1. Pilkin’s Remaining Years in Israel
At this point, the waiter wheeled in a trolley with our main courses. As soon as he departed – having re-filled our wine glasses – I said: “Well, now it’s your turn, mon Cher Pilkin – or shall I say Rabbi Zohar?”
“At you service,” he smiled benignly. “And ‘Pilkin’ will do!”
“So out with it!”
“Where shall I start?” he asked, smacking his lips as he savoured the excellent goose.
“I know you were a founding member of the Israeli Educational TV and that you married Galya Hadar of the Kameri. Thereafter, it’s a blank!”
“Let me then fill you in,” he agreed readily.
Pilkin related his tale in the classic Hebrew of our youth, embellished sporadically with Yiddish phrases. He emphasised his points with gesticulations I remembered well from our school days and with occasional winks and sly smiles. As he spoke, the years melted away, the slate became clear and his canvass – larger than mine and than life itself – glistened with the rich colours of modern lithographs. Try as I may, my account is bound to remain but a pale shadow of his dazzling performance. But, then, he was acting his own role!
Pilkin’s first two years as a performer at the Israeli Educational TV had been uninspiring. His function was to prepare and occasionally to take part in pedagogically oriented programmes. It was as dramatic, he claimed, as a wild cat’s life in a cage. To keep himself going, he went back from time to time to TA.1 to stage some plays. Mourning becomes Electra – so he said – had been well received.
He had also remained in demand, throughout Israel, as a seasoned Tavyeh. After one performance – on a well known secondary stage – he had his breakthrough. On his way out of theatre, he was buttonholed by an elderly Hassid, whose mannerism and accent smacked of New York. Introducing himself as Rabbi Margalioth, he engaged Pilkin in a short conversation culminating with an invitation to come over for a visit to the New World. The Rabbi’s congregation was looking for a suitable Tavyeh and Pilkin appeared the ideal candidate.
Pilkin was undeterred by the challenge of having to play the role in Yiddish, of which he had but a fleeting command. He recognised the chance and was not going to let it slip by. In the event, his performance was a roaring success. In the course of the next few years, he kept shuttling between his permanent post in Tel Aviv and the Jewish theatres in the United States, which kept inviting him regularly.
2. The Move to New York
Then came the next breakthrough. Tavyeh the Milkman was transformed into a musical. As Fiddler on the Roof it became an internationally acclaimed modern classic. Pilkin’s fine Baritone stood him in good stead. His popularity reached such measures that he assumed the courage to sever his link with the Israeli Educational Television. Thereafter, his spells in Tel Aviv grew shorter and shorter. In due course, he acquired a flat in Manhattan. His career as an actor, idiosyncratic as it appeared, was secure. He entrenched himself further by taking on other comic roles, such as Falstaff and the Malade Imaginaire. His appearances, though, were still on secondary stages. Broadway, alas, remained out of his reach.
Pilkin’s realistic life philosophy commanded that he resign himself to a comfortable – even if not spectacular – career as a second rank actor. Destiny – or my beloved Fortuna – had another plan for him. During his years in New York, Pilkin became increasingly friendly with Rabbi Margalioth, attended his Synagogue whenever possible and, frequently, was invited to his home for the Sabbath and for holidays. One Sabbath eve, when the venerable Rabbi had lost his voice in the wake of a severe cold, he asked Pilkin to officiate. Explaining that his accolade was on leave and that Pilkin was his only hope, he assured Pilkin that the delivery of his sermon was an easy task. It had been typed and, if need be, Pilkin could simply read out from the manuscript.
Initially, Pilkin had his misgivings. He lacked the necessary training and feared he might mess up the lines. But he had become very fond of the kindly Rabbi and, after reading the sermon through several times, decided to have a go at it. To his own surprise, his performance was lauded by the congregation. His youthful resonant voice – which compared favourably with the aging Rabbi’s sonorous manner of speech – cast a spell as did the new life which he breathed into the worn out clichés.
