Part 16 (1/2)
”Let's hope that some faith is better than none,” Seth muttered, though it still puzzled him that he didn't remember putting the star on.
”This must be the town square,” Judy said when oyster sh.e.l.ls gave over to asphalt, and the row houses went from two-story to three.
”What address did Asher give you?”
”He didn't, he just said come to the town square and someone would be waiting.”
They parked in a public lot but when Seth tried to put money in a meter, he realized they hadn't been functional for years. More keeping of the old to ward off the new.
Judy seemed awestruck the instant she got out of the vehicle.
”What are you looking at?” Seth asked.
At the corner a lone road descended between more row houses and ended at a ma.s.sive series of docks beyond which they could see the s.h.i.+ning river.
”I never imagined the Brewer River was that big,” Seth said. ”I'd never heard of it before.”
”It looks almost a mile wide.”
Midsquare was a longer, one level building, and a sign that read: house of hope. A woman in a long dark ankle dress trimmed flowers in window planters outside.
”I guess that's the synagogue,” Seth presumed.
”Yeah, but a pretty modest one.”
Just then two women in their late teens, and a boy in the same age group, came across the building's long porch, nodded to the flower woman, and entered the double lancet doors. All three youths wore shorts and T-s.h.i.+rts.
”Must be a youth-group meeting,” Judy said.
”Guess so.” Seth squinted to the west, spotted an oddly vacant tract of land right on the riverfront that still had some foundation beams showing in the ground, and some crumbling stonework. ”And that must be where the sawmill was.” He grinned. ”You like creepy stories. Mr. Croter told me that the man who built this whole town-and our house-was murdered in that mill in 1880. Gavriel Lowen. Some local loggers tied him to a box of dynamite.”
Judy looked appalled. ”I'd call that overkill, huh? Why did they kill him?”
”Because he was a Jew. The locals were anti-Semites. And they slaughtered the entire population of Lowen-sport, except for babies.”
”That's taking Manifest Destiny a bit far, I'd say.”
Seth lowered his voice, hoping to sound spooky. ”But then someone slaughtered all the loggers later...and no one knows who...”
”What a charming story, Seth. Thank you so much for sharing it with me...”
Seth laughed, but then turned at the sound of footsteps.
”That must be Rabbi Lowen,” Judy said.
”He likes to be called Asher, but, no, that's not him.”
A thin man in black slacks, a white s.h.i.+rt, and a yarmulke approached with a wide smile. ”And you can only be Seth Kohn,” came a hearty greeting and handshake. ”I'm Rabbi Toz, but please call me Ahron. It's so good that you could come.”
Seth introduced Judy as the middle-aged man led them quickly across the square to a row house unit a story higher than the rest. Inside they found a tranquil sitting room heavily draped, richly carpeted, and darkly paneled. Another yarmulked man in the same conservative attire turned with a great white smile.
”And this,” Ahron said, ”is our resident prayer councilor and coffee pourer, Rabbi Morecz,” and then he introduced Seth and Judy. ”But please call him Eli.”
”Toz, Morecz,” Judy commented. ”They sound like Czech names.”
”And that they are, Judy,” the second rabbi said. ”Just about everyone in Lowensport has ancestors who came here from Prague. Some changed their names, some didn't.”
”I think Asher told me,” Seth spoke up, ”that his predecessors were named Loew, but they changed it to sound less Jewish.”
”That is a fact, Seth.” Eli poured coffee from a silver ser vice while Ahron took Seth and Judy to a plush scarlet couch and low table. ”Asher, Ahron, and myself, all have great-great-great-grandfathers who helped build this town. And they were all close friends.”
”We're a very close town,” Ahron said. ”Though we welcome all to our town, we try to, um, well...”
”It's okay to keep the riffraff out,” Seth said.
”You found the words I was looking for,” Ahron laughed. At the same time, another door opened and in walked a handsome fortyish blond man with a radiant smile.
”How are you, Asher?” Seth greeted. ”Thanks for the invite.”
”It's my pleasure,” said the enthused rabbi, who then was introduced to Judy with a vigorous handshake. ”Welcome, both of you, to my home.”
”Thanks very much for having us,” Judy replied. ”And that goodie basket was wonderful.”
”I'm glad you liked it. It was my wife's selection,” Asher told them, and served the coffee on the table. ”And here she is now. Lydia, you remember Seth. This is his friend, Judy.”
The dark-haired, dark-eyed, and darkly attired woman merely smiled and set down a silver tray of appetizers.
”She makes the best blintzes I've ever had,” Asher bragged.
”Tesi me, Pani Lowen,” Lydia said in Czech.
Judy's eyes alighted. ”Srdecne vas vitame.”
”How wonderful!” Asher announced. ”You speak our native language?”
”She speaks so many languages,” Seth laughed, ”it makes me feel stupid.”
”Not that many,” Judy said.
”Yeah, not that many, just Greek, Latin, Czech, Hebrew-”
Now Asher seemed doubly amazed. ”Hebrew as well.” ”Well, only phonetic Hebrew,” she admitted, ”but I can't write it well in the original glyphic alphabet.”
”Still, you're quite a scholar. Hmm, let me see-I'm a bit rusty myself, but...Mah ha' miktzoah shelach?”
”Ani Morah,” Judy responded. ”Ani me'od ohevet et zeh.”
”How commendable! Where do you teach?”
”Well, I used to teach at FSU,” she hedged, ”but now that Seth and I have moved here, I'm applying in Salisbury.”