Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (5 page)

The ballroom buzzed with mild accord to
strong disagreement. A broad-featured woman in a beige silk blouse
and red scarf used her desktop computer to confront Kye. Her
flushed face, suddenly appeared on the massive overhead screen.

"A nice little show-and-tell, Dr. Naah, but
how do
you
see this affecting the way we
conduct politics?"

His free hand cupped his chin in a theatrical
gesture, palm open, fingers pointed upward, "Well, ma'am, about
that I'm not sure. I'm a tech guy. You're the politicians. I create
the technology; you put it to work. But I've seen many political
campaigns. This isn't meant to be rude or disrespectful, but most
are just silly rubbish. Stump speeches are an insult to our
intelligence. Politicians repeat the same gibberish night after
night. During an election, the public learns virtually nothing,
except perhaps the candidate's ability to lie, fib, or spin
concepts. If candidates would conduct their campaigns online a lot
more people would get involved. The Internet would force them to a
level of honesty currently unknown – and at a fraction of today's
ludicrous expense. The Info Highway won't eliminate word spinning
and issue dodging, but it will reduce them. The possibilities are
limitless."

Listeners were now eager to voice opinion
about the threat of dehumanization. Many stood to be recognized
from the lectern. Kye's demonstration impressed them, but nobody
was fooled. It is also a commercial pitch for his company.

Gabby took note of the irritation Kye's
forthrightness caused. She wondered what kind of reception he
expected or whether he just enjoyed being a curmudgeon. Perhaps he
was preaching to an old guard incapable of adopting this new
technology, reminding herself that Israelite slaves from Egypt had
to perish before a new generation was prepared to face building a
homeland west of the Jordan River.

When eager questioners infringed upon the
afternoon's schedule of events, Lyle Carberri summarily ended the
luncheon program. Opponents to Kye's vision for the future mulled
about the head table in heated debate until he was urged to move
toward the exit. An impenetrable crowd surrounding him dashed
Gabby's hope of making contact. That was a particular shame because
the more she rehashed events early that morning on the
mountainside, the more she believed he had actually saved her from
a hunter's bullet.

CHAPTER TWO

SABBATH REQUIEM

For Gabby, to ignore an invitation to run for
Congress required discipline. She admonished herself that
entertaining the idea was foolish, unworthy of her mental energy.
In order to control this flight into dreamland, she attended an
after-lunch meeting on campaign finance – a subject she sensed
would turn her stomach and expunge forever any latent yearnings for
public office. Her suspicion proved to be well founded, though it
did not produce her anticipated aversion to politics. The panel
speakers' dismissal of campaign finance reform impressed upon her
how elected politicians consistently sidestepped anything that
might challenge their incumbency. Once elected, public officials
regarded their office as a lifetime sinecure. Seen in this light,
it was obvious why Kye Naah threatened the current office
holders.

In preparation for her
Shabbat
and Chanukah service in the West Virginia
Room, she showered and added light powder to camouflage facial
abrasions. By this time, a cut on her right cheek had long since
stopped bleeding, but the wound was too unsightly to remove a
Band-aide. A gash on her upper lip could not be hidden.

How many Jewish delegates would wish welcome
the Sabbath Bride and light Chanukah candles before dinner with
friends and associates was anybody's guess. She knew that they must
be on tight schedules, many hardly thinking of Sabbath or
Chanukah.

She snuggled into a black linen dress trimmed
with white lace, feminine and yet professionally appropriate for
the Sabbath. Normally she would wear shoes with a modest heel, but,
mindful of her injured hip, selected a pair of informal leather
flats – not as flattering to her calves and ankles, but at the time
she wasn't feeling the least bit attractive. A favorite bone
barrette buckled her hair behind her head and a gold necklace
adorned her throat. From her suitcase, she gathered pamphlet-sized
prayer books and a silver
Kiddush
cup.
While not mandatory at an evening service, she collected her
Tallit
prayer shawl, reckoning it helpful
to appear rabbinical in a setting where one would not expect to see
a rabbi. Lastly, she extracted a nine-light bronze menorah and a
box of multicolored candles manufactured on an Israeli kibbutz. The
hotel's assistant food manager promised to provide Sabbath candles,
loaves of
challah
and other customary
foods.