Rabbi Margalioth was delighted with the enthusiastic reports which reached his ears. He felt fatherly affection for the young man he had sponsored. Further, he was convinced that his congregation needed the injection of fresh blood. So he took a bold move. After a consultation with the Directorate of the Yeshiva, he asked Pilkin to join its ranks as a special student. Cross credits, based on subjects taken by Pilkin for his Arts degree in Jerusalem, would enable him to complete the course for Rabbis in two instead of the ordinary four years. If he did well, he would, undoubtedly, be given his first posting upon completion.
“What was your initial reaction?” I wanted to know.
“Confusion,” grinned Pilkin.
“Why?”
“I had not expected anything like it!”
“And when you recovered?”
“I told him I had to think it over. And he said ‘that’s fine’.”
“Did you agonise over it?”
“I did, rather! I was at a turning point! If I said ‘yes’, the great dream – Broadway, the Kameri, the West End and all that – would be over. But I realised that this was a one time opportunity.”
“In the end you accepted – why?”
“You’ll find it hard to believe!”
“Try me!”
“The calling, Bushi! I concluded it was the hand of God. You, of course, would say it was a ‘coincidence’ – the hand of Fortuna!”
“Quite. But Pilkin, weren’t you frightened – I mean apprehensive?”
“Of course I was. It meant a radical change of life: from benign, loose, observance to strict orthodoxy.”
“So how could you even consider such a transition?”
“For a number of years I had observed Rabbi Margalioth. The association with him influenced my thinking and, Bushi, my view of life. It reinforced my belief in divine intervention in our lives! As you well know, I have always been a believer!”
“So you were. But, Pilkin, if Rabbi’s Margalioth offer was ‘the hand of God’, why didn’t the calling come earlier? What about the years you spent on your B.A. and on the stage?”
“These years paved the way, Bushi. I got a first class training at the Hebrew University and on the stage. And isn’t a Rabbi a performer – just like a teacher, a lawyer and, not to mince words, a salesman and a politician?”
“Quite so,” I conceded.
“So these years had not been wasted,” pointed out Pilkin. “Not any more than your years in legal practice prior to your academic career!”
“I get you point. But, Pilkin, were you really able to make yourself believe that God almighty – Providence – lays plans for something as unimportant as a human? Where was the rational support for the step into the blind alley you resolved to take? I still can’t understand!”
“Can’t or won’t, Bushi?”
“What d’you mean?”
“You assume, Bushi, that a step like this has to be ‘rational’!”
“I do; I do indeed!”
“What was the name of that 17th century philosopher who tried to establish the existence of Man and of God by applying logical formulas?”
“Rene Descartes,” I muttered, aware that Pilkin knew his name just as well as I.
“He didn’t convince either of us or any other analytical thinker? And do you remember the telling retort to his arguments, emanating from one of his contemporaries!”
“That logical proof is not the way to establish points like these because in issues respecting Divinity and Faith we have to trust our senses, meaning – incidentally – senses and sensibilities or spontaneous perceptions.”
“Quite,” agreed Pilkin. “Blaise Pascal asserted – and I agree – that in ‘these matters’ you depend on what we call today an ‘act of faith’ – a ‘revelation’!”
“I haven’t had one!”
“Neither did Descartes. So he tried to use ‘reason’ and ended up with a tautology! He, too, closed his heart.”
“Didn’t stop him from being a deeply religious man!”
“But without a sound base for his convictions! No, Bushi – in the ultimate – you either believe or do not. I did – always have – and so I could hear a Bath Koll – a voice from heaven – – as Rabbi Margalioth’s words kept going through my mind again and again. The Bath Koll urged me to accept.”
“A miracle, I suppose. Like poor old Josephus’ Bath Koll in the cave after the fall of Jodefet?” I muttered.
“Now, now, Bushi, sarcasm is out of place here – surely!”
“True,” I conceded shamefacedly, adding after a short pause: “Well, in these circumstances, you were right to accept. And – Pilkin – in more than one way I envy you. The only voice that keeps going through my mind is shrill and metallic: my wife’s incessant complaints!”
“That, too, ain’t funny, Bushi!” Pilkin let his irritation show.
“It’s not meant to be!”
