have to doubt the rest. And if the rest were in doubt, our whole history would have been pointless" (Monday, ch. 6).

Again, one must question why possession of Jerusalem is so much less problematic than God. If the belief that Jerusalem is the special possession of Jews cannot be sustained on strictly historical grounds, as Rabbi Small acknowledges, how can it be sustained on the basis of God's gift without affirming the existence of that God with equal creedal conviction?

III

Closely allied to the affirmation of ethical standards, either in the field of personal or social ethics, is the question of guilt. How does one affirm moral standards without producing some form of guilt? Rabbi Small claims that Christianity, unlike Judaism, is guilt-ridden. In the course of discussing alcoholism with Chief Lanigan, he argues:

"Their [the Chinese] religion, like ours, emphasizes ethics, morals, and good behavior; and like us they attach less importance to faith than you Christians. This helps to keep us from being guilt-ridden."

"What's faith got to do with it?"

"In Christianity, it's the key to salvation. And faith is not easy to maintain at all times. To believe is to question. The very act of affirming implies a doubt."

"I don't get it."

"We don't have that much control of our minds. Thoughts come unbidden-unpleasant thoughts, awful thoughts-and if you believed that doubt could lead to damnation, you'd be apt to feel guilty a good part of the time. And one place you might find solace would be in alcohol. "I see, so you think one reason Jews don't become alcoholics is because they don't have guilt feelings?"

"It's a theory. I'm just speculating idly while waiting for a drink" (Saturday, ch. 14).

One can appreciate Lanigan's bewilderment. If Christians can become guilt-ridden by failing to believe without doubt, why would Jews not become guilt-ridden by failing to live without the full ethical integrity demanded by Micah? What seems to be missing is any discussion of the distinction between legitimate guilt (the guilt that people should feel with regard to the Nazi Holocaust, the pollution of the environment, or the molestation of children) and unfounded or psychopathic guilt. One can't deny that Christians have sometimes been responsible for encouraging, intentionally or unintentionally, guilt feelings over many picayune issues. But what about substantive moral issues? What about Micah's social ethic? Should people be

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made to feel guilty if they practice racial and sexual discrimination, beat their spouses, or exploit their neighbors?

Moreover, what about repentance and forgiveness? If people are inundated, as they often are these days, by all the evils that trouble our modern world but without any sense that repentance and forgiveness are available, how will they manage the massive guilt loads being imposed upon them? An ethical system that makes no provision for mercy, repentance, and forgiveness is doomed to produce unmanageable guilt even if it refuses to use the term. The rabbi is ambivalent on this issue. On the one hand, he is very critical of Jesus' call to turn the other cheek. This is expressed in an interesting response to a black picked up by Chief Lanigan for questioning:

Jenkins looked curiously from the rabbi to Lanigan. "Here's this guy been dumping on me all evening, and you wonder why I don't want to help get him home so his daddy won't know he'd been drinking. The way I felt it would have been better than a hootenany to see his old man skin him alive. I don't believe this turn the other cheek business you religious types go in for, Rabbi."

"Neither do we. That's Christian doctrine. We regard it as condoning sin."

"Oh yeah?" He nodded. "That's interesting."

"You preferred to get back at him?" Lanigan suggested (Sunday, ch. 49. See, also, Thursday, ch. 11).

On the other hand, Small can commend confession, repentance, and pardon. In an exchange with College President Macomber which ends the Tuesday mystery, he asks:

"This sin of leaking an exam-as a college president you regard it as unpardonable?"

"Well, no sin is unpardonable, I suppose," said Macomber.

"Then how would someone go about getting his sin pardoned?"

"I guess that's more in your province than mine, Rabbi. I suppose by confession-and repentance, and by promising not to repeat the offense." The rabbi brightened. "Well, isn't that what Fine has done?"

"When? Now?"

"Right here in this paper. 'I admit of my own free will'-that's confession. 'I regret this action'-that's repentance. 'And promise that I will not be guilty of a similar offense'-that's the third element" (Tuesday, ch. 53).

The questions remain. How can one talk of sin and repentance without acknowledging some form of guilt? And how can one avoid creating guilt feelings when one affirms any high moral standard? One suspects that on this issue Judaism and Christianity have both struggled with the ongoing tensions between justice and mercy, between sin and forgiveness. Each has traditionally affirmed high moral standards along with merciful care and the compassionate forgiveness of the penitent sinner.

III

Another major distinction between Judaism and Christianity, according to Rabbi Small, is the differing emphasis placed upon the family

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and the wider faith community. As the rabbi explains to Lanigan:

"Your religion is church oriented. It's built around the Mass and Communion and Confession. Our religion is primarily centered in the home. The Sabbath is celebrated in the home. The Passover Feast takes place in the home" (Thursday, ch. 1).