The bedside telephone rang as she was about
to exit into the corridor. An impulse told her to let the caller
record a message on voicemail. But the thought that perhaps the
conference organizers wished to make a last minute change of venue
caused her to relent.

"Gabby?" a familiar voice echoed through the
receiver.

She immediately recognized the voice of Asa
Foreman, her associate rabbi at Ohav Shalom. "Are you all right?
Where are you?"

"At the Burn Unit in Washington Hospital
Center," the voice revealed the fragility of physical exhaustion.
"I didn't want to interrupt you and am trying to handle this
horrible situation on my own."

She set her
Shabbat
paraphernalia on the bed and dropped down beside it sensing this
would take time, though she had only fifteen minutes before the
scheduled service. "What's wrong, Asa?"

"You got an emergency call at the synagogue
from Cyrus Wolfe. Since you were away, I followed up. Cyrus is
David Morgenstern's closest friend. You know him?"

"Certainly."
 "There's been a fire. Tybee and
Janean Morgenstern have been burned."

Gabby immediately identified Tybee and Janean
as the 8 and 10-year-old daughters of David and Laura Morgenstern.
The mellowness of Sabbath peace she usually experienced after
sundown on Fridays vanished. Gone, too, the sense of wellbeing at
week's end. "How bad?"

"Cyrus didn't know for certain. Second and
third degree burns. They say that with plastic surgery Tybee is
going to be okay. Janean, who was trying to help her younger
sister, was burned worse."

"Sounds awful. Did you say they were in a
burn center?"

"Yes. Evacuated at their home by helicopter.
I'm calling from a phone booth in the hallway outside. Cantor Blass
is covering for me this evening at
Kabbalat
Shabbat
services."

"Are David and Laura with them?"

No answer from the other end. Gabby repeated
her question, adding volume the second time.

"They're in the Intensive Care Unit and won't
come out to talk with me. Cyrus, who drove them here, told me David
is distraught. He doesn't talk. He just sits and sobs like a baby.
Laura is coping a little better, though she's known to be an
extremely emotional woman. Her hands are now full with her
husband."

Gabby didn't want to imagine what Tybee and
Janean might look like. No condition disturbed her more than a
suffering child, yet years of conditioning taught her not to jump
to conclusions. Always gather the facts first and at this moment
the facts were slim. "How did it happen?"

"They were lighting the Chanukah and Sabbath
candles. That's all I know." His voice sounded bitter.

That disclosure caught Gabby like a broadside
from a British Man-of-War.
Shabbat
candles?
Chanukah
candles? How could that
be? The thought of the girls burned as a result of holiday lights
stuck her as utterly pathetic. Lights of bonding, lights of warmth,
lights of love, lights of family, lights of devotion to a 3,000
year Jewish tradition, such lights were never intended to cause
harm. Sabbath and Chanukah candles should not maim and burn
children! The facts were probably scrambled. Hearsay was usually
wrong.

"There must be an error," she said. "It can't
be the candles. Something else, of course, but not holiday
candles."

"Listen, Gabby. It was the candles. That's
what the Rescue Squad people confirmed. I feel responsible. I
taught the girls to light the
menorah
.
They wanted to surprise their parents when they came home from
work. I taught them how. The blame is entirely mine."

"That's sheer nonsense and you know it,
Asa."

"If I hadn't encouraged them, things would be
different."

"That's unadulterated bullshit. And I'm not
going to let you blame yourself. Anyone with more than tapioca for
brains knows this was an accident. I've got to officiate at a
service in a few minutes. I'll call you as soon as I'm finished. I
presume you're going home now."

"I'm planning to stay here a bit longer. I've
already had the nurse give my name to David and Laura twice. Maybe
they'll let me see them soon."

"They must be in shock. They're hurting and
angry."

"Cyrus Wolfe told me David cursed me, you,
and the synagogue."

"There must be a misunderstanding," Gabby
responded. "Under no conditions are you and the synagogue
responsible."

"Tell that to the parents."

"I will," she said while glancing at her
grandmother's watch on her wrist, noting the minute hand advancing
toward 7 p.m. "If necessary, I'll drive back to Washington after
the services."

"Let's talk first. I should have a better
picture of the medical situation. I'll call you after your
services."

