Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (6 page)

After the conclusion of formal worship,
participants assembled in the rear to kindle the Sabbath and
Chanukah
candles and to bless wine and
bread. Despite what she considered her lackluster performance on
the pulpit, the solemnity of the evening had descended over those
circling about. Jews, she sensed, felt good that the DNC has
officially recognized its Jewish members. With her mind on the
Morgenstern family, she had forgotten Lyle Carberri's earlier
pledge to attend, and when he materialized she was surprised. A
friendly, winsome smile captured his pudgy face.

She invited everyone to join in blessings
over the Sabbath candles. Her eyes fell upon the tapers while her
mind imagined flames from a raging inferno. In the middle of the
baracha
, blessing, the dam holding back
her emotions broke. Terror of maimed children's faces flooded her
consciousness. Hideous, holocaust images usurped her vision.
Sabbath fire disappeared behind grotesque juvenile masks. Like
Greek sirens luring mariners along treacherous Aegean seas, these
ghosts of Sabbath mocked the worshippers. From a booklet of
matches, she ripped off a match and struck against the igniting
strip at the bottom. The cardboard shaft crumpled in her fingers. A
second suffered the same fate. A third burst into flame, but
guttered and immediately died, leaving behind a thin plumb of
smoke. Her fourth attempt succeeded.

Stress often caused her hands to shake. She
knew how to hide this reaction from those far away, but her method
failed with individuals close by. While the flame in the latest
match burned, a strong tremor transferred from her hand to her arm.
Folks expected her to ignite a wick and move quickly to the second.
But as the flame burned inexorably toward her fingers, an
insurmountable gap opened between Gabby's trembling hand and the
Sabbath taper. She tried to close the distance but her hand would
not cooperate. As the flame approached her thumb and forefinger,
those standing nearby perceived the danger and held their breaths.
Her lips remained closed.

She was vaguely aware of a body threading
through the first row of participants, then firm fingers on her
wrist to steady the shaking. It guided her hand across the gap to
kindle the first wick.

An eighth inch from her fingertips, the
dangerous flame flickered. She leaned forward to blow it out, but a
foreign hand rose before her lips to shield her breath, then
ushered her fingers forward to transfer flame immediately to the
second wick. "Blow now, Rabbi Gabrielle," Kye Naah said, removing
his hand from her lips.

As soon as the match degenerated into a
stream of smoke, participants sounded their relief. "
Good Shabbos, Good Shabbos
,” rippled through the crowd
with some individuals kissing each other.

A series of blessings for Chanukah followed.
Feeling Kye Naah's presence beside her, she struck a new match
which failed. A second produced a small flame for transferring to
the
shamash
candle, set apart from the
others. She gave this taper to Kye and pointed to the first candle
on the right, then began chanting the familiar blessing and song,
Mah-oz tzur.

"This is the person I wanted to meet you,"
Lyle Carberri drew himself near. "I've told Kye about how we hope
you'll run for the eighth Congressional seat in Maryland and he
said he'd like to meet you. He's a trustee at the Korean Baptist
Church in Bethesda."

Gabby's eyes widened while she spoke to Kyle.
"This is the second time today you've saved me from disaster."

"Hardly a disaster, but perhaps a nasty burn.
I see I did considerable damage to your face, Rabbi."

"Nevertheless, thanks a second time. I hope
this doesn't become a habit."

"So do I. I enjoyed your message this
evening. I agree with you that addiction to power is a real
problem. Humility is a rare commodity in Washington. Our
representatives seldom lose an opportunity to tell us how much they
sacrifice in public service, but I don't recall anyone co-opted
into the office. And they let us know how much more money they
could make in the private sector, but I don't see many trading
their cushy government jobs with the unlimited bounty of perks for
competitive posts elsewhere. From what I see, I don't believe you'd
be that kind of representative, Rabbi."

"I have a big mouth and wouldn't last long,"
she replied. "Besides, you wouldn't want a congresswoman who can't
even hold a match steady."

"Oh, I wouldn't mind," Lyle broke in, "so
long as you are steady in holding your office."

She glared at Lyle Carberri, knowing that at
the moment, he must be having second thoughts about her candidacy.
Who would want someone who couldn't even light candles when it was
in her bloody job description?

