Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (9 page)

An elevator took them to the ground floor
cafeteria, an expansive dining room with square four-person tables
and nearby fast-food service counters. She fussed over a limited
selection of herbal teas. As they moved toward an empty table, she
spotted a television camera and back-pack lights resting on the
floor. "Not over there," she cautioned, detouring in the opposite
direction.

Seated at a distant table, he broke the
silence. "The family is out-rightly rude."

"Look at it this way: if they weren't kicking
us they'd be kicking the doctors and, for the time being, the
doctors are far more important than we."

Asa finished a Danish, swabbing glazed sugar
from his index finger and thumb between bites, before wrapping the
lean fingers she had often seen working his piano keyboard around a
coffee cup for warmth.

"You're Rabbi Lewyn, if I'm not mistaken?" a
woman's voice inquired from behind Gabby.

Turning to look, she found a well-dressed,
attractive woman vaguely recognized from the table across the
cafeteria. A shoulder-held camera rested upon her cameraman's
shoulder.

Gabby lifted a palm, forbidding any coverage.
"I am Gabriella Lewyn, but not interested to speak with the press.
This is a very trying time."

"I'm Andrea Mobely from Channel 5," a
friendly smile parted her lips to expose big, white teeth.
"Covering the Morgenstern family fire. We're standing by for
medical reports. They say that Janean Morgenstern isn't doing
well."

"So they say," Gabby responded.

"We are also told that the children were
lighting Chanukah candles. That's true, isn't it, Rabbi?"

"That's what I've heard but I wasn't there,"
Gabby replied, fighting back her impatience.

"We heard the parents were late for dinner
because they went for drinks after work. They telephoned Janean
that they'd be home about 7:30 p.m. But for some reason, the
children were impatient to fulfill a ritual with candles
before
sundown. Maybe you can tell us,
Rabbi. Must candles be lit
before
dark?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. Mobely, but I haven't agreed to be
interviewed. I'll answer this one question, then no more. Chanukah
candles can be lit anytime, but Sabbath candles are traditionally
lit before the sun goes down, then allowed to burn out on their
own."

"Thank you, Rabbi," Andrea Mobely signaled
her cameraman to lower his lens. "It's true that you train your
children to light candles at your synagogue, isn't it?"

"That's obvious. Now if you'll excuse us,
please."

"Certainly," she started to back step but
reversed her direction and fired off another question. "And you
don't give instruction in fire safety, now do you?"

"That's not our responsibility," blurted
Asa.

"Stop," Gabby interjected. "We're not
answering further questions. I've already said all we're going to
say on the subject."

"Well, then..." Mobely got a new wind.

"No more questions. You understand? I said
exactly what I meant."

"I would think that you'd welcome an
opportunity to tell people what you do at your synagogue. I
wouldn't want people to get the wrong idea."

Gabby’s patience ended. "You don't seem to
understand the English language, now do you? I said that we didn't
want to answer more questions. What right have you to intrude upon
us? If you persist, I'll lodge a formal complaint with your
station."

Mobely signaled that she was withdrawing by
back stepping.

Gabby regarded Asa grasping a coffee cup so
firmly she thought it might crack. "In the garage, you said you
thought the rabbinate wasn't the right profession for you. I hope
that isn't true. In many ways, you're more suited for it than I
am."

"Where is it written that just because one
becomes ordained, he must serve in a congregation?"
"It isn't
written anywhere. But you're extremely good at what you do. If you
leave, it would be a loss to everyone."

"I feel small and useless."
A smile cracked
through the firm resolution holding back her natural dimples.
"Don't we all, friend? That's the human predicament, especially in
times like this. When David Morgenstern told me to take a powder, I
felt like a cockroach."

She planted a hand on his wrist and applied
pressure. "There's a taxi stand outside. You look like a survivor
in those gruesome photos from the Holocaust. I want you home now,
Asa. Your
Shabbat
has been far too long
already."

"And what are you going to do?"
"Go back to
the waiting room for awhile, try to keep my head screwed on
properly, and see what develops. I promise you, I won't stay
long."

"You shouldn't stay there alone. I know it's
tearing your
kishkas
out."

She struggled for something light to say and
came up with, "Got a date with Anina tonight?"

