Part 36 (1/2)
”So were you when you were with Joshua. Are you still with him?”
”Excuse me?”
”I saw the two of you together. I know all about it.”
”About what?”
”About this,” he answered as he reached out and touched her. He was out of control, desperate just to feel her in his arms at last.
She backed away, frightened.
”I'm sorry,” he said. ”I didn't mean to...”
”I want you to leave. Now!” Trembling.
Paul struggled to restrain himself, to keep from doing something really stupid. Suddenly, almost miraculously, a moment of clarity emerged, ordaining him to heed her demand.
He turned away, wondering if he would ever be able to look at her again, and walked out the door in shame.
He wandered for blocks, confused and dejected, worried about the potential consequences of his actions. Would she tell anyone? Would Chava find out? What was he to do?
A thought came to mind. He could blow the whistle on her and Joshua. After that, n.o.body would believe anything she would have to say. It was cruel, but what choice did he have?
He also knew just to whom such information would be most valuable. The one man who would appreciate it and use it wisely. He quickly turned on his heel and headed to see Rav Schachter.
Paul was flattered at the rabbi's willingness to see him with barely a moment's notice, but wasn't sure what to make of it. Last time, he had waited weeks for an appointment. Perhaps it was divine intervention; it certainly made him feel better to think so.
In truth, however, Rav Schachter had a special interest in Paul, and had known from the start of their relations.h.i.+p that Paul would one day prove to be useful. With all the racial problems emerging in the neighborhood, entree to a man such as Alfred Sims could be quite valuable.
”Good day, Pinchas, I hope things are going well with you and Chava,” the rabbi opened, leaning back, seeming unbothered by the intrusion.
”Baruch Hashem, all is well.”
”Gut, then what brings you here this afternoon?” Right down to business.
”I have come with unfortunate news.”
The rabbi raised his eyebrows.
Paul continued, ”It is a matter requiring the utmost discretion, a matter that I now realize I should have brought to the Rav's attention long ago. It concerns the daughter of Rabbi Isaac Weissman.”
Schachter appeared nonchalant, but Paul saw through the mask. He knew the rabbi was eager to hear what he had to say. He proceeded to relate his tale, omitting not a single detail of that afternoon on the boardwalk. A few years had pa.s.sed since the incident, but his recollection was impressively vivid, arousing Schachter's suspicion of the veracity of everything he was hearing. But Schachter was a pragmatist, and believed in the old adage: where there's smoke, there's fire. This was something he could exploit.
”This is an interesting story, Pinchas, but it is about something that happened quite a while ago. Tell me, do you have any direct knowledge that there is still something going on between this man and Rachel Weissman?”
”No, I only saw them that one time.”
”And why have you brought this information to me, and why now, after all this time?”
”I have been grappling with what I saw for a long time. At first, I had considered telling someone or asking someone what to do with such information, but then I thought that I would probably have been doing more harm than good. I didn't know how to proceed, so I kept it to myself. I suppose, in hindsight, that was wrong; a woman suspected of adultery is a serious matter and her husband has a right to know.”
Rav Schachter nodded.
Paul continued, ”Lately, I have been feeling guilty about the way I handled this. I have been wondering how I would have felt if it had been my wife, G.o.d forbid, and another man had seen her doing something like this, and had concealed it, as I have. It is unthinkable.”
”So why do you come now? The marriage between Rachel and Binyamin is over.”
”But the sin has still been committed, both hers and mine. I know I can't do anything about hers, and I suspect that the Bet Din wouldn't choose to do anything at this point either, but I can do something about what I have done, or haven't done, as the case may be.”
”So you have come here to confess?”
”And to ask how I can repent.”
The rabbi began to realize that this ”penitent” was even more clever and cunning than he'd imagined. ”You have expressed yourself quite well,” he said, ”and you are correct that neither I nor the Bet Din would act on such information, considering that such action would serve no purpose for the 'husband.' The fact that you did not come forth when you should have, also seems to have had no actual bearing on the unfolding of events in this situation. The Eibeshter, our Creator, has obviously resolved the matter on His own.”
Paul nodded, showing appreciation for the rabbi's insight.
”As for your t'shuvah, repentance,” Rav Schachter continued, ”there is no specific prescription in a case such as this. All I can say is that you should learn from what you've done, and if ever a similar situation arises, you will behave differently. After all, isn't that what the Rambam, Maimonides, says t'shuva is all about? A man truly repents when, if confronted with identical circ.u.mstances in which he committed his sin, he behaves differently.”
”Yes, I remember learning the Rambam's thoughts on this,” Paul responded.
”Gut, then let this matter take up no more of your precious time.”
”And what does the Rav plan on doing with the information I have disclosed?”
”I am going to do nothing,” Schachter said. ”As I explained, the marriage is already over, and all things considered, it is unlikely that Rachel Weissman will easily find another s.h.i.+ddoch. Perhaps some unfortunate widower or divorcee who has already fulfilled the mitzvah of having children will take interest in her, and that is punishment enough for such a beautiful young woman. I see no purpose in adding to her misery.”
”I understand,” Paul said, well aware of the rabbi's duplicity.
As soon as Paul departed, Rav Nachum Schachter arose from his chair, walked to his window, and looked down upon Eastern Parkway. There, below him, the sidewalks were teeming with soldiers of the Lord, armored in their black and white garb, s.h.i.+elded with caftans and fedoras, pacing briskly from place to place. Some would be en route to prayer, others to study, and still even others to their homes and families. And then there were those who were headed to unspeakable places, harboring treacherous secrets. s.e.xual indulgences, drugs, gambling-Schachter knew that all those things were out there, that the black and white facade concealed many shades of gray.
The amorality of the world had crept into Schachter's ghetto, and he blamed the likes of Isaac Weissman, and Isaac's teacher, Rav Feldblum, for these vile intrusions. Feldblum was his nemesis, a man ”disloyal” to the Rebbe, a man who dared question the Rebbe's messianic destiny. Feldblum's camp was too embracing of modern society, sending vulnerable yes.h.i.+va students onto the streets to proselytize among the secular and forsaken, and accepting outsiders into the community, thereby poisoning the purity of the Lubavitcher lineage.
Schachter wondered how many of the Rebbe's followers lived like Rachel Weissman; how many had been influenced by the debauchery and perversions of the outside world; how many had been defiled and enticed.
Stirred by his ruminations, Schachter knew he had to act. Feldblum and his circle of ”apostates” had to be discredited. And now he had the means with which to do it, the fact that the daughter of Isaac Weissman had fallen into a life of sin. It was the ultimate irony, superb ammunition. But the mere word of Pinchas Sims wasn't sufficient. Real evidence would have to be gathered, perhaps photos, or credible witnesses.
Schachter turned from the window, pressed the buzzer on his desk, and summoned his a.s.sistant. A moment later, the underling appeared in the elder's office, waiting anxiously for instructions.
”There is a matter that requires our immediate attention,” the rabbi said.
Rachel Weissman Frankel had chosen to keep silent about the incident with Paul Sims. She believed she was safe from him, and that he wouldn't be back. Moreover, she was concerned about once again becoming the object of gossip. She'd already suffered enough of that.
For days, she'd been unable to sleep, haunted more by what Paul had said than what he had done. Last night, she finally surrendered to the little yellow pills Marcia Schiffman had given her when she'd been depressed. She had avoided resorting to medication, even during the worst of times, but this had pushed her over the edge.
The pill worked like a charm. The sleep had done her good. She awoke a bit hung over, but feeling far better than on previous mornings. She came into the kitchen for breakfast, made herself some coffee, and picked up the newspaper her father had left on the table.