Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  It was upon his shoulders she intended to rely when taking a nine-month sabbatical, scheduled for the spring. After eleven years of service to Ohav Shalom (seven as associate to Rabbi Seth Greer and four as Senior Rabbi), the Board acknowledged an obligation to provide her with an extended respite – personal time for reflection and study unavailable while on active duty. But pledging and fulfilling this obligation were different animals. On two previous occasions emergencies at the synagogue forced postponements.

  At 38 and facing the prospect of slipping through the prime mating years without a husband or children, Gabby could not afford to be casual about social contacts. Three significant romances and a half-dozen less serious but nonetheless time-consuming relationships sharpened her impatience to find a lifetime mate. Her figure, though three pounds heavier since she had retired from playing tournament tennis, remained that of a dedicated athlete. No red meats or excess fats, chocolates or ice-cream in her diet. To avoid snatching one or two cookies off the buffet table at a synagogue reception required supreme control, especially when she was anxious or in need of a psychic reward. Earlier in life, she believed that by denying herself sweets her taste buds would eventually lose their desire. This she learned to be dead wrong, for in spite of her self-control, the craving continued.

  Short brunette hair cut close to her scalp accentuated what an enamored but rejected suitor once called dancing eyes and a rounded nose that dropped off at the tip in a cute, school-girlish manner. Dimples remained her dominate feature. They produced deep, alluring cavities to highlight the warmth of her smile. One would suspect her to be bombarded with dates, but the reality was quite different. Men just didn't know how to telephone a female rabbi and invite her for dinner or a basketball game. Moreover, they conjectured that the queue of suitors was far longer than it was. When occasionally seen in public with a date, rumors circulated. To avoid such speculation, she found it expedient to socialize outside Washington's Jewish community, in remote locations, such as White Sulfur Springs, West Virginia.

  An interest in politics crept up on her. In earlier years, the endless scheming, pontificating, and hypocrisy of politicians in Washington seemed anything but admirable. An endless series of political campaigns, filled with stump speeches designed to sway rather than inform voters was annoying. But after her associate, Rabbi Dov Shellenberg, left Ohav Shalom to become a White House Fellow and launch a career in government, her harsh attitude toward the business of public service softened. She began attending meetings with Young Democrats and discovered a latent fascination not only with public policy but also with the process of getting officials elected to office.

  After assessing multiple bruises and contusions, Gabby showered and applied topical antibiotics to abrasions on her face, wrists and ankles. Blood that earlier drained from her nostril dried. She was surveying the damages in the bathroom mirror when the phone rang. Stacy Donatello, secretary to DNC Director, Daniel Lyle Carberri, introduced herself with an apology for the early morning call. Democratic Senator Cynthia Melody Childs from Gabby's newly adopted home state of Maryland – where she had purchased a townhouse near the Potomac River in the Palisades District, a half-mile from the District of Columbia line – and Mr. Carberri were planning a breakfast meeting in the Director's suite in forty-five minutes and both had requested her attendance.

  "Why?" Gabby asked, revealing bewilderment for coming onto the radar screen of such powerful people.

  Donatello replied that she was just a messenger and not privy to her boss's thinking.

  The invitation, however mysterious, was hard to refuse. You just don't say no to a United States Senator and the Director of the Democratic National Committee. Besides, her morning adventure had stimulated an appetite and dining with two of the most important participants at the conference was better than eating alone in the hotel coffee shop – despite the uncomplimentary sight she would present.

  Forty minutes later, the DNC director greeted Gabby in the corridor outside his suite and immediately remarked about her facial wounds while ignoring her hip. "I hope nobody took a punch at you, Raaab-i," he ribbed in an easy Southern drawl while squiring her into a suite of rooms where breakfast was already arranged at two round tables.

  "Had a little fall this morning while jogging. Nothing serious," she fibbed, not wishing to go into the unflattering details.

