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no sMoKe, But fire
first day of Rosh Hashanah, in late September 1984, a job for which I practiced for months. (After I finished, I was asked by one of the congre- gants to identify the yeshiva that I had attended—what was happening? I now believe that the rabbi’s honoring me was little more than his way of getting closer to Phyllis.) Phyllis also sang a beautiful Israeli song called Al Kol Eleh at the service. We had practiced together, and I felt that the increasing religious commitments helped her to contend with her grief. In truth, I took on the task of learning what I believe to be the longest haftorah in the liturgy (thirty-eight verses!), not just as an event through which to deal with Phyllis’s mourning and my shock but also as a challenge, one of my many obsessive projects. Nevertheless, I must have thought that Phyllis would appreciate my participation in her healing.
Perhaps pleasing Phyllis was also my primary motivation as I joined in our accelerating relationship with the temple and the rabbi. In a totally uncharacteristic move, I agreed to become a member of the tem- ple’s board of trustees. (That didn’t last long.) Then, when we were purchasing a new car, instead of trading in our old Dodge Dart, as I normally would have, at Phyllis’s request we made a gift of it to the rabbi (that’s right, not to the temple but to the rabbi), first having it fully serviced and inspected for problems. (In a truly class move, the grateful cleric later managed to describe to us in great detail and greater irrita- tion the repairs that he felt the car required; Phyllis didn’t flinch.) I was again pleasing my wife.
Further, Phyllis in effect raised the ante by deciding that Peter and Rachel should attend Solomon Schechter rather than the public schools. I know that I objected to that decision, probably on the grounds of cost (what were we paying Scarsdale’s very high real estate taxes for?), prob- ably on the grounds that we were becoming “too Jewish” for my taste, and definitely on the grounds of the quality of Schechter’s secular edu- cation—or, as far as I was concerned, the lack of it. The fact that, as I recall it, Harry agreed to pay the tuition undoubtedly helped but would not have been sufficient to turn me. In the event, however, I acceded: I was again pleasing my wife. And she pleased me as well: Divorce was
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