6

The Cohen boy’s bar-mitzvah was a big affair in a modern synagogue. The synagogue in fact was so modern that it was not called a synagogue any more. It was called a temple. Duddy had never seen anything like it in his life. There were a choir and an organ and a parking lot next door. The men not only did not wear hats but they sat together with the women. All these things were forbidden by traditional Jewish law, but those who attended the temple were so-called Reform Jews and they had modernized the law to suit life in America. The temple prayer services were conducted in English by Rabbi Harvey Goldstone, M.A., and Cantor “Sonny” Brown. Aside from his weekly sermon, the marriage clinic, the Sunday school, and so on, the rabbi, a most energetic man, was very active in the community at large. He was a fervent supporter of Jewish and Gentile Brotherhood, and a man who unfailingly offered his time to radio stations as a spokesman for the Jewish point of view on subjects that ranged from “Does Israel Mean Divided Loyalties?” to “The Jewish Attitude to Household Pets.” He also wrote articles for magazines and a weekly column of religious comfort for the Tely. was a big demand for Rabbi Goldstone as a public speaker and he always made sure to send copies of his speeches to all the newspapers and radio stations.

Mr. Cohen, who was on the temple executive, was one of the rabbi’s most enthusiastic supporters, but there were some who did not approve. He was, as one magazine writer had put it, a controversial figure.

“The few times I stepped inside there,” Dingleman once said, “I felt like a Jesuit in a whorehouse.”

But Mr. Cohen, Farber, and other leaders of the community all took seats at the temple for the High Holidays on, as Mr. Cohen said, the forty-yard line. The rabbi was extremely popular with the young-marrieds and that, their parents felt, was important. Otherwise, some said with justice, the children would never learn about their Jewish heritage.

Another dissenter was Uncle Benjy. “There used to be,” he said, “some dignity in being against the synagogue. With a severe Orthodox rabbi there were things to quarrel about. There was some pleasure. But this cream puff of a synagogue, this religious drugstore, you might as well spend your life being against the Reader’s Digest. taken all the mystery out of religion.”

At the bar-mitzvah Mr. Cohen had trouble with his father. The old rag peddler was, he feared, stumbling on the edge of senility. He still clung to his cold-water flat on St. Dominique Street and was a fierce follower of a Chassidic rabbi there. He had never been to the temple before. Naturally he would not drive on the Sabbath and so that morning he had got up at six and walked more than five miles to make sure to be on time for the first prayers. As Mr. Friar stood by with his camera to get the three generations together, Mr. Cohen and his son came down the outside steps to greet the old man. The old man stumbled. “Where’s the synagogue?” he asked.

“This is it, Paw. This is the temple.”

The old man looked up at the oak doors and the magnificent stained glass windows. “It’s a church,” he said, retreating.

“It’s the temple, Paw. This is where Bernie is going to be bar-mitzvah.”

“Would the old chap lead him up the steps by the hand?” Mr. Friar asked.

“Shettup,” Duddy said.

The old man retreated down another step.

“This is the shul, Come on.”

“It’s a church.”

Mr. Cohen laughed nervously. “Paw, for Christ’s sake!” And he led the old man forcefully up the steps. “Stop sniffling. This isn’t a funeral.”

Inside, the service began. “Turn to page forty-one in your prayerbooks, please,” Rabbi Goldstone said. “Blessed is the Lord, Our Father… “

The elder Cohen began to sniffle again.

“Isn’t he sweet,” somebody said.

“Bernie’s the only grandchild.”

Following the bar-mitzvah ceremony Rabbi Goldstone began his sermon. “This,” he said, “is National Sports Week.” He spoke on “Jewish Athletes — From Bar Kochva to Hank Greenberg.” Afterwards he had some announcements to make. He reminded the congregation that if they took a look at the racehorse chart displayed in the hall they would see that “Jewish History” was trailing “Dramatics Night” by five lengths. He hoped that more people would attend the next lecture. The concealed organ began to play and the rabbi, his voice quivering, read off an anniversary list of members of the congregation who over the years had departed for the great beyond. He began to read the Mourner’s Prayer as Mr. Friar, his camera held to his eye, tiptoed closer for a medium close shot.

The elder Cohen had begun to weep again when the first chord had been struck on the organ and Mr. Cohen had had to take him outside. “You lied to me,” he said to his son. “It is a church.”