“In that case, Bushi, all I can do is to sympathise. But, then, how do you manage to carry on? What keeps you going?”
“A few good friends!”
“So God has not forsaken you, even if – perversely – you insist on calling his unseen hand ‘chance’!”
“On this point, we’ll have to agree to disagree, Pilkin. But, please, carry on!”
3. Pilkin Settles in America
Pilkin’s eyes brightened as he covered the events of the next few years. Although he was considerably older than most of the students, he fitted well into the Yeshiva. He had always been a good mixer and in no time was accepted as member of the cohesive group.
The formal method of instruction agreed with him. True, most of the courses involved memory work. The training in TA.1 was of great help in this regard. Further, many of the subjects he had read in Jerusalem stood him in good stead. In some cases, the courses in the Yeshiva dealt with the very topics he had covered in his academic courses. Still, in the University, Biblical and Talmudic texts had been analysed critically and structurally, with a clear emphasis on style and language. In the Yeshiva, they were discussed from a religious point of view, giving prominence to the scriptural contexts and to the traditional implications. In reality, a single topic was being reflected in different mirrors. Pilkin enjoyed every minute of it!
As anticipated, he completed his course of studies with flying colours and was constituted a Rabbi. Shortly thereafter, Rabbi Margalioth offered to appoint Pilkin his second in command. Pilkin was delighted. His heart told him that – at long last – he had arrived. For the rest of his life, he would have the privilege of guiding his congregations along a path in which he believed. It was a worthy vocation!
“Did you leave Israel, Pilkin? I mean, did you migrate?”
“No. I love my country too much. But my spells at home became shorter and shorter and far in between.”
“What did your wife say to that? Did she join you?”
“She did not! She had risen high while I was making my second start in New York. By the time I finished my course she was getting lead roles in the Kameri and, occasionally, in Ha’bimah! I had no right to ask her to give all this up. Also, Bushi, ours was a ‘modern marriage’! True, Galya was moderately traditional. For example, she didn’t take pork. But she was a ‘liberated woman’ and believed she had the right to satisfy her basic needs. She encouraged me, too, to have my ‘fun’ in New York.”
“Did you?”
“Not after I enrolled in the Yeshiva. But, of course, that was my decision. She couldn’t have cared less!”
“Humph,” said I, for want of a better phrase; and then added in haste: “so what did you do?”
“When I got my posting in New York I asked if she wanted to come over. She said she had no penchant for the role of a Rebbezen [a Rabbi’s wife]! So I agreed to give her a Gett [divorce].”
“I see,” I nodded. “But Pilkin, did you remain in touch with her? The way I did with Rachel?”
“No, Bushi, I didn’t. My relationship with her was very different from yours with Rachel. You were madly in love with Rachel. You romanticised her and – in a way – you continued to woo her even when it was over. Galya and I had a down to earth marriage. She wanted to demonstrate she had a husband and a family life. In Israel, I wanted to have a wife like her. But I was getting fed up and tired of being on my own in New York.”
“But weren’t you happy together before you went to New York?”
“In a way we were: the chemistry was right but emotions ran low. So when it was over, we were done with one another!”
4. Pilkin Marries Yentl
In the event, Pilkin did not have a prolonged celibate. A few months after his divorce, Rabbi Margalioth introduced him to a wealthy Jewish stockbroker in Philadelphia, who had a marriageable daughter. Yentl Jacobs had done her B.A. in a well known college in New Jersey. The course of studies widened her horizons but, all the same, she remained an orthodox, well bred, Jewish girl. Margalioth was confident Pilkin would find her an excellent match.
“And how did it work out?” I wanted to know.
“Brilliantly,” Pilkin spoke with feeling: “couldn’t have been better!”
Yentl insisted on having a ‘decent’ Jewish home. They celebrated the Sabbath and the Jewish festivals in a big way. Pilkin enjoyed himself and loved the related social life that replaced his previous austere existence. Their marital relationship, too, brought Pilkin bliss.
By the time he took over the Schul from the aging Rabbi Margalioth, Yentl had presented her doting husband with a son and a daughter. She had also used her influence and intuition to secure Pilkin’s rise in the community.
