Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (34 page)

"Someone else said those identical words a
long time ago."

"Who was that?"
"God. In the Book of Exodus.
When Moses asked for his proper name. God replied, 'I'll be who
I'll be.' So that shows you that Yahweh, deity to the ancient
Hebrews, was history's first existentialist."

On her doorstep they embraced again. "I'd
invite you in, Kye, but I need to decompress. I've got to conduct a
service tomorrow morning and I haven't yet thought what to say.
Time has run away from me."

"I understand, honey," he kissed her forehead
while clinging to her upper arms. "I'm looking forward to some
private time with you. Remember, you promised to let me teach you
about Internet fluency. And that's tough when you're so busy at
Ohav Shalom."

A gush of cynicism escaped from her lips. "I
warned you about interruptions in my schedule."

"What if we get out of town and you don't
answer the phone. I've got the perfect place in mind."

"Where?" she was curious.

"A secret getaway. Pack for an overnight and
bring along your jogging clothes," were his final words before she
pulled away to unlock her front door.

Gabby's duties seemed endless, and there was still
one last unfinished item on her day's agenda. She showered and
prepared for bed, then from her kitchen counter unhooked a CD
player and reconnected it into a wall socket beside her bed-stand.
Flannel sheets she used during the winter months felt warm and
inviting to her touch. She rested her spine against the headboard
and settled under a puffy goose-down comforter that had replaced a
malfunctioning electric blanket.

Cantor Blass's CD disk disappeared into the
player and a slight adjustment to the volume prepared her to hear
Asa's
A Jazzman's Sorrow.
It began with
provocative clash of disharmonious chords, the way Asa often
introduced his compositions to gather attention. But immediately,
it resolved into an infectious syncopation of opposing rhythms,
preparing for an overlay of melody. She knew the cantor to be
something of a musical snob who reserved his praise for superb
music, usually composed by the classical masters. Almost
immediately she sensed why Reuben had been unreservedly
enthusiastic. Here was no ordinary coupling rhythms and melodies,
but a skilful weaving that seemed to transcend the piano, base
violin, and drums in the recording. Asa's
Sorrow
spoke with an inner voice, conveying a mixture
of emotions through syncopation and melody. Tired as she was, her
attention remained focused. Part of her wanted to respond to her
exhaustion, another to be transported by the notes. She always knew
Asa to be a superb musician, but until this moment didn't
appreciate exactly how good.

The angel of rest took possession of her, but
only after the CD player fell silent.

***

The cycle of Jewish festivals is
interminable. Gabby and Asa returned to the synagogue early the
following morning to conduct worship for the second day of Pesach.
Before the service, she was not surprised to find her voicemail
filled with congratulations for her role in
From
Slavery to Freedom
, which by most accounts had been
successful. Non-members of the congregation left short messages of
appreciation, among them effusive praise from Gordon Stack, Senior
Vice President for Programming at Disney Productions. More
meaningful were congratulatory words from Karla Foo, whom Gabby
intended to call to express her gratitude. Too bad, she thought,
Karla beat her to the punch. And there was a message from Stan
Melkin, but it said nothing about the Passover presentation. He
asked her to call his office about several business issues. He
sounded distant and businesslike, foreshadowing the growing chill
she could feel in their relationship.

During the Pesach service, she found her mind
thinking about being alone with Kye, free from interruptions. So
when he arrived the following day in a Politicstoday van to take
her away for a few days, she was ready in every sense of the word,
including foresight to bring
matzot
to eat
during the remaining days of the Pesach festival.

Driving south into Northern Virginia in Kye's
Ford van cluttered with electronic equipment behind the driver's
seat, she tried guessing the secret place he had in mind. A turn in
a westerly direction on Interstate 64 confirmed her suspicions. "We
met on a mountain trail," he disclosed. "It's time to revisit the
scene of this fortuitous crime."

The van provided a single front seat,
unobstructed by a gear shift. Gabby inched closer like a dating
high schooler, close enough to plant a kiss upon his cheek before
contributing her approval: "I like nostalgic men. Only I forgot to
bring along my deer costume."