Duddy approached with a glass of water. “You go inside,” he said to Mr. Cohen. Mr. Cohen hesitated. “Go ahead,” Duddy said. “I’ll stay with him.”

“Thanks.”

Duddy spoke Yiddish to the old man. “I’m Simcha Kravitz’s grandson,” he said.

“Simcha’s grandson and you come here?”

“Some circus, isn’t it? Come,” he said, “we’ll go and sit in the sun for a bit.”

Linda Rubin came to the bar-mitzvah. So did Irwin. “Well,” he said, “look who’s here. Sammy Glick.”

“All right,” Linda said sharply.

Duddy introduced Cuckoo Kaplan to Mr. Friar and Cuckoo did some clowning for the camera. “You’ve got a natural talent,” Mr. Friar said.

Duddy apologized to Cuckoo because he couldn’t pay him for being in the movie.

“That’s show biz,” Cuckoo said.

At the reception that night Duddy danced with Linda once. “If Yvette knew she’d be jealous,” Linda said.

“Aw.”

“Am I going to be invited to see your movie?”

“Sure.”

But in the days that followed, Duddy began to doubt that there ever would be a movie. Mr. Friar was depressed. His best roll of film had been overexposed. It was useless. The light in the temple was, he said, a disaster. “I say, old chap, couldn’t we restage the haftorah he asked.

“You’re crazy,” Duddy said.

Mr. Friar went to Ottawa to develop the film at the National Film Board, and when Duddy met him at the station three days later Mr. Friar was very happy indeed. “John thinks this is my greatest film,” he said. “You ought to see the rushes, Kravitz. Splendid!” But Duddy was not allowed to see the rushes. Night and day Mr. Friar worked in secret on the cutting and editing. Duddy pleaded with him. “Can’t I see something? One reel. A half of a reel, even.” But Mr. Friar was adamant. “If I were Eisenstein you wouldn’t talk to me like that. You’d have confidence. You must be fair to me, Kravitz. Wait for the finished product.”

Meanwhile Mr. Cohen phoned every morning. “Well?” he asked.

“Soon, Mr. Cohen. Very soon.”

Duddy, still trying to meet the Brault property deadline, was out early every day pushing liquid soap and toilet supplies. He began to drive his father’s taxi during off hours again. Then he had a stroke of luck. Brault accepted a further payment of a thousand dollars and agreed to wait one more month for the final payment. “Everything,” Duddy told Yvette, “depends on Mr. Friar. If the movie’s O.K. we’re in. If not…”

“Duddy, you look terrible. Look at the circles under your eyes. You’ve got to stop driving that taxi and get some sleep at night.”

Three weeks after the bar-mitzvah Mr. Friar was ready. He arranged a private screening for Duddy and Yvette. “I’m beginning to think we’d be making a grave error if we sold this film to Mr. Cohen. It’s a prize winner, Kravitz. I’m sure we could get distribution for it.”

“Will you turn out the goddam lights and let me see it, please?”

Duddy didn’t say a word all through the screening, but afterwards he was sick to his stomach.

“It’s not that bad,” Yvette said. “Things could be done to it.”

“You think we’d be making a mistake?” Duddy said. “Jeez. I could sell Mr. Cohen a dead horse easier than this pile of —”

“If you so much as cut it by one single frame,” Mr. Friar said, “then my name goes off the film.”

Duddy began to laugh. So did Yvette.

“Timothy suggested we try it at Cannes.”

“Jeez,” Duddy said. “Everyone’s going to be there. But everyone. The invitations are all out.”

Duddy took to his bed for two days. He refused to see anyone.

“I’m so worried,” Yvette said.

Mr. Friar kissed her hand. “You have a Renaissance profile,” he said.

“He won’t even answer the phone. Oh, Mr. Friar, please!” she said, removing his hand.

“If there were only world enough and time, my love…”

“I’m going to try his number once more,” Yvette said.

But Duddy was out. On the third day he had decided that he could no longer put off seeing Mr. Cohen. He went to his house this time. “Ah,” Mr. Cohen said, “the producer is here.”

“Have you got the movie with you?” Bernie asked.

Mrs. Cohen poured him a glass of plum brandy. “If you don’t mind,” she said, “there are a few more names I’d like to add to the guest list.”

“I’ve got some bad news for you. I’m canceling the screening. Tomorrow morning my secretary will call everyone to tell them the show’s off.”