He closed his eyes as if trying to recall. He
had been known to forget synagogue meetings. For that reason, Gabby
insisted he log all appointments in an electronic scheduler. But
for the past 36 hours he hadn't looked, much less considered his
Saturday night plans. "Anina and I talked about the evening, but
I'm sure we didn't make any concrete plans. Couldn't have." The way
lines furrowed his forehead, she believed he was having doubts.

"Jesus!" he puckered his lips. "I promised to
call last night, but it completely slipped my mind."

"Call her now; here, use my mobile." From her
combination hand-bag and attaché case, she withdrew a phone.

"And what are you going to do this evening?"
he asked while punching in a number he knew by heart.

"Household chores. In my current mood, I feel
like sitting in front of the boob tube. Something that doesn't tax
the brain or add calories."

"If Anina doesn't disown me for standing her
up, you should join us."

"Thanks, Asa, but that's the last thing I'm
going to do. You need to be chaperoned by your boss like the
President of the United States needs a mistress in Blair
House."

Anina wasn't home. On her voice mail, he
said, "It's Asa here, Sorry, I forgot to call last night. We've had
a tragedy at the synagogue. I'm at the Washington Hospital Center
now. Going home soon and will try to call in an hour or so. If
you've made plans for the evening, I'll understand."

Near the elevator bank in the lobby, Gabby promised
to phone Asa's apartment in the early evening, then returned to the
waiting room and a chair near a window overlooking rooftop air
conditioning condensers and vents. Her already sullen mood cascaded
farther. Replaying in her mind the conversation with Reporter
Mobely, she feared she might have inadvertently revealed too much.
Hadn't Stan Melkin warned her?

An unkempt elderly gentleman in wrinkled gray
suit and frayed clerical collar poked his head into the room. Tufts
of errant white hair escaped from the sides of his head, submerging
the temples of his glasses. "I'm Chaplain Kornen. I'm looking for
the Morgenstern family," he announced in a deep voice hoarse from
years of tobacco use.

Angus Klein appeared from behind him in the
corridor to volunteer, "Yes, Reverend. The girls are in Intensive
Care. I think they're going to need all the prayers you can give
them."

"Of course. Yes. Yes," and immediately
hobbled from waiting room door on uncertain legs.

Gabby asked herself why the family would
accept a Protestant clergyman over a rabbi. Before answering her
own question, she took to her feet and dashed into the corridor on
the heels of the chaplain, easily catching him outside the ICU.

"Excuse me," she said. "I'm Rabbi Lewyn, from
Congregation Ohav Shalom. The Morgensterns are members of my
congregation."

The tilt of his head helped bring Gabby into
focus through thick spectacles stained yellow by nicotine smoke.
"Yes, I know who you are. You've been in the papers. I'm confused.
If you're here, why did the family request the hospital
chaplain?"

"They're angry at me. Their girls were burned
while lighting ceremonial candles. They believe I'm
responsible."

His eyes enlarged with understanding. "Oh,
yes, yes, that might explain it. I'm Morris Kornen, retired from
the First Congregational. I volunteer on the weekends to give
Chaplain Rolley Harris a break. You can imagine, there's no budget
for a weekend chaplain, so I do this as a community service."

"That's a lovely thing to do, Reverend. I'm
sure the patients appreciate your services. Before you go in the
ICU, you should know that the family is distraught. I'm afraid
they've already rejected my offer of prayers. Please tell them I'm
still here and would like to help. The children are pupils in my
religious school."

"Under these circumstances, I'm probably
unnecessary. I'm afraid my Hebrew is worse than my Latin, which was
never good a century ago when I studied in the seminary. But I know
the Priestly Benediction in fractured Hebrew. Would that do?"

She held onto his hand for collegiality.
"Yes. Reverend Kornen, that will do just splendidly."

"If you'll wait here, I'll come back as soon
as possible. Maybe I can persuade the parents to have you recite
the proper prayers. I don't wish to be an imposter."

"I'd appreciate that very much."

The door to the Intensive Care swished open
again and this time Laura Morgenstern emerged, a nervous expression
framing her mouth. "Are you the chaplain?"

"Yes." His chin rose in a dignified
gesture.

