Free The Outsider by Howard Fast

you.”
    â€œEverybody knows me these days. I wish I knew myself.”
    â€œTerrible thing for a rabbi to say. Next I’ll hear you’re being psychoanalyzed.”
    â€œHardly.”
    â€œBut you did have a fight with Lucy.”
    â€œYou’re too wise, Della. I prefer the wolves.”
    The “wolves” were waiting in what Mel Klein called his den — Jack Osner, president of the congregation, Mel Klein, the treasurer, and Joe Hurtz, the secretary — and as he looked at them and shook hands with them tonight, David toyed with the notion that the governing of the congregation might be helped by the presence of a woman.
    They were pleased to see him. After two years, they had the feeling that he belonged to them. They were blessed with this tall, handsome young man who was both firm and amiable; he was theirs; and sometimes they were pressed with the notion that they had created him.
    â€œSit down, David,” Mel said. He was very proud of his den, with its large leather chairs and its entire wall of books. The books were bought and read by Della. Mel was not much of a reader beyond the daily newspaper, and neither of them had enough pretentiousness to call the room a library. “We’ve been looking forward to tonight.”
    â€œOh?”
    â€œI thought it might be best to call a meeting of the whole board,” Joe Hurtz said, “but the colonel thought differently.”
    Hurtz was the only one who still called Osner “the colonel,” and his use of the term irritated David greatly. He had his own opinion of the virtues and titles war pins on people, but there was no way to explain this to fat, easygoing Joe Hurtz.
    â€œI think there may be some contention,” Jack Osner said. “Might as well keep it among ourselves until we reach a decision.”
    â€œAbout what? For heaven’s sake, let’s get down to it and end the mystery.”
    â€œNo mystery intended, David. But I must review some facts. When you came to us, two years ago, fourteen Jewish families had come together and pledged themselves to the support of a synagogue. When you finished your first sermon, David, twenty-two additional families joined the synagogue.”
    Della entered with a large tray of cups, a coffee pot, and cakes. David took the tray and helped her to serve. No one else moved to help, and David thought of the attitude Martin Carter referred to as “parsonitis.” Della flashed him a surreptitious grin and whispered, “Be stout of heart.” She left the room, and Osner took up his narrative while the others munched cake and drank coffee, David thinking, We drink so little alcohol. Marty Carter’s board would get themselves loaded a bit, and everything would flow more easily.
    â€œThat was two years ago,” Osner continued. “Since then, we’ve grown to over a hundred families, families from Ridgefield and Wilton and even Weston and Westport and Redding — well, I don’t have to tell you that, David; you’ve watched the process. And though it’s still insufficient, we’ve tripled your salary, and earlier this evening we decided upon another annual raise of a thousand dollars, which we intend to place before the full board at our next meeting, three days from now.”
    â€œThank you, that’s very kind of you,” David said.
    â€œSo, you see, things change.”
    â€œThey do indeed.”
    â€œAnd we have the obligation at the right moment to hasten the change, if the change is needed.”
    David grinned and said, “I don’t need all this prologue, Jack. Let’s get to the point.”
    Osner nodded at Klein. “Mel, the ball’s in your court.”
    Klein cleared his throat, coughed, and said, “David, we have come to the conclusion that we need a new synagogue, a real synagogue.”
    â€œSo that’s it. You know,” David said slowly, “we have a real