“Aw, gee whiz.”

“Is it that bad?” Mr. Cohen asked.

“It’s great. We’re going to enter it in the Cannes Festival.”

“I don’t understand,” Mrs. Cohen said.

“You won’t like it. It’s what we call avant-garde.”

“Watch it,” Mr. Cohen said. “This is where he begins to lie. Right before your eyes the price is going up.”

Duddy smiled at Mrs. Cohen. “I suppose what you expected was an ordinary movie with shots of all the relatives and friends… well, you know what I mean. But Mr. Friar is an artist. His creation is something else entirely.”

“Can’t we see it, Maw?”

“Aren’t you taking a lot for granted, young man? Don’t you think my husband and I can appreciate artistic quality when we see it?”

“Don’t fall into his trap,” Mr. Cohen said.

Duddy turned to Mr. Cohen. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” he said. He told him that Mr. Friar had been a big director, but he had had to leave Hollywood because of the witchhunt. That was the only reason why he was in Montreal fiddling with small films. He wanted to make his name and get in on the ground floor of the Canadian film industry, so to speak. Turning to Mrs. Cohen, he added, “Please don’t repeat this, but if not for Senator McCarthy I wouldn’t have been able to hire a man as big as Friar for less than five thousand dollars. Not that he isn’t costing me plenty as it is.”

Mr. Cohen started to say something, but his wife glared at him. She smiled at Duddy. “But why can’t we see the movie? I don’t understand.”

“It’s different. It’s shocking.”

“Oh, really now!”

“Mr. Friar has produced a small screen gem in the tradition of Citizen Kane Franju’s Sang des Bêtes.”

“How can we cancel all the invitations at this late date? We insist on seeing it.”

Duddy hesitated. He stared reflectively at the floor. “All right,” he said, “but don’t say I didn’t warn you first.”

Mr. Cohen laughed. “Don’t believe a word he says, Gertie. It’s good. It must be very good. Otherwise he wouldn’t be here talking it down. But listen here, Kravitz, not a penny more than I promised. Wow! What a liar!”

Duddy gulped down his plum brandy. “I’m not selling,” he said. “That’s something else. You can see it, but… “

“Hey,” Mr. Cohen said, “hey there. Are you getting tough with an old friend?”

“I want it, Daddy. I want the movie! Gee whiz, Maw.”

“You outsmarted yourself, Mr. Cohen. You wouldn’t give me an advance or put anything in writing.”

“Sam, what’s the boy saying?”

“You gave me your word, Kravitz. A gentleman doesn’t go back on his word.”

Bernie began to cry.

“You can’t blame him, Mrs. Cohen. He didn’t want to take too big a chance on a young boy just starting out.”

“All right,” Mr. Cohen said hoarsely, “just how much do you want for the film?”

“Money isn’t the question.”

“Such a liar! My God, never in my life — Will you stop crying, please. Take him out of here, Gertie.”

“I’m not going.”

“Well, Kravitz, I’m waiting to hear your price. Gangster!”

Duddy hesitated.

“Please,” Mrs. Cohen said.

“I can’t sell outright. I’d still want to enter it in the festival.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Cohen said warmly.

“We can’t talk here,” Mr. Cohen said. “Come up to my bedroom.”

But Duddy wouldn’t budge. “For fifteen hundred dollars,” he said, “I’ll give you an excellent color print. But you’d have to sign away all rights to a percentage of the profits on Canadian theater distribution.”

“What’s that? Come again, please?”

“We’re going to distribute it as a short to Canadian theaters.”

“Gee whiz.”

“For twenty-five hundred dollars in all I’ll make you a silent partner. I’d cut you in for twenty per cent of the net theater profits. My lawyers could draw up the agreement. But remember, it’s a gamble. This is an art film, not one of those crassly commercial items.”

“Would my husband’s name appear anywhere?”

“We could list him in the credits as a co-producer with Dudley Kane Enterprises.”

Mr. Cohen smiled for the first time. “A boy from the boys,” he said, “that’s what you are.”

“Maybe you’d like to think it over first.”

“Moe.”

“All right. O.K., I’ll write him a check right now.” Mr. Cohen looked at Duddy and laughed. “Look at him. He’s shaking.”