The emphasis upon the family unit within Judaism is surely to be commended. However, is the contrast as strong as Rabbi Small would suggest? Christianity, no less than Judaism, has placed a strong emphasis upon religious faith within the family unit and, in many instances, has encouraged family devotions on a regular basis. On the other hand, has not Judaism recognized the importance of a much wider worshiping community? Otherwise, why a temple or synagogue? Why a sense of identity as a Jewish people? But perhaps Christians need to admit that the traditional Jewish family entity stands as a rebuke against the increasing fragmentation of both the Christian and secular family in our day. Jewish family cohesion, as seen in Fiddler on the Roof, now in a popular Broadway revival, reminds Christians that pogroms, ghettos, and the Holocaust are powerful family incentives.

Since most Christians in Kemelman's novels are of Catholic persuasion, it is understandable that some of the contrasts drawn by Rabbi Small also exist within Christianity itself. This is particularly so with regard to the ordained ministry. The rabbi insists upon his professional freedom, even though he is paid by the congregation. As he explains to his wife Miriam,

"In the nature of things the rabbi is paid by a temple or synagogue because here in America it's the most practical way of compensating him for his work. But he is not the employee of the temple, just as a judge is compensated by the state but is still completely free to rule against it in an action" (Sunday, ch. 34).

One can imagine a dedicated Protestant using the same argument to defend the freedom of the pulpit. In a sharp exchange with President Ben Gorfinkle, who believes the rabbi should not "interfere in temple politics," Small stands his ground:

"I did not get my smicha from you," said the rabbi, also rising, "and you can't withdraw it. I am the rabbi of the Jewish community of Barnard's Crossing. The temple pays me, but I am not the creature of the temple, and I do not need a temple or synagogue to fulfill my function" (Sunday, ch. 22).

Christian clergy imagines here serious discussion of a sense of professional responsibility to a bishop or presbytery or professional association, even though the rabbi intimates to Howard Magnuson that the temple could be disciplined by a rabbinical court (Someday, ch. 12). But what does one do with clergy who wish to exercise absolute independence, be they a Jim Jones or a Jim Bakker? This is a problem

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common to both Judaism and Christianity. In this regard, one suspects that many Protestant ministers will be excused a smile at the remarks made to the Board of Directors by Abe Cason:

"They [our non-Jewish friends and neighbors] don't understand our method of engaging a rabbi or of firing him. They don't understand that twenty minutes after a rabbi lands in town, there's a pro-rabbi and an anti-rabbi party. They can't understand how come members of the congregation can become anti-rabbi just because they don't like the kind of hats his wife wears" (Saturday, ch. 16).

Rabbi Small also contends that Judaism and Christianity take substantially different attitudes to life after death. In conversation with Hugh Lanigan, he insists:

"You have a Heaven and a Hell that help to right any wrongs in life on this earth. Our people have only the one chance. Our good deeds must be done on this earth in this life. And since there is no one to share the burden with them or to intercede for them they must do it on their own."

"Don't you people believe in Heaven, or in life after death?"

"Not really," said the rabbi. "Our beliefs have been influenced by those around us, of course, as have yours. At times in our history concepts of a life after death have cropped up, but even then we saw them our own way. Life after death means for us that part of our life that lives on in our children, in the influence that survives us after death, and the memories people have of us" (Friday, ch. 17; see also Sunday, ch. 10).

By Wednesday, however, he admits to Lanigan that some Jews believe in resurrection to an afterlife.

"The aversion to cutting up the body, or to cremating it for that matter, is bound up with the idea that some Jews have of the resurrection that will take place when the Messiah comes. They mean resurrection of the body as well as of the spirit. So it's important that the whole body be there in the grave, ready to spring back to life" (Wednesday, ch. 17).

It would, of course, not be accurate to describe Christianity as heaven-oriented while Judaism is mostly earth-centered. But Christians, following the New Testament, the creeds of the church, the classical hymnody, and the liturgy (funeral and memorial services), have always accentuated eschatological hope whether as immortality of the soul, eternal life, or resurrection of the body-however these may be interpreted.

It is perhaps pertinent to observe here that, from a Christian perspective of life after death, the Jewish avoidance of this hope may have something to do with the somber and solemn character of Jewish burial customs and obituary notices in newspapers. Beyond that, if, for Jews, there is nothing after death, the Holocaust, which is horror enough, must seem religiously intolerable. Some Jews, indeed, argue that this massive massacre puts the ultimate question mark against religion of any kind.

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It would also be instructive in this connection to know whether Jews who have been involved in "near-death" experiences go through the same sequence as others who witness a bright and beckoning light at the end of a tunnel and a feeling of ecstasy that is frustrated by returning to earth. This is not to say that Christians have all the answers, or that there is anything like doctrinal consensus about this always elusive and mysterious eschatological hope.

