Read Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry for Free Online

its wild mop of hair seemed to nod in agreement. “This needs looking into, I should say,” and suiting the action to the word, he carefully opened the package and extracted a bottle. “A fifth of vodka no less, and of the right brand.” He held the enclosed card under the dashboard light and read, ‘To Charlie Levenson for a Happy Birthday.’ “Very touching, don’t you think, Einstein, old friend? I am strongly tempted to drink a toast to our friend and neighbor Charlie Levenson. But first let us consider. It’s been six months since we’ve had a drink. What’s that you say? Nearer eight months? Well, perhaps you’re right. Either way, it’s a long time between drinks. On the one hand, it’s a shame to spoil the record, but on the other hand, only a lout would refuse to drink good old Charlie’s health. Did I hear you say something? You say I don’t know when to stop once I begin? You’ve got a point there, old friend, but how do we know unless we test ourselves every now and then? After all, we didn’t ask for this; we didn’t go looking for it. We were just minding our business, setting out for the lab, and this comes along, out of the blue, you might say. Now I’d call that an omen. And on this night, particularly. And suppose we do overdo it a little, what’s the harm? Tomorrow is Saturday and we can sleep as late as we like. You say Levenson will miss his bottle? Why, that’s the beauty of the thing, old friend. Charlie’s off to temple and won’t be home till late. Being it’s Yom Kippur he won’t – or he shouldn’t – feel like taking a drink. Then tomorrow before he gets back from services all we have to do is buy another bottle and he’ll never know. I say, we should vote on it. All in favor say Aye. All opposed Nay – The Ayes have it.”
    He unscrewed the cap and took an experimental nip. “Just as I said, Einstein, old friend, it’s the right brand.” He took another drink and then recapped the bottle. “Yes, sir, it seems to be clearing the cobwebs out of the brain. And tonight of all nights we need a clear head.” He set the car in motion.
    Several times along the way he stopped to toast Charlie’s good health. Behind him, he heard the loud blare of an automobile horn. He swung his car to the right; the wheel grated against the road divider and he swung left. Once again there was the blare of a horn, and a car swept around him and hung alongside for a moment as the driver cursed at him.
    “You know what, Einstein? Traffic here on Route 128 is moving just a little too fast for us. The old brain is clear as a bell, but the reflexes are a bit slow. What say we stop for a while? There’s a turnout ahead just a couple of hundred yards before we get to the lab where we can let things kind of catch up.”
    He pulled to a stop. He fumbled clumsily with the wrapper of the bottle. Then, in annoyance, he ripped off the wrapping paper and cardboard box and with a lordly gesture threw them out the window. “The big trick is to time yourself. You time yourself, and there’s no problem.” He turned off the motor and headlights. “Better wait half an hour or so, grab a little shut-eye maybe, and then go on to the lab. You mark my words, Einstein, old friend, if past experience is any guide, when I wake up the old brain will be ticking like a regular computer.”

Chapter Six
    The Smalls arrived at the temple just in time. The rabbi left Miriam to make her way through the front door where stragglers were still coming in, and hurried to a side door that led to the vestry and the narrow staircase to the enrobing room adjoining the altar. The room had become something of a catchall for old prayer books, florists’ baskets used to decorate the altar, piles of cantorial music, and two coils of BX cable left by the electricians when the building was constructed some three years before. The rabbi hung up his topcoat and hat and put on his skullcap and the white robe which was the conservative