After Duddy had left with the check Mr. Cohen said, “I could have got it for less if you and Bernie hadn’t been here.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because yesterday I spoke to Dave in Toronto. He’s with Columbia of Canada now and he told me a screen short is worth up to twenty thousand dollars. I could have got it for less, it’s true, but in the end it still won’t have cost me a cent for the color print. And think of the publicity. It must be terrific, you know. Otherwise he wouldn’t have talked it down like that. He’s still got a lot to learn, that boy.”

Duddy met Yvette at a quarter to ten the next morning. He told her what had happened while they waited for the bank to open. “But that’s wonderful,” she said.

“Yeah, sure, until they see the damn thing. Then the lawsuits start. And nobody in town will ever want me to make a movie for them again.”

“Maybe they’ll like it.”

“Are you kidding? Listen, I’m taking cash for this check. Pay Brault and put the rest in your account. If they sue I’ll go into bankruptcy.”

“All right.”

“I hope the check’s still good. Maybe he’s stopped payment on it.”

THE SCREENING

DUDLEY KANE ENTERPRISES

with M. Cohen, Inc., Metal Merchants

Presents

A Peter John Friar Production

“HAPPY BAR-MITZVAH, BERNIE!”

executive producer d. kravitz

directed, written, and narrated by

p. j. friar

additional dialogue by

rabbi harvey goldstone, m.a.

“So far so good.”

“Would you mind taking off your hat please, Elsie?”

“Sh.”

1. A close shot of an aged finger leading a thirteen-year-old boy’s hand over the Hebrew letters of a prayerbook.

2. Grandfather Cohen is seated at the dining room table with Bernard, teaching him the tunes of the Torah.

NARRATOR: Older than the banks of the Nile, not so cruel as the circumcision rite of the Zulus, and even more intricate than a snowflake is the bar-mitzvah…

“Hey, what’s that he said about niggers being clipped? I thought —”

” — Comparative religion. I take it at McGill.”

“Comparative what? give you such a schoss.”

3. In the synagogue Bernard stands looking at the Holy Ark. His reaction.

CHOIR: Hear, O Israel, the Lord is Our God, the Lord is One.

4. Grandfather Cohen, wearing a prayer shawl, hands the Torah to Mr. Cohen, who passes it to his son.

NARRATOR: From generation to generation, for years before the birth of Christ…

“Hsssssss…”

“O.K., smart guy. Shettup!”

NARRATOR: … the rule of law has been passed from hand to hand among the Chosen People. Something priceless, something cherished…

“Like a chinchilla.”

“One more crack out of you, Arnie,” Mr. Cohen said, “and out you go.”

In the darkness Duddy smiled, relieved.

NARRATOR: … a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

5. The wrappings come off and Mr. Cohen holds the Torah aloft.

CHOIR (recites in Hebrew): In the beginning God created heaven and earth…

6. Camera closes in on Torah.

NARRATOR: … In the beginning there was the Word… There was Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob… There was Moses…

As choir hums in background

NARRATOR: King David… Judas Maccabee …

Choir to climax

NARRATOR: … and, in our own time, Leon Trotsky …

“What’s that?”

“His bar-mitzvah I would have liked to have seen. Trotsky!”

NARRATOR: … in all those years, the Hebrews, whipped like sand by the cruel winds of oppression, have survived by the word… the law…

7. A close shot of a baby being circumcised.

“Lock the doors. Here comes the dirty part.”

“Shame on you.”

“Awright, Sarah. O.K. You’ve seen one before. You don’t have to pretend you’re not looking.”

NARRATOR: … and through the centuries the eight-day-old Hebrew babe has been welcomed into the race with blood.

Tomtoms beat in background. Heightening.

8. (Montage) Lightning. African tribal dance. Jungle fire. Stukas diving. A jitterbug contest speeded up. Slaughtering of a cow. Fireworks against a night sky. More African dancing. Torrents of rain. An advertisement for Maidenform Bras upside down. Blood splashing against glass. A lion roars.

“Wow!”

“Are you all right, Zeyda?”

Drums to climax. Out.

9. A slow dissolve to close-up of Bernard Cohen’s shining morning face.

NARRATOR: This is the story of one such Hebrew babe, and how at the age of thirteen he was at last accepted as an adult member of his tribe.

“If you don’t feel well, Zeyda, get you a glass of water.”

NARRATOR: This is the story of the bar-mitzvah of Bernard, son of Moses…

10. A smiling Rabbi Goldstone leads Bernard up the aisle of the temple. In the background second cousins and schoolmates wave and smile at the camera.

