The Chosen

The contest, or quiz had apparently ended, and Reb Saunders was smiling at his son. He said, very quietly, 'Good. Very good. There is no contradiction. But tell me, you have nothing more to say about what I said earlier?'

Da

'Nothing more?' Reb Saunders asked again. 'You have nothing more to say?'

Da

'Absolutely nothing more to say?' Reb Saunders insisted, his voice flat, cold, distant. He was no longer smiling.

I saw Da

'So Reb Saunders said. 'There is nothing more. Nu, what should l say?'

'I did not hear -'

'You did not hear, you did not hear. You heard the first mistake, and you stopped listening. Of course you did not hear. How could you hear when you were not listening?' He said it quietly and without anger.

Da

For a long moment he sat very still – and then I saw his lips part, move, curve slowly upward, and freeze into a grin. I felt the skin on the back of my neck begin to crawl, and I almost cried out. I stared at him, then looked quickly away.

Reb Saunders sat looking at his son. Then he turned his eyes upon me. I felt his eyes looking at me. There was a long, dark silence, during which Da

'Nu,' he said, 'it is possible I am not right. After all, my son is not a mathematician. He has a good head on him, but it is not a head for mathematics. But we have a mathematician with us. The son of David Malter is with us. 'He is a mathematician: He was looking straight at me, and I felt my heart pound and the blood drain from my face. 'Reuven,' Reb Saunders was saying, looking straight at me, 'you have nothing to say?'

I found I couldn't open my mouth. Say about what? I hadn't the faintest idea what he and Da

'And you have nothing to say?'

I felt his eyes on me and found myself staring down at the table. The eyes were like flames on my face.

'Reuven, you liked the gematriya?' Reb Saunders asked softly.

I looked up and nodded. Da

'I am very happy,' Reb Saunders said gently. 'You liked the gematriya. Which gematriya did you like?'

I heard myself say, lamely and hoarsely. 'They were all very good'

Reb Saunders' eyebrows went up 'All?' he said. 'A very nice thing. They were all very good. Reuven, were they all very good?'

I felt Da

I looked at Reb Saunders. 'No,' I heard myself say hoarsely. 'They were not all good.'

There was a stir from the men at the tables. Reb Saunders sat back in his leather chair.

'Nu, Reuven,' he said quietly, 'tell me, which one was not good?'

'One of the gematriyot was wrong,' I said. I thought the world would fall in on me after I said that. I was a fifteen-year-old boy, and there I was, telling Reb Saunders he had been wrong! But nothing happened. There was another stir from the crowd, but nothing happened. Instead, Reb Saunders broke into a warm broad smile.

'And which one was it?' he asked me quietly.

'The gematriya for "prozdor" is five hundred and three, not five hundred and thirteen,' I answered.

'Good. Very good.' Reb Saunders said, smiling and nodding his head, the black beard going back and forth against his chest, the earlocks swaying. 'Very good, Reuven. The gematriya for "prozdor" comes out five hundred three. Very good.' He looked at me, smiling broadly, his teeth showing white through the beard, and I almost thought I saw his eyes mist over. There was a loud murmur from the crowd, and Da

'Nu,' Reb Saunders said loudly to the men around the tables, 'say Kaddish!'

An old man stood up and recited the Scholar's Kaddish. Then the congregants broke to go back to the front section of the synagogue for the Evening Service.

Da

The followers of Reb Saunders obviously had been pleased with my performance, because I could see they were no longer staring questions at me but were glancing at me admiringly. One of them, an old man with a white beard who was sitting in my row, even nodded at me and smiled, the comers of his eyes crinkling. I had clearly passed the test. What a ridiculous way to gain admiration and friendship!

The Evening Service was over quickly, and afterward one of the younger men chanted the Havdalah, the brief service that marks the end of the Shabbat. Da

Reb Saunders was stroking his beard and looking at Da

'Reuven, you have a good head on you,' he said quietly in Yiddish. 'I am happy my Daniel has chosen you for a friend. My son has many friends. But he does not talk about them the way he talks about you.'

I listened and said nothing. His voice was gentle, almost a caress. He seemed so altogether different now from the way he had been at the table. I glanced at Da

Reb Saunders clasped his hands behind his back.

'I know of your father,' he said to me quietly. 'I am not surprised you have such a head. Your father is a great scholar. But what he writes, ah, what he writes!' He shook his head. 'I worry myself about my son's friends, especially if such a friend is the son of David Malter. Ah, what your father writes! Criticism. Scientific criticism. Ah! So when he tells me you are now his friend, I worry myself. The son of David Malter should be my Daniel's friend? But your father is an observer of the Commandments, and you have his head, and so I am happy you are friends. It is good my Daniel has a friend. I have many responsibilities, I am not always able to talk to him.' I saw Da