At the refreshment table, friends clustered
around, asking questions about the service and commenting about her
message. They politely failed to mention her difficulty with
matches.

Before leaving, Lyle circled back into orbit
with her and whispered. "Despite the opposition you saw today at
lunch, there are people at the DNC committed to the Internet. We
see no reason why
Politicstoday
can't make
Democratic winners as easily as Independent winners. I believe Kye
could get you elected, if you catch my drift. I'd like the two of
you to talk sometime tonight or tomorrow."

His support for her candidacy remained
puzzling. But given the tragedy in Washington, her earlier interest
cascaded. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carberri. Two young children in my
congregation were just burned in a terrible fire. That's why I was
shaking this evening."

"Oh," he digested this admission with a
series of compassionate nods. "Anything I can do to help? The
tentacles of the DNC reach just about everywhere. A call from the
archangel, Lyle, makes miracles occur. My name can call into
service just about any physician in the country, that is so long as
he or she isn't a black-hearted Republican."

Her head shook negatively. "Thanks. We're
waiting to see how bad the injuries really are."

"Then will you speak with Kye tomorrow?"

"Afraid not. I'm driving back tonight.
There's a Bat Mitzvah scheduled tomorrow morning at my synagogue.
My colleague is on the pulpit and I must back him up."

"Perhaps I can arrange a conference with you
and Kye in Washington."

She didn't want to be rude, but felt the
pressure. "Yes, perhaps, Mr. Carberri. But not until we put this
tragedy behind us. I'm not optimistic about your proposal and for
the immediate future, I can't give it my attention."

"Kye will change your mind. He's got a
fabulous idea for your campaign. When you hear what he has in mind,
you'll come aboard."

"I won't rule anything out, but you can see,
my mind is elsewhere."

"Then in Washington for certain. I'll call
you. This is much, much bigger than the eighth Congressional
District, Raab-bi."

***

Asa, who was notoriously negligent about
carrying his cell phone, was unreachable at the Washington Hospital
Center. At 8:16 p.m. Gabby left the Greenbrier in her forest-green
Volvo prepared for a long night of driving. Interstate 94 through
the Allegheny Mountains was dark and sparsely traveled. This, she
knew, was Civil War country where Stonewall Jackson beat off
McClellen's invaders in 1862, but also where, two years later,
Lee's ragged and exhausted Army of Northern Virginia surrendered
their rebellion to Grant's Army of the Potomac. At night, it could
have been Anywhere, USA. She arrived at her Bethesda home a few
minutes past midnight, too late to call Asa, and she climbed into
bed knowing that in the morning, the tragedy was certain to
dominate the mood of Shabbat worship. Many hard questions about
Ohav Shalom's role were certain to arise.

Three years Gabby's junior, Asa Graham Folkman had
originally trained to become a concert pianist, but careers seldom
follow a lineal plan. In order to pay expenses while trying to make
a living from his music, he played the organ at Reform synagogues,
sometimes conducting the choirs, or chanting the Orthodox liturgy
in a froggy voice never destined for cantorial stardom. Fearful
that he couldn't make an honorable living as a musician on the
concert stage, he eventually enrolled in the School of Sacred Music
at the Hebrew Union College to become a cantor. But his first
assignment, working under a rabbi resentful of his inventiveness,
convinced him that he would be more effective as a rabbi and
switched to the rabbinical program. His first years in the
rabbinate were spent overseas as a Navy chaplain ministering to
Marines assigned to various peacekeeping duties in the Third World.
He never personally witnessed combat, but served with many who did.
To fill long hours of boredom in remote locations, he began
composing music, sometimes on a guitar and sometimes on a piano;
when no instruments were available, he whistled.

Artistic by nature, Asa possessed an entirely
different personality than his pompous, sometimes arrogant
predecessor, Dov Shellenberg. In contrast, Asa lacked guile or
duplicity, something Gabby attributed to his having grown up in a
family with four siblings. Few rabbis were as musically
accomplished and humanly nurturing. Fortunately, his talent did not
intimidate Cantor Reuben Blass who, thrilled to work with someone
with a profound appreciation for music, enjoyed a close partnership
in the creation of new liturgy. Gossip circulated through the
congregation about an amorous relationship between Asa and Gabby,
despite their age differential. Both felt the eyes of congregants
searching for signs of this intimacy. When congregants asked Gabby
about Asa's private life, she would mount an ambiguous, rakish
smile and cock her head to let them know that she would not admit
the matter for discussion. An extremely private individual, Asa
felt no obligation to reveal an ongoing relationship with a plastic
surgeon on the medical staff of Georgetown University Hospital.