“Good,” Duddy said. “Excellent.” He had asked Mr. Friar to work Rabbi Goldstone into every possible shot. “Look, there I am! Did you see me, Mommy?”

“You see Harry there picking his nose? If he’d known the camera —”

“A big joke!”

11. As Bernard and Rabbi Goldstone reach the prayer stand.

NARRATOR: As solemn as the Aztec sacrifice, more mysterious than Helen’s face, is the pregnant moment, the meeting of time past and time present, when the priest and his initiate reach the ho’mat.

Rabbi Goldstone coughed. “That means priest in the figurative sense.”

“He’s gone too far,” Duddy whispered to Yvette. “Jeez.”

CHOIR: (singing in Hebrew): Blessed is the Lord our God, Father of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob…

“There, Zeyda, that nice?”

“Oh, leave him alone, Henry.”

“Leave him alone? I think he’s had another stroke.”

12. As Bernard says his blessings over the Torah the camera pans around the temple. Aunt Sadie giggles shyly. Ten-year-old Manny Schwartz crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue. Grandfather Cohen looks severe. Mr. Cohen wipes what just might be a tear from his eye. Uncle Arnie whispers into a man’s ear. The man grins widely.

13. A close shot of Bernard saying his blessings. The camera moves in slowly on his eyes.

Bring in tomtoms again.

14. Cut to a close shot of circumcision again.

“It’s not me,” Bernie shouted. “Honest, guys.”

“Atta boy.”

“Do you think this’ll have a bad effect on the children?”

“Never mind the children. I’ve got such a pain there now you’d think it was me up there.”

15. Resume shot of Bernard saying his haftorah.

NARRATOR: The young Hebrew, now a fully accepted member of his tribe, is instructed in the ways of the world by his religious adviser.

16. A two-shot of Rabbi Goldstone and Bernard.

NARRATOR: “Beginning today,” the Rabbi tells him, “you are old enough to be responsible for your own sins. Your father no longer takes them on his shoulders.”

As choir hums Elgar’s “Pomp and Circumstance”

17. Camera pans round temple again. Cutting back again and again to Bernard and the rabbi.

Superimpose Kipling’s “IF” over the above NARRATOR: Today you are a man, Bernard son of Moses.

18. (Montage) Lightning. Close shot of head of Michelangelo’s statue of David. Cartoon of a Thurber husband. African tribal dance. Close shot of a venereal disease warning in a public urinal.

“Zeyda, one minute.”

“You’d better go with him, Henry.”

Soldiers marching speeded up. Circumcision close-up again. Upside-down shot of a hand on a woman’s breast.

“Hey,” Arnie shouted, “can you use a new casting director, Kravitz?” “Haven’t you any appreciation for the finer things?”

“Hoo-haw.”

Duddy bit his hand. The sweat rolled down his forehead.

“This is meant to be serious, Arnie. Oh, he’s such a fool.”

A lion roars. Close shot of Bernard’s left eye. A pair of black panties catch fire. Lightning. African tribal dance.

NARRATOR: Today you are a man and your family and friends have come to celebrate.

Giuseppe di Stefano sings drinking song from “La Traviata.”

19. Close shot of hands pouring a large Scotch.

20. Cut to general shots of guests at temple kiddush.

“There I am!”

“Look at Sammy, stuffing his big fat face as usual.”

“There I am again!”

“What took you so long, Henry?”

“Did I miss anything?”

“Aw. Where’s the zeyda?”

“He’s sitting outside in the car. Hey, was that me?”

“I’d like to see this part again later, please.”

“Second the motion.”

NARRATOR: Those who couldn’t come sent telegrams.

21. Hold a shot of telegrams pinned against green background.

As choir hums “Auld Lang Syne”

NARRATOR: Happy bar-mitzvah, Bernie. Best Uncle Herby… May your life be happy and successful. The Shapiro Brothers and Myrna… Best wishes for health, happiness, and success from the Winnipeg branch of the Cohens. Surprise parcel follows… My heart goes out to you and yours today. Myer…

“You notice Lou sent only a Greetings Telegram? You get a special rate.”

“He’s had a bad year, that’s all. Lay off, Molly.”

“A bad year! He comes from your side of the family, you mean.”

NARRATOR: Those who came did not come empty-handed.