Their first afternoon at Greenbrier Hotel in White
Sulfur Springs, West Virginia, was devoted to working on joint
laptop computers. She practiced storing and retrieving email,
clustering multiple messages for dissemination to thousands of
people simultaneously. Next came lessons on merging electronic
address books and culling from them desired characteristics, then
attaching to them audio and visual material.
Politicstoday
possessed a prodigious memory. And if
required, additional memory could be borrowed from allied
servers.

Before sunset, Gabby and Kye jogged to the
golf course and headed north into the hills along vaguely familiar
fire trails, synchronizing their pace. His longer legs provided an
edge, but her breathing was superior. As the grade ascended they
drew together, their sweat-encrusted shoulders bumping.

"No deer hunters in spring," he huffed.

"And no dogs to trip over," she added.

The sun had begun to fall in the west,
painting early blooming locusts and sycamore trees bordering a
trail resplendent orange and yellow. Somewhere in the interlocking
matrix of fire roads, they had become confused and were unable to
identify where they accidentally met in December. Their pace
eventually slowed and then stopped, their arms coiled around each
other's waists, two bodies merging into a single form. Their lips
found each other, then separated and pecked at different places
along the neck, both soaked in perspiration.

He whispered, "Gabby, I have some wonderful
news. I wanted to wait for the right moment when you were free from
pressure at Ohav Shalom. The reason I was late for your Passover at
the synagogue is that Lyle Carberri and I are communicating again
by email. Clandestinely, of course. He wrote yesterday that the
president wants to establish himself as the first chief-executive
to utilize the full potential of the Internet, like Roosevelt and
Reagan did with radio broadcasts and Clinton, with television. He's
agreed to go on an Internet chat site with you to inaugurate your
campaign. The DNC will heavily advertise this event. We'll get
thousands, maybe tens of thousands of hits. Who wouldn't like to
chat with the president?"

The notion sounded utterly preposterous and
she could respond only with incredulity. "The President of the
United States? With me?"

"In Washington, nothing is free. You're
perfect for him. He's getting a head start into the technology of
the future with a charismatic candidate who just charmed the public
on the Disney Channel. In exchange, you get awesome publicity and
his name recognition. Toby Ryles can't begin to match this."

They started jogging again, this time
descending at a faster clip as their banter trailed off into
silence. For Gabby, a chat session on the Internet with the
President of the United States was utter dream world. She asked
herself if she had lost her bearings altogether? Then followed up
with a more important question: does falling in love make one
abandon all sanity?

The sun had set when they returned to the
east lobby of the hotel. Once in their room, they repeated their
embrace on the mountainside. Only this time, the merging of
complementary bodies was accompanied by arousal. Both acknowledge
it. For some time now, their path had been heading in this
direction. Neither could think of a more fitting venue than the
historic Greenbrier Hotel, after a wonderful jog together in the
hills.

"I need to shower first," she told him.

"I love you sweaty and smelly and just the
way your are." He sounded truthful, not impatient.

"Just give me a few minutes to clean up."

"Can I join you in the shower?"

"An inviting suggestion. But a bathing woman
isn't a graceful woman."

He nibbled at her ear and folded his hand
through her hair. "When I watched you explaining the Bread of
Affliction at Ohav Shalom, I saw the most magnificent woman I've
ever been close to. I can hardly believe she is with me at this
moment."

"There are so many differences between us,
Kye. Neither of us can afford to be blind."

Near her ear, he whispered, "True, but let's
fly together in a poet's chariot, wild and free, letting our
feelings overrule stubborn minds. Why not live as Shakespeare's
lovers?"

"I've always been trained to live with facts.
They govern everything, you know. But tonight there's a new set of
facts and I don't care about the old ones. Just give me a few
moments in the shower first."