  Four members of Maryland's Democratic Committee stepped forward to meet her, coffee cups in hand, making conversation about how they enjoyed Greenbrier's celebrated kitchen. Senator Cynthia Melody Childs showed up fourteen minutes later, following a Washington custom that senators were always the last to arrive at a function, as befitting the importance of their office and the scarcity of their valuable time. She was no stranger to Gabby, but it would have stretched the truth to say that they were anything but occasional acquaintances. Once all were seated for breakfast and introductory banter over, conversation focused on Maryland's eighth Congressional District, at the time represented by Toby Ryles, an extremely talented, very liberal Republican who had been re-elected seven times in a solidly Democratic district. But at a terrible political price. For a Republican to serve a blue district where the overwhelming sentiment was Democratic, she had no alternative but to vote as an old-fashioned New-Deal-Democrat. Great for the Democrats, but this made her a pariah among her Republican cohorts who denied her senior committee appointments. Despite fourteen years in office, no legislation bore her name. In all her years, she was boycotted by the Republican Caucus and remained as isolated as any non-affiliated freshman congressman. She possessed neither the authority to initiate new bills nor to promote ones reflecting the views of her constituents. Her long tenure was spent catering to her Democratic constituents to guarantee re-election. In the past, the Democratic Party had been complacent if not ambivalent about challenging her seat because at the end of the day, they could always rely on her liberal vote. But that didn't mean Toby Ryles wasn't a caw in the Democratic throat.

  Carberri surveyed his guests and lifted his eyes above Gabby's head as if gathering wisdom from the Almighty. "Raab-bi," he drew out her title as though opening an accordion, “we're determined that the time has come to replace Representative Ryles with a real Democrat. You probably know that Maryland Democrats have selected State Senator Barbara Abt to carry our standard into Congress. We thought we had a dynamite candidate, but things have changed radically this week. She hasn't faced the press yet so what I'm about to tell you must remain confidential. Call it clergy privilege, and we're sure you will exercise this often. Barb's husband of twenty-four years has run off with a younger chicken. That's hardly newsworthy these days in Washington, but you can imagine the difficulty it causes for a candidate. Barbara has told us she anticipates a nasty divorce with perhaps years of litigation. To put her family troubles before the public at this delicate time would be undesirable, from a political as well as personal point of view. We at the DNC concur. Toby Ryles is going to be tough to beat under the most desirable conditions. The long and short of it is that we need a replacement to pull the election out of the bag – ideally, we believe, a highly visible woman who can appeal to the District's predominance of registered Democratic voters, the majority female. It's got to be someone to shake them from a fourteen-year pattern of returning Toby Ryles to office. Historic lethargies aren't easy to turn. We need someone with verve, visibility, and brains."

  Seldom over-spoken by others, Senator Childs – a stocky woman with a razor-sharp voice she employed combatively even when it was unnecessary – interjected, concluding Carberri's introduction. "And if anybody can beat Toby Ryles, we believe that person to be you, Rabbi Lewyn. We've considered several prominent women but you score tops in all categories. And we're not unmindful of the fact that the Eighth District has a large population of Jews, who look upon voting as a sacred duty."

  Lyle – few used his given name Daniel – made no effort to hide the rolls of fat bulging around his mid-section. Even at this early h
our, perspiration glazed his brow. His speech was slow and melodic, as he languished sad, puppy-dog eyes upon Gabby. Those who knew him well liked to point out that before lunch, he moved with the speed of feral pig and after lunch, an armadillo. "Raaab-i, raising the money for the Bart Skulkin Tennis Center in Anacostia was a pretty neat piece of work – a textbook example of how to mobilize grassroots activists behind a neighborhood cause. I've watched many a fund-raiser in my day. Some just have the talent and others don't. It comes down to a combination of instinct and brains. I'm told that some of our own people outside the Beltway are now using the example of the tennis center in training volunteers. The bottom line is that anybody who could make a tennis center like that happen could easily win a seat in Congress."

  The notion of running for public office caught her entirely by surprise and she could do little but parry with the first objection that came to mind. "It must cost a lot of money. I read that candidates dub elections not the pursuit of votes but the money chase."

  His lips curled slightly, a preamble before experimenting with a Yiddish word. "Shnorring for one cause is like shnorring for another, now wouldn't you think, Raaab-i? You'll need about $700,000. I can't say fund raising isn't part of a campaign, but the reality is that when a candidate confronts an issue he-she enters an arena with other like-minded people. And when you strike a tone the voters like, they open their purses, just like they did for the Skulkin Center. A successful candidate keeps focused on issues, and the money follows. And, of course, we intend to help at every step. And by we, I mean the DNC and the President. That's part of our package. There's no purpose to recruit you, then hang you out to dry. President Talisman is absolutely committed to a Democratic majority in Congress. It wouldn't be asking too much for him to venture from the White House to support a candidate in nearby Maryland. He understands the power of the female electorate. For him, supporting a candidate of your stature should be a no-brainer. I understand the Vice-President also has said some very complimentary things about you at the tennis center."

