A Town of Empty Rooms by Karen E. Bender Page A

congregants. Inhabit us with wisdom and the vision to care for all of us, young and old, sick and healthy, those who attend and those who do not. Let the Torah guide us in its wisdom. Amen.”
    Everyone looked up. Norman reached to snag the last piece of pastry.
    â€œFirst item on the agenda,” said Norman. “We have a new board member. Serena Hirsch. She’s been a member of the Temple for five weeks. I say that’s long enough!” He paused and looked up, grinning. “Georgia says she does a great job in the office. I say she can represent the youth.”
    There was quite a bit of business to discuss. Marty Schulman, sixties, board treasurer, a former auto mechanic from Morristown, New Jersey, told them that the organ had come of age and that they needed to choose a birthday for it, as it was turning one hundred this year.
    â€œI put down two thousand dollars as seed money to celebrate the organ’s birthday!” announced Norman. “I will research the organ’s history and choose the day of its birth.”
    There was a silence.
    â€œTwo thousand?” asked Marty, making a note of this. “No offense, Norman, but why do we need two thousand? The religious school needs money — not to mention financial aid for members — ”
    â€œIt is rumored that this is the oldest organ in any religious
institution of North Carolina,” said Norman. “This will bring fame and renown to our Temple. I have even begun organ lessons — ”
    â€œIs it your birthday, Norman?” asked Betty.
    â€œIf you want to donate two thousand dollars,” said Marty, “we could get all new books for the religious school, plus actually pay the teachers — ”
    Norman was annoyed by Marty’s attempt to distract him. The organ was what he wanted to fund. The organ people could hear. They could see. They would think of him. “My birthday is November ninth. I will be seventy-nine,” said Norman, smiling. “Betty, I can hire you to cater my organ bash, if you’re nice to me — ”
    â€œSchedule’s full up,” said Betty. “But thank you.”
    Serena noticed a tense cheeriness in Betty’s voice. They established a task force to create the birthday celebration for the organ. “Our next item,” said Tom, “is the new Jewish cemetery.”
    Serena noticed Rabbi Golden standing slightly apart from the board. His job, he explained, was not to serve on the board, for that was the job of the Temple congregants. He would be available for advice. He was pretending to ignore the workings of the group, but she noticed his reaction to everything that was said. It was almost as though he was having a personal conversation with each member of the board. He rolled his eyes, he smiled briefly, but he mostly wore a floating expression she could not place for a moment, then recognized as disdain.
    â€œThe cemetery,” said Tom. “I am head of a committee entrusted with creating a new Jewish cemetery for the Jewish residents of Waring. The land was a donation from the Selzer family. We are happy to say that it contains 152 plots, which we will put on sale when we have the area measured and cleared.”
    The group applauded, which seemed both the right response and not.
    â€œSomeone has got to call the mortuary to stop doing what they do to the bodies,” said Saul.
    â€œWhat do they do?” asked Serena.
    â€œPut makeup on them!” said Saul. “They started an embalming process on Myron Steinway — without asking.”
    â€œWhy did they do that?” asked Serena.

    Tom tapped his fingers together as though he were trying to be patient. “Because they didn’t know the rules for cleaning the body,” he said. “Saul, you call them. Our other point of order is the status of non-Jewish spouses in the cemetery. We have, at last count, forty-three families in the Temple who are