***

Gabby arrived at Ohav Shalom a few minutes past 8
a.m. to find a note taped to the outside of her office door. The
bold handwriting belonged to Harold Farb, Ohav Shalom's Executive
Director of twenty years.

GABBY THEY SAID YOU HAD CHECKED OUT OF THE
GREENBRIER
YOUR CELL PHONE IS NOT RESPONDING
PLEASE CALL STANLEY MELKIN ASAP. EXTREMELY URGENT!
HAROLD

A founding partner in Cook, Melkin & Serinovick
– a well-established legal partnership catering to clients doing
business with the federal government – Stanley Melkin, Esq., a
studious, over-achieving workaholic with a residual love for
Judaism, was completing his second term as President of
Congregation Ohav Shalom. Growing up in Battle Creek, Michigan,
where the Jewish population was so small it could barely sustain a
synagogue and cemetery, he cherished the vitality of Washington's
dynamic Jewish community. Unlike many of his ambitious colleagues
who horded wealth for a rainy day, Stan continuously donated a
large portion of his substantial earnings to the United Jewish
Appeal and sustained an unflattering reputation for strong-arming
fellow lawyers into following his example. This heavy-handedness
cost him several close friends.

When his wife, Dottie, routed Gabby's call to
his home office, he said, "Rabbi, sorry I can't be present at
services this morning. Got a hearing in court Monday that will keep
me at my desk all weekend."

"Did you hear about the Morgenstern sisters?"
Gabby asked, hoping to see him that morning and discuss what was
known.

"Cy Wolfe called me. And that's why I wanted
to talk with you immediately. Cy told me the family is in a bad
state. David Morgenstern blames you and Asa. That's absolutely
unacceptable. No one but a suffering father would dare accuse you
guys of responsibility for this tragedy."

"Good to hear you say it, Stan."

A slight pause occurred in which each party
waited for the other to speak. Stan filled this hiatus by clearing
his throat. "You understand, Rabbi, that I'm a litigator by trade.
If I may boast a bit, I understand not only the structure of
personal injury lawsuits but the motivations behind them. I believe
Ohav is vulnerable. To play safe, it would be wise if you and Asa
didn't make any statements about the Morgenstern girls."

The suggestion took her by surprise. "May I
ask why?"

"We don't know what's in David's mind. But if
he's hurting, and I'm sure he is, it's not beyond the realm of
possibility to sue the Temple. There are going to be heavy medical
bills. Extraordinary education costs. A suit for damages is not
unimaginable. At this point, there's no reason to believe that will
happen, but lawyers are cautious by nature. We try to control
situations before they become unmanageable. I know people will ask
about the Morgensterns. I wouldn't be surprised if the media gets
involved. There isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that
ambulance-chasing lawyers will point out the possibilities to
David. Who knows where that might lead? All I'm saying is, let's
not chum the water and attract piranhas. I'm having Harold Farb
investigate our insurance coverage for Errors and Omissions."

Gabby hid the full extent of her
bewilderment. "Is there really a chance that the synagogue might be
sued?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"What should we say if asked?"
"Comment on
the personal tragedy. Say your heart is with the girls and their
family."

"What about mentioning our instruction in
holiday rituals, including lighting Chanukah candles?"
"Avoid
it."

"I'm planning to visit the hospital after
services this morning. Asa was there through the entire night."

"I advise against that," Stan shot back. "It
can produce nothing good, but could be damaging."

She needed to think about that for a moment
before replying, "I'm sorry, but you're infringing upon a
rabbinical prerogative. A rabbi cannot avoid the
mitzvah
of visiting the sick because there is the
remote possibility of a lawsuit. As the President of Ohav, are you
ordering us not to go?"
"Absolutely not," he said. "I am only
recommending
that you don't. The final
decision belongs with you and the congregation must respect your
decision."