One must admit that comparisons between Judaism and Christianity are difficult. Not only is there diversity within Christianity, there is diversity within Judaism. Rabbi Small comes of Orthodox roots but is a self-confessed Conservative. He ministers to a synagogue that includes Orthodox, Conservative, and Reform Jews. Indeed, much of the humor in the novels stems from the outlandishly secular attitudes of some of his people.

At times, Rabbi Small stretches to give a very liberal interpretation to Jewish faith, one obviously not shared by many devout Jews. At other times, he critiques some of the modern trends with traditional, if not conservative, commitment. A good example is the response he makes to the feminist movement. While teaching a course at Windemere Christian College, he touches a nerve:

"I might add for the benefit of any ardent exponent of Women's Liberation who may be among us that by rabbinic law, only one born of a Jewish mother-note, mother, not father-is a Jew."

"Who are you kidding, Rabbi?"

He was startled by the interruption from an attractive girl in the first row.

"I don't understand, Miss-er-"

"Goldstein. And that's Ms. Goldstein."

"I beg your pardon, Ms. Goldstein," said the rabbi gravely. "I should have known."

"I mean isn't that just a line Jewish male chauvinists hand women nowadays to hide their second class status?" She went on. "Women are brainwashed into thinking they're more important because they're the ones who decided whether the kid belongs to the Jewish race or nation or whatever it is. Terrific! When actually wasn't it because with Jews, a persecuted minority everywhere, there was greater certainty if you traced descent from the mother?"

"Oh, I see what you mean. Yes, I imagine that could be the rationale," he admitted.

A frosty smile flitted across her face. "And isn't it true that women have no place in the Jewish religion down to the present day? In some synagogues they even hide them behind a curtain up in the balcony."

"That's only in strictly Orthodox congregations."

"In our synagogue they sit on one side," Lillian Dushkin said.

"And they're not allowed to take part in the service," Ms. Goldstein added.

"That's not true, said the rabbi. "the service is a recitation of a series of

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prayers. Women who attend the service recite the prayers along with the men."

"Big deal," said Lillian Dushkin. "They're never called up to read or anything."

"They are in Reform temples," the rabbi corrected her (Tuesday, ch 6).

But when it comes to having full equality in the services in his own synagogue, the rabbi is hesitant.

"Now that we have women on the board," he [President Henry Maltzman] said, "there has been considerable pressure to have full equality in the service. And, of course, something like this can't be decided by a simple majority vote of the board. We'd have to have a referendum, or hold a general meeting, to decide on something as basic as that."

"I agree that it isn't anything that should be decided by the board alone," said the rabbi. "So why not hold a general meeting?"

"Because the other side won't abide by the vote," said Maltzman, showing annoyance. "Kaplan, who represents the Orthodox element, as much as told me that if we made the change and permitted women to be part of the minyan and called them to Reading and all the rest of it, he'd pull out. He and his group would leave the temple."

The rabbi nodded. "Yes, I expect he would. I don't know how many would go along with him, but if there were enough to get another synagogue started, I imagine others would follow."

"That's the way I see it," Maltzman agreed. "So it seems to me that this is the time to show some leadership. Now if the rabbi of the congregation were to push for equality, give sermons on it ."

"Don't count on me, Mr. Maltzman," said the rabbi quickly.

"You mean you're against it? But why?" Maltzman was honestly perplexed.

The rabbi smiled. "Put it down to a natural traditionalism, if you like. If we make so drastic a change, other effects follow, quite unforeseen effects, and some of them undesirable. It's a basic sociological law that you can't change just one thing."

"Then you mean you'd be opposed to any change at all?"

"No, I'm not opposed to change as such. But I'm opposed to unnecessary changes. It seems to me that this particular change is part of the present ferment of the Women's Lib movement, and as happens in the initial stages of any movement, you get a)] kinds of exaggerated reactions. A men's club must admit women, or it's sexist. You mustn't say, 'Chairman,' you now have to say 'Chairperson.' I was present at a lecture when the speaker used the phrase 'every man for himself.' He was challenged by a woman in the audience and had to say 'every man or woman for himself or herself.' Ridiculous!" (Thursday, ch. 2).

While this kind of rigidity sounds quaint today, we must remember that the Thursday novel was first published in 1978. Since then, women have been admitted to the rabbinate in Reform, and in some Conservative, congregations. Whether Harry Kemelman or Rabbi Small has moved with the times on this issue, we do not know. Most Protestant denominations, many long before 1978, have ordained women to the ministry. But, of course, the big exception, and a continuing, divisive one, is the Roman Catholic Church which, at the higher levels, even refuses to discuss the matter.

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Rabbi Small's views and interpretations of Jewish and Christian traditions can be criticized from both sides, but in this series of detective stories, he raises issues that Jews and Christians must face for themselves and in whatever dialogue they participate with each other.

Is there, we may wonder, something subtle and symbolic in the fact that these perennial theological issues are displayed for our reflection, not in conventional academic dress, but in the form of "detective" mysteries?