“Try it some time.”

NARRATOR: They came with tributes for the boy who had come of age.

22. Camera pans over a table laden with gifts. Revealed are four Parker 51 sets, an electric razor, a portable record player…

“Murray got the player wholesale through his brother-in-law.”

… three toilet sets, two copies of Tom Sawyer, five subscriptions to the National Geographic Magazine, a movie projector, a fishing rod and other angling equipment, three cameras, a season’s ticket to hockey games at the Forum, a set of phylacteries and a prayer shawl, a rubber dinghy, a savings account book open at a first deposit of five hundred dollars, six sport shirts, an elaborate chemistry set, a pile of fifty silver dollars in a velvet-lined box, at least ten credit slips (worth from twenty to a hundred dollars each) for Eaton’s and Morgan’s, two sets of H. G. Wells’s Outline of History…

As choir sings “Happy Birthday, Bernie!”

23. Hold a shot of numerous checks pinned to a board. Spin it.

“Dave’s check is only for twenty-five bucks. Do you know how much business he gets out of Cohen every year?”

“If it had been Lou you would have said he had a bad year. Admit it.”

“Hey, Bernie,” Arnie yelled, “how many of those checks bounced? You can tell us.”

“I was grateful for all of them,” Bernie said, “large or small. It’s the thought that counts with me.”

“Isn’t he sweet?”

“Sure,” Arnie said, “but he could have told me that before.”

24. A shot of Rabbi Goldstone’s study. Bernard sits in an enormous leather chair and the rabbi paces up and down, talking to him.

NARRATOR: But that afternoon, in the good rabbi’s study, the young Hebrew learns that there are more exalted things in this world than material possessions. He is told something of the tragic history of his race, how they were exploited by the ancient Egyptian imperialists, how reactionary dictators from Nehru to Hitler persecuted them in order to divert the working classes from the true cause of their sorrows. He learns — like Candide — that all is not for the best in the best of all possible worlds.

As Al Jolson sings “Eli, Eli”

25. Rabbi Goldstone leads Bernard to the window and stands behind him, his hands resting on the lad’s shoulders.

“Five’ll get you ten that right now he’s asking Bernie to remind his father that the temple building campaign is lagging behind schedule.”

Rabbi Goldstone coughed loudly.

NARRATOR (recites): I am a Jew: hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions, fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same oils, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick him does he not bleed?

26. Rabbi Goldstone autographs a copy of his book, Why I’m Glad To Be a Jew, and hands it to Bernard.

27. Hold a close shot of the book.

From there the movie went on to record the merrymaking and odd touching interlude at the dinner and dance. Relatives and friends saw themselves eating, drinking, and dancing. Uncles and aunts at the tables waved at the camera, the kids made funny faces, and the old people sat stonily. Cuckoo Kaplan did a soft-shoe dance on the head table. As the camera closed in on the dancers Henry pretended to be seducing Morrie Applebaum’s wife. Mr. Cohen had a word with the band leader and the first kazatchka played. Timidly the old people joined hands and began to dance around in a circle. Mr. Cohen and some spirited others joined in the second one. Duddy noticed some intruders at the sandwich table. He did not know them by name or sight, but remembering, he recognized that they were F.F.H.S. boys and he smiled a little. The camera panned lovingly about fish and jugs and animals modeled out of ice. It closed in and swallowed the bursting trumpeter. Guests were picked up again, some reeling and others bad-tempered, waiting for taxis and husbands to come round with the car outside the temple.

And Mr. Cohen, sitting in the first row with his legs open like an inverted nutcracker to accommodate his sunken belly, thought, it’s worth it, every last cent or what’s money for, it’s cheap at any price to have captured my family and friends and foolish rabbi. He reached for Gertie’s hand and thought, I’d better not kiss Bernie. It would embarrass him.

As choir sings Hallelujah Chorus

74. Rear view long shot. Mr. Cohen and Bernard standing before the offices of M. Cohen, Inc., Metal Merchants.

Fade out

Nobody spoke. Duddy began to bite his fingernails and Yvette pulled his hand away and held it.

“A most edifying experience,” Rabbi Goldstone said. “A work of art.”

Everybody began to speak at once.

“Thank you very much indeed,” Mr. Friar said. “Unfortunately the best parts were left on the cutting room floor.”

“Play it again.”

“Yeah!”