When she discovered her husband’s hidden healing powers, she spread the good news. When success was in view, she came up with the idea of inaugurating the Loeb Zohar Foundation. Grinning, Pilkin conceded that his change of name had also been carried out after a heart to heart discussion with his smart and worldly wife. He had been reassured, when she told him she would rather be ‘Mrs Loeb Zohar’ than ‘Mrs Rosenne”!
“So you are really happy with her!”
“I am. She turned me from a drifter into a well balanced and highly respected member of the community. What more could I ask for?”
“So you brought you ship home!”
“And the credit goes to her!”
“And how did you come to spend part of your time back in Israel? Did she have anything to do with this too?”
“She did, rather. She knew that, in my heart of hearts, I was home sick. So she suggested I accept a second, part time, posting in Tel Aviv: not an easy thing to arrange. Still, Yentl is a first class organiser and knows how to identify and pull the right strings!”
“And the arrangement worked out to everybody’s satisfaction?”
“It did indeed!”
“And is Yentl, too, pleased with it?”
“Of course, Bushi. Like many American Jews she kept dreaming about the ‘chosen land’! And so her dream has come true!”
“Well, how many months a year do you spend in Tel Aviv?” I asked after a short pause.
“Four or five; sometimes six. Recently Yentl started to speak about retirement in Israel!”
“Not in Tel Aviv, surely?!”
“No, Bushi, don’t look so apprehensive. We have settled on Zefat!”
“A lovely spot: Dreamy Zafat’ – the pearl of the Galilee. I’ll visit you there one day!”
“You are always welcome!” he assured me with a broad brotherly smile; adding: “so now you know my life story!”
“Not really,” I disagreed. “How bout your offspring. Are they in America or in Israel?”
“The boy has a job in an electronics firm in Boston. And, Bushi, he’s married out.”
“Married out?” I let my surprise show.
“He has!”
“A Rabbi’s son?”
“The idols of the school were stronger than the influence of Dad and Mom! Still, he has not changed his religion.”
“How do you get on with his wife?”
“Jane is a stunner: she’s beautiful and sweet. Both Yentl and I have come to love her. So, all in all, we are a close family. And Grampa and Grandma adore our grandchildren. But, of course, they go to church!”
“How do they react to your … attire?”
“They think I’m cute. And little Mary loves to play with my beard. Last Christmas she called me ‘Santa Claus’. So, you see, we are still a happy family. But, of course, there is no chance of Uzi and his family migrating to Israel. They are Americans!”
“How about your daughter?” I asked.
“Sarah studies law in Columbia. She has a Jewish boy friend from an assimilated home. They, too, will stay put!” For a moment he averted his eyes, then added with a strained smile: “We’ll miss our young ones when we settle in Israel. But, Bushi: we have made our decision!”
“Yentl and you are of the same view!”
“Indeed! She has become an ardent Zionist. And – between ourselves – I don’t really feel at home in America. I am – will always remain – an Israeli!”
“You’ll visit your offspring from time to time – surely!”
“Of course, and I’m sure they’ll come over to see us,” he affirmed. “But it’s not the same thing as living next door to them. Still, Los Angeles or Seattle are almost as far away from New York as Tel Aviv. And Bushi, in the ultimate, the younger generation must make its own way. We did – so why shouldn’t they have the same inclination!”
“And, of course,” I summed up thoughtfully, “you didn’t uproot yourself when you moved to America. You still have many friends, even a Schul, in Tel Aviv. So you are making a choice between two homes.”
“Quite.”
“While I burnt my bridges in Israel long ago and have not forged close links anywhere. My home is where I have a job. Life without an office and working files is unthinkable. I couldn’t bear it.”
“I know,” said Pilkin. “And, Bushi, this was on the cards right from the start.”
“From the day Rachel Zeitlin sent me packing, surely.”
“Even before then. Your liaison with her postponed the day. But sooner or later you were bound to leave in any event! Deep at heart you were and remained a Nomad – no wonder you ended up as a mendicant professional!”