She let her weight sink deeper into the
mattress while imagining faces of mutilated children, their tiny
noses spongy and unreal, their inquisitive eyes nothing but hollow
sockets, their once plump cheeks now deeply pitted. Reconstructed
limbs and body parts were bad enough, but reconstructed faces were
hideous. Her attention shifted to the candles. They were Judaism's
candles. How dare they burn two young girls! She knew better than
to blame God for this tragedy, yet holiday candles were holy fire.
Where were His Ministering Angels when needed? Where, the divine
wings protecting the young? How could Heaven be so negligent? For
holiday lights to maim was to make a mockery of what she held
sacred. Was she teaching superstition? She assumed Ohav kids would
look to their rabbis for an explanation. How could she explain
this? How might she and Asa teach children to honor the holiness of
the festivals when the very observance injured them?

Her mind replayed events leading to the
tragedy. The Morgenstern girls showed interest in their faith.
Their mother was a non-practicing Protestant and their father a
non-practicing Jew. Laura Morgenstern understood almost nothing of
Judaism. David, a developer and owner of upscale apartment houses
in the Washington metropolitan area, understood only a fraction
more. Mother and father had joined Ohav Shalom to provide their
children with the religious education and background lacking in
their home.

The girls were enthusiastic. After religious
school, they initiated long conversations with Asa. Being from a
large family, he was extremely comfortable with youngsters and knew
how to talk with them. Never condescending. Never didactic. If
their parents didn't know enough to conduct Jewish ceremonies at
home, why, asked Asa, couldn't they teach their parents? The
children, not the parents, were determined to make Jewish holidays
special and looked to their rabbis for guidance. Asa provided what
any rabbi would – instruction and encouragement. But suddenly, she
wondered if their zeal had unwittingly turned them into
executioners. Sabbath warmth turned cold, its once dazzling light
dimmed into a frigid darkness. Its holiness was now profane.

***

Greenbrier staff knew how to accommodate
hotel guests. In the West Virginia Room, chairs were arranged in a
semi-circle before the speaker's lectern, adorned with winter
poinsettia and snowy white hothouse carnations. In contrast to the
nippy December air outside, comforting warmth permeated the room.
Soft light filtered down from fin-de-siècle chandeliers. Over-sized
loaves of egg
challah
, smoked fish, and
blocks of cheese were invitingly arranged on perimeter tables.
Symmetrical rows of empty glasses for
Kiddush
waited before bottles of kosher Concord grape
wine. For
Shabbat
, a pair of foot-long
white candles jutted upward like miniature Eiffel Towers.

Normally punctilious about worship, Gabby was
seven minutes late. It was her custom to greet the worshippers with
introductory words about the liturgy, but she was in no mood to
teach anything. To her surprise, about fifty people were waiting to
greet the Sabbath Bride – some with Semitic faces she recognized,
most she did not. She had witnessed the phenomenon before: in
remote places, the yearning for Jewish expression tended to
increase.

Since the majority in attendance was
unfamiliar with traditional holiday melodies, she found herself
chanting alone. The repetitious Sabbath liturgy barely required
mental attention. Her lips fashioned the Hebrew phrases and her
voice, adequate though far from operatic, carried the melodies. A
few celebrants lent their voices to upbeat Israeli melodies. That
she knew the prayers by heart helped, since squared Hebrew letters
in the prayer booklet glared back at her in the grotesque shapes of
mutilated faces.

She made a practice of considering her
audience before selecting a sermon topic and, knowing that
participants this evening would be political activists, she spoke
on the reluctance of the Hebrew prophets to assume leadership.
Unlike American politicians who campaign with indefatigable energy
for the right to represent others in government, the early Hebrew
leaders were leery of governance. Moses shunned the responsibility
the Hebrew god,
Yahweh
, placed upon his
shoulder. King Solomon knew full well the pitfalls of authority
before being anointed by the prophet, Saul. Yet, like contemporary
politicians, once he had tasted the sweet nectar of power he could
not bring himself to surrender his crown, especially to the upstart
David. In an earlier epoch, several of Israel's Judges had begun
their careers modestly, but once empowered with authority, became
autocratic and tyrannical. Their examples teach of a human failing
– nothing in politics corrupts as much as power. Her theme
reflected a current debate over the benefits and constitutionality
of term limitations for members of Congress.