Free That Day the Rabbi Left Town by Harry Kemelman

find out why,” she replied promptly.
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œWell, you see, I married one.”
    â€œYou married a Jew?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œAnd now you’re separated? Divorced?”
    She shook her head. “No, still happily married.”
    â€œYou were married by a rabbi? A priest? A minister?”
    â€œNone of the above. By a justice of the peace. According to Lew, no rabbi would marry us unless I converted, and he was sure a priest would also demand all kinds of conditions, so …”
    â€œIt bothered you?”
    â€œNot really. You see, we were in a relationship to begin with.”
    â€œYou mean you were living together?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    â€œWithout benefit of clergy.”
    She giggled. “What an old-fashioned phrase.”
    â€œYes, I suppose it is,” he said with a sigh. “And after a while you decided to get married?”
    â€œThat’s right. See, we’d been living together for about a year, and everything was fine. So we decided to get married. But it’s not the same. In a relationship, both parties are free. One doesn’t have a claim on the other, so each tends to be considerate of the other. But when you’re married, you do have a claim, and when it’s exercised, the other party is apt to feel aggrieved.”
    â€œI don’t understand.”
    â€œWell, take the matter of living quarters. Lew is a lawyer and he practices in Salem, where he was born and raised. And he lives in your town, in Barnard’s Crossing. He bought a house there. I have a studio apartment here in Boston, within walking distance of the school. Well, when we were in a relationship, sometimes I’d go to Barnard’s Crossing—weekends mostly, and of course, for the summer. And a couple of times a week he’d come into town to go to dinner and a movie afterwards. Then he’d stay over at my place, of course. And if I was busy, say at exam time, we didn’t see each other at all for a couple of days. I mean, it was like falling in love each time we came together. But when we married, he thought we ought to be together all the time. He wants me to give up my apartment and live in Barnard’s Crossing.”
    â€œIt’s a very nice place to live,” the rabbi remarked.
    â€œOh sure, but it’s no longer fun; it’s habit and convenience.”
    â€œAnd you prefer something inconvenient?”
    â€œWell, it’s not so convenient for me. I’d have to get up an hour earlier to get to school. We tried it for a while, but it meant that we were together a lot, and when two people are together a lot, they’re apt to get on each other’s nerves.”
    â€œAnd he began to get on your nerves?”
    â€œWell, the difference in our backgrounds had something to do with it, too. See, when we were in this relationship, I was aware that I was sinning, and when I went to Confession, I mentioned it and did penance for it. But this was different. The other could be considered a momentary urge, a sudden lapse from rectitude. But, marrying Lew was making a commitment. It bothered me, and I stopped going to Confession. It was as though in undergoing a secular marriage, I had turned my back on the church.”
    â€œAnd you think he might have felt the same way?”
    â€œNot at all. I would have felt better if he had. But at the most he was a little bothered by what some of his relatives might be thinking. And this—this easygoing attitude of his used to infuriate me. When I had a wicked or evil thought, I felt I had sinned. But not he. He felt he had not sinned unless he had actually done something wrong. He said that’s what Jews believe. Is that right?”
    The rabbi nodded slowly, judiciously. “Yes, I suppose it is. We realize that the mind has a will of its own. When it is not focused on some particular idea, it wanders off in all directions. That’s a