In his little Brooklyn synagogue, the retired dentist Howard Sherman had become a complainer: the chairs are uncomfortable, it takes forever to get a minyan, the cholent is tasteless, the sermons are incoherent, the children are out of control, and on and on. Whenever he gave voice to yet another complaint, his fellow congregants’ eyes would roll, and there might be an occasional “Oh, c’mon, Howie,” but no one would ever speak harshly to him. His wife Sadie had run off with Saul Birnbaum, a kohen, nearly two years before, and Howard had only recently returned to services at the synagogue. It was assumed that ever since Sadie’s departure his emotional health was fragile, and no one wanted to add to his misery.
Actually Howard’s emotional health was fine, and he was happy to be back. His litany of complaints was just his way of demonstrating that his spirit had not been broken by Sadie’s departure. In fact, he had been glad to see Sadie go. Sure, he missed her cooking, and she had kept their home in spotless condition. Indeed, he had once bragged that major surgery could be performed anywhere in the house without risk of infection. But his conversations with Sadie had been reduced mostly to listening to her many complaints, and especially her disparaging remarks about their two grandchildren—Jason and Marcie—the children of Howard’s and Sadie’s son Manny and his beautiful but stupid wife Laurel. Sadie had sent them practically a whole library of stimulating books for...
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