Play with Fire

chapter Twelve

ALBUQUERQUE, NEW MEXICO does not have a large Jewish population, but their numbers are sufficient to support a single synagogue, Temple Beth Israel. The synagogue’s congregation was just big enough to afford the services of a single Rabbi, and David Feldman had that honor – and all the responsibility that went with it.

This Tuesday evening, Rabbi Feldman was tired. This was not unexpected, since his day had started at five thirty a.m. and here it was approaching ten at night and he was still in his office, working.

He had promised his wife that he would start getting home at a decent hour – at least early enough to help her tuck their two children into bed at nine, but what can you do when people need you? He had taught two classes at the Hebrew school this morning, visited a member of the congregation too old and frail to attend temple, counseled a young couple contemplating marriage, had long phone conversations with three potential donors to the Building Fund, interceded on behalf of a congregant who was having trouble getting an auto loan, and here he was working on Saturday’s sermon when what he really wanted was a comfortable chair, a decent meal, and a few hours spent in the comfort of his family. Was that too much to ask?

For a second, he fancied that he could hear the voice of God in his head answering, Yes, David, some days it really is.

Feldman’s fanciful conversation with the Creator brought a smile to his lean face. He shook his head and returned to work on the sermon. He had just figured out a good way to develop his theme of “serving God often means serving each other” when there was an urgent knock at his office door.

He looked at the clock: ten fifty. Whatever the knock on his door might mean at this hour, it wasn’t likely to be anything good. Feldman sighed, put down his pen, and went to find out just how bad the news was going to be.