Sacred and Profane. Faye Kellerman

that reflected the warmth of its host. The picture window revealed a tranquil evening, the foliage dappled with moonlight like early morning frost on a winter’s landscape. Decker felt a spiritual calm, even though the circuitry of his nervous system was pushing overload.

      “Study next week’s portion and we’ll go over it together. Use the English of course, but try to look at the Hebrew also. Remember what I told you about looking for the shoresh—the three-letter root—in the word.”

      “I will.” Decker stared back at his open Bible and began shuffling through back pages, not quite ready to call it quits.

      “And you’ll be spending Shabbos weekend with us?” the rabbi asked.

      “I’m planning on it. Thank your wife again for her hospitality.”

      “I will do that. And Zvi Adler wants to have you over for Shabbos lunch. I think it would be nice if you accepted the invitation.”

      “That’s fine.”

      “Sarah Libba would have called you, but she’s exquisitely shy, so Zvi asked me invite you.”

      “Tell him I’d be delighted.”

      Schulman stood, his posture as rigid as a T-square. He sensed Decker’s jumpiness and went to a liquor cabinet.

      “A shot of schnapps, Peter?”

      Rotgut, Decker thought. It was amazing the man had any lining left in his stomach. Yet, here he was in his seventies with more energy than someone half his age.

      “Thank you, Rabbi. That would be nice.”

      The rabbi gave Decker a shot glass and raised his cup in the air.

      “L’chaim,” he said.

      “L’chaim,” Decker repeated.

      The old man peered over the detective’s shoulder and noticed the open chumash.

      “Fascinating isn’t it”—Schulman downed the liquid fire in a single gulp—“to read about our ancestors, God’s chosen people? He said to Yaakov, ‘I shall remember your seed, and they shall be as numerous as the stars in the sky.’ And then we learn that Yaakov’s sons sold their brother, Yoseph, into slavery because they were poisoned with jealousy; that Miriam—a prophetess—was turned into a leper because she spoke ill of Moshe’s wife; that Tamar, dressed as a harlot, seduced her father-in-law, Yehudah, in order to secure her rightful seed; that Shimon and Levi—brothers in spirit as well as blood—avenged the rape of their sister by wiping out a nation. Superficially, one would think we descended from a bunch of hoodlums.”

      The old man coughed.

      “Such is not the case at all. Those men and women were righteous, Peter. On a far higher madraga—level of spirituality—than we are today. You must remember they were worth enough to have been recorded in the chumash for prosperity.”

      “But they were still human beings,” Decker said, “with human frailties.”

      “This is true.”

      Decker closed the book.

      “It’s family, Rabbi,” he said. “It brings out the best and worst in us. Whenever a crime is committed, the first place cops look is the family. Almost always, the perpetrator is a relative or friend. Yoseph was sold by his own brothers. No surprise. If that crime happened today, we could have saved Yaakov years of grief.”

      “Chas v’chaleylah.” The rabbi frowned. He sat down and put his arm around Decker. “God forbid! Hashem had a bigger purpose in mind, Peter. Yoseph was supposed to go down to Egypt. Had he not gone, Yaakov and his sons would have been wiped out by famine. Hashem knew what he was doing.”

      Schulman took off his oversized kipah to smooth his white hair, then placed it back on his head.

      “And of course, the Jews would have never been slaves in Egypt. And that would have been terrible, because then we wouldn’t have had Passover!”

      He broke into a broad grin at his own joke, then grew serious.

      “Events in Jewish history have a way of coming in through the back door,” he said. “Like the selling of Yoseph. Out of that came the Exodus: Moses, the Revelation, the Torah. It is said that even the messiah will not come to us openly. Why? Whenever good comes openly, the yetzer harah—the evil spirit—is there to destroy it.”

      “I don’t subscribe to the concept of an evil spirit, Rabbi.”

      Schulman refilled Decker’s cup.

      “You don’t come into contact with it daily?” the old man asked.

      “I come into contact with a lot of bad people,” Decker answered. “And most of them know darn well what they’re doing is wrong. They just don’t care. Ask them why they robbed or raped or killed and you’d be surprised at how creative their excuses are. It’s a rare criminal who’ll accept responsibility for his own actions. An evil spirit seems to me to be another way to pass the buck. The devil made me do it, et cetera.”

      “Judaism sees it as just the opposite of what you’re saying,” Schulman explained. “Evil is in all of us. So is good. Man has free will to choose either. There is a very interesting midrash about that. Before Mount Sinai the angels asked Hashem to give them the Torah instead of mankind. After all who is better equipped to do mitzvot—good deeds—than an angel? Hashem refused. Mankind was the only acceptable recipient of the Torah because only mankind could elect to honor Hashem. The angels were programmed only for good. It’s no challenge to be good if good is the sole component of one’s makeup.”

      Decker took a sip of schnapps and said nothing.

      Schulman asked, “Did you have a bad day, Peter?”

      “A little on the rough side.”

      “Let me ask you something? What do policemen do when they have a bad day?”