Free Saturday the Rabbi Went Hungry by Harry Kemelman Page A

architecture. It’s a little better now, I understand, but do you know what chance a Jew had of getting placed with one of the big firms of architects? Just exactly zero, and it wouldn’t make any difference if he were top man in his class, yes, and was willing to start as a draftsman.”
    “I had no idea it was that bad,” said Miriam.
    “You bet, and it was the time of the Depression, too, which didn’t help any. But you struggle and somehow or other you serve your apprenticeship and you get your experience, and you finally take the plunge and open up your own office. You’re full of ideas and artistic ideals. You want to build something worthwhile, that people will see, that might be written up and pictured in architectural journals. You’re trying to make a reputation. And what do you get? A block of stores, a job of redesigning standard plans for a bunch of cracker boxes in a cheap real-estate development like Colonial Village, a factory, a warehouse. And it can’t be experimental because then your client starts to worry whether the bank will advance the mortgage money, or whether it won’t detract from the price if he should want to sell.”
    “But isn’t that true of many people?” the rabbi asked gently. “They have to compromise to make a living.”
    “Right, Rabbi. It’s a living and you’re not hungry anymore, but suddenly you’re fifty years old. You’re not a youngster anymore and you’re drawn a lot of plans in your time, and you’re not satisfied. And then your chance comes along. Your own community is going to build a temple. In the trade journals you’ve seen pictures of big new projects, some of them designed by people you went to school with and didn’t think much of. Now at last you’ve got a chance to show what you can do. And what happens? They bring in a phony, and because he’s associated with a well-known firm that has built a couple of churches he gets the job.”
    “Well –”
    “But now I’m president of the temple, and that makes me chairman ex officio of the Building Committee and I will not be denied.” And he slammed his hand down on the table.
    The rabbi was embarrassed by the president’s emotion. “But a building like that, I would imagine would cost a lot of money.”
    “Old man Goralsky will provide it. I’m sure of it. I’ve spoken to him; I’ve described and explained my design, and he likes the idea.”
    “And do we really need it?”
    “How can you talk that way, Rabbi? It isn’t a matter of mere need. This is a thing of the spirit. For a community to build an edifice like this is an act of religious dedication. Visit the great cathedrals of Europe and ask yourself how many were actually needed. Ethel and I went to Europe last summer with the Wolffs. Took the grand tour, and believe you me it was an eye-opener. And you know what really got me – me a believing Jew and president of a temple, at that? The churches, the cathedrals! And not just because of the architecture, although naturally that interested me. It was something else. You’d come into some church like Santa Croce in Firenze – that’s Florence – and on the walls there are Giotto frescoes, and the ceilings are painted beams, and the walls are lined with tombs of famous artists and scientists – Michelangelo, Rossini, Galileo – Charlie Wolff said to me, and he’s only a dress manufacturer, ‘Mort, that was to me a religious experience.’ And I felt the same way. And Ethel did too, didn’t you?”
    “Oh, I did, Rabbi. I felt – how shall I put it – spiritually uplifted.”
    “So I thought, why them and not us? Why can’t we – why can’t I – build a temple that will give our people some of that same feeling, that same uplift, as Ethel says? That’s something that’s been missing in our temples. The old ones are nothing and the new ones are like Sorenson’s phony designs.”
    “Sometimes,” the rabbi said slowly, “we tend to confuse aesthetic with religious