"Pull back! Pull back!" a voice admonished
her while stripping a jogging bra from her shoulders and stepping
from a pair of running shorts. If ever there was a need for caution
with a man, this is it. And yet a counter voice asked why should
she turn away because God made Kye a Baptist. Every man she had
wanted was flawed in some manner. Where was it written that all
stars in a constellation must line up perfectly? By such standards,
she would never find a man to love.

All questions became moot when Kye knocked on
the door and, without waiting her approval, slipped into the
bathroom, dressed only in his Jockey shorts. Warring factions
inside her ceased conflict as she studied his bronze, hairless skin
and the strong definition of his shoulder muscles. For an instant,
he let his eyes rest upon her breasts, then dropped over her waist
to the groin. Her hands reached forward to remove the last
impediment to their nudity. Inquiring if he was circumcised was not
the kind of question a woman would ask while dining under
candlelight. She knew she should have asked before this moment, but
shyness inhibited her. She dreaded the moment as her eyes moved
from his chest to his abdomen, descended to his groin and what she
feared – his member partially erect, but uncircumcised, the
symbolic difference between her race and his. Her trepidation, she
hid.

The tight confines of a hotel shower brought
them into close proximity under the warm tap water. They took turns
shampooing each other's hair, then lathering bodies with rich,
aromatic soapsuds. Washrags permitted them to touch without
embarrassment, but soon they substituted their hands, exploring new
flesh and unseen crevices.

Drying each other continued the exploratory
adventure. New flesh stimulated new intimacy. They clung together,
stepping over to the king-sized bed, covered with a bedspread of
spun cotton in emerald greens and ochre. Crisp sheets and puffy
pillows awaited them below. They fell onto the mattress, devouring
each other with uncensored appetite. As their breathing increased
so did their words of endearment.

CHAPTER TEN

TEMPERS ABLAZE

Television liked to repeat images, and
picture of Gabby lifting the
Lachma anya
,
the Bread of Affliction, on Passover was used repeatedly throughout
the remaining days of the holiday. Gabby's Semitic features and her
message of humility in the midst of abundance touched the public's
sensibility how privileged peoples need to be reminded about
sharing their blessings with the dispossessed. Chuck Browner
parried numerous phone calls seeking her follow-up presence on TV
talk programs and when she politely declined, he pointed out that
avoiding public exposure was no way to launch a political campaign.
How better to gain name recognition than by being seen on the boob
tube? "Congress needs a symbol of charity and decency," he quipped,
knowing full well that she was not likely to be amused.

She replied tartly, "Remember the rabbinic
proscription, 'Don't use the Torah as a spade with which to dig.' I
have no intention of exploiting the pulpit to garner attention by
the media. That isn't kosher and were I Toby Ryles, I'd be
incensed."

"She's already running scared. Her supporters
have asked for her to address members of Ohav Shalom on a Sunday
morning brunch program."

Gabby huffed cautionary alarm. "I can't
believe Toby would dare challenge me on my own turf."

Chuck liked to sound street savvy. "Didn't
they teach you in Politics 101 that campaigning is a contact sport.
You intend to run the high road into Congress without shedding a
drop of your opponent's blood. I know you believe that votes can be
won with superior ideas. Well, Good Lady, disabuse yourself of that
notion. And don't assume Representative Ryles will travel the high
road alongside you. She's a consummate politician who won't sit on
the sidelines and let you steal her votes. Politicians are
creatures of the sewer and all their pathways weave through the
swamp. Toby Ryles will use whatever tricks she can to maintain her
position in the Jewish community. And that means getting her
friends here at Ohav Shalom to abandon their beloved rabbi."

"That doesn't worry me."

"Don't be smug. They won't assault you from
the front, but from your blind side when you're not paying
attention.

"You really don't think I should run, do you,
Chuck?"

As he searched for his own meaning, there was
a pained expression on his face. "No, Rabbi Gabby. That's not what
I think. I believe you must get out of the rat race here. How long
will you be able to maintain your current pace? Before you fizzle
out like spent fireworks in a dark New Year's sky. There's life
outside the rabbinate, Rabbi. But whether Congress is where you
should go, that I'm not qualified to decide."