"Please come quickly, Reverend." As she
turned, her eyes fell on Gabby, telegraphing an icy message of
disdain.

Back in the waiting room, an unseen hand shook Gabby
from a dreamy detachment. She lifted her eyes to see Morris
Kornin's head wagging as though on a spring.

"No luck, I'm afraid," he reported. "You were
right, Rabbi. The parents are in a daze. I thought better of asking
them to reconsider your offer. You'll have to forgive me for that.
It just wasn't appropriate."

Gabby took to her feet to be at eye level
with him. "I understand and I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

"I recited the Priestly Benediction in my
best Hebrew and I purposely didn't mention Jesus. Under the
circumstances, I'm sure He won't take offense."

"That's very thoughtful, Reverend. Any news
about Janean's condition?"

"Not good. The doctors are noncommittal, but
it's hard to think she'll make it through. I've seen a lot of sick
patients at this place. If you want my guess, she hasn't got
long."

A limp from Gabby's bruised hip synchronized
with his limp as they marched together toward the elevator bank. "I
was afraid of that. I suppose in the long run, it doesn't really
matter whether our pitiful petitions to God are in Hebrew or
English, whether recited by a Jew or Gentile. These events are
bigger than our words."

At the elevator bank, he paused in apparent
reflection. "You're probably right about that." He fished his
breast pocket for a business card. "Here's my home phone number.
I'm emeritus these days. They've got a young firebrand on my old
pulpit who thinks his sermons will stir mountains of devotion. It's
nice to be young and…," he paused with a glint of mirth before
finishing his thought "foolish, isn't it?"

A chuckle of conspiracy eased through her
lips. "Sounds like you know what to do with your retirement,
Reverend Kornen. I've often speculated what I'll do when my
synagogue shows me the pasture gate."

He held the elevator open with a mottled hand
on the door bumper. "Got any ideas?"
"Oh, maybe I'll try my hand at
being the president?"

He grimaced playfully and stepped into the
elevator cab.

Upon walking back to the waiting room, she
was struck by her uncensored response. Until recently, she had
never envisioned getting involved in politics. Was this spontaneity
triggered by the DNC invitation in West Virginia? Though less than
36 hours ago, it seemed like a century before. Time to give it some
additional consideration.

***

Anina Norstrom could tell a Jewish joke with
a fabulous Yiddish accent, but that was the extent of her Jewish
background or, for that matter, interest in Judaism. In her youth,
she had managed to avoid synagogues, religious schools, and Jewish
community centers, never visited Israel, and could remember
attending only one Passover
seder
. By the
same token, she never denied her Jewish ethnicity and took
considerable pride in defending her people and their history.
Stories from the Holocaust often worked their way into her
conversations. Gabby, always interested in the turns of fate
bringing unlikely couples together, was amused that Anina's
relationship with Asa occurred at an encounter at LaMirabelle
Restaurant in Upper Georgetown.

Unlike Anina, Asa was not dining at the
restaurant but rather filling in as a pianist for a professional
musician who played there Tuesday through Saturday evenings.
Possessing a remarkable talent for translating to the keyboard just
about anything his inner ear could hear, Asa was improvising at the
time. That loquacious and partially pixilated diners barely
listened to him served his purpose because he enjoyed reworking
material of established composers and the scrutiny of true music
lovers made him uncomfortable. His improvisation was commendable
when playing show tunes, though recasting notes from Beethoven and
Mozart bordered on the irreverent. Still, he feared the wrath of
true music lovers far less than discovery by members of Ohav Shalom
who were certain to take a dim view of their associate rabbi
working after-hours in smoky, alcoholic taverns and
restaurants.

At LaMirabelle, Anina was celebrating the
birthday of Franklin Terkenoff, her partner in the surgical
practice of Norstrom & Terkenoff, P.C. She was returning from
the ladies room and paused to place a $5 bill into a glass most
piano players leave for tips. But the fact that Asa didn't provide
a glass impressed her. Standing behind his right shoulder, she
studied his deft fingers. After a few introductory questions, she
learned he was not a professional. A piano-playing rabbi who toyed
with syncopated rhythms and convoluted harmonies caught her
fancy.