  Gabby felt herself seduced by Lyle's charm. She silently identified him as promoter pitching his brand of political thinking. Her mind jumped ahead: Tzsoris comes in different forms, but problems could be classified into two categories – good problems and bad problems. Fortunately, this invitation fell into the good category, with an easy answer. The notion of her running for Congress was utterly preposterous! She never considered herself a politician and generally held the profession in low esteem. That did not suggest that she had never entertained fantasies of working outside the rabbinate. Often she indulged in pipe dreams about switching to medicine or teaching. And when things went wrong at the synagogue, she could not avoid imaginary what-if games. But never in her wildest speculations had thoughts about a political career done more than shoot through her brain and right out the other side. And there was no way on God's earth that she could campaign for office while riding a bucking bronco like Congregation Ohav Shalom. And just as importantly, would anyone in her right mind entertain resigning from a secure position for which she had been trained and, by several standards, become successful, in order to gamble on an insecure one for which she had no experience? No way, Jose!

  Lyle passed quickly from generalities to specifics, addressing his need to register a replacement for Barbara Abt with the Election Commission within three weeks. "The more time the DNC has, the more effective it can be in organizing and implementing a campaign," he said before deferring to Senator Childs.

  "Careers often shift in mid-stream," the Senator said with philosophic aloofness, pointing the remnant of her third glazed Danish at Gabby, who had observed from her figure, more represented by a goldfish bowl and than an hourglass, how little attention she paid to diet. "As a matter of fact, many physicians, professors, and leaders of business serve their country in Congress. Currently, I believe, four members now serving were once in the clergy."

  Only courtesy and a healthy touch of flattery enticed Gabby not to reject this offer on the spot. She agreed to think about it, though gave no indication that time might alter her initial reaction. The Senator, who knew that few Washington decisions were made impulsively, remained optimistic, stressing that the opportunity to serve in Congress was an honor few would reject. While ushering Gabby to the door after friendly handshakes, Lyle said, "I'm looking forward to your Chanukah service this evening, Raaab-i. The Committee is fortunate that you could come to celebrate the holiday with us. Jews have shown themselves to be extremely loyal Democrats and we want to be sure their religious feelings are respected."

  An expression of confusion appeared on her face: why a Catholic like Lyle Carberri would wish to attend a Chanukah ceremony and Sabbath service puzzled her.

  My staff has made arrangements for refreshments. The Greenbrier kitchen caters for kosher Bar Mitzvahs and weddings. Chanukah couldn't be much different, I suspect."

  "I'm sure it will be lovely." Gabby remained perplexed, thinking how he must have better things to do, or was this a follow-up to his sales pitch?

  "If you don't mind, I'd like to bring a friend," he said.

  "I'll be happy to see as many faces as possible."

  "Are you coming to the luncheon this noon?" he asked as she stepped into the corridor.

  "Of course. I'm looking forward to hearing Kye Naah."

  "Expect fireworks, Raab-bi. Politicstoday has ruffled just about every feather on the Democratic goose. I put my neck on the chopping block to place him on the program. Have you met Kye before?"

  Her giggle conveyed a girlish innocence. "You could say he once knocked me off my feet and bowled me over."

  Lyle mistakenly took that disclosure as an admission of a romantic involvement and responded with a conspiratorial chortle deep in the throat.

  When she studied the election schedule Lyle had provided, she admitted that the idea of running for Congress possessed growing appeal. Even as a substitute for Barbara Apt and an obvious second choice, who wouldn't feel a surge of power in creating laws applicable to thousands, if not millions? After years of resisting Potomac fever, was she experiencing the initial symptoms of this dreaded disease? Was she capitulating to a base instinct for power? Still, even if she could beat a savvy politician like Toby Ryles, a doubtful proposition at best, she judged her personality unfit for political office. Had not Plato warned in The Republic about a willingness to beguile the populace? She knew enough about political theory to know that for a democracy not to bog down in endless squabbling, it was necessary for a portion of the electorate to be kept in a state of deception. This made her wonder if she really wanted to join a club of deceivers. Lyle had asked her to make a decision in three weeks. But what would she learn during that interval she didn't already know? And just as important, she had no significant political differences with Toby Ryles. Could she beat a candidate espousing a similar, if not identical, liberal platform?

  ***

  Beside official delegates, the DNC retreat attracted an army of vendors, pollsters, publicists, image-makers and political consultants selling their services to political organizations. As Gabby passed through a spacious hallway for the plenary luncheon, manicured women in coifed hair and tailored business suits staffed information booths, smiling pleasantly or chatting with curious passersby. Ticket holders bunched up at the banquet room door and pressed against Gabby as they funneled through. Voices rose to match the squeeze. As she waited to present her ticket, a woman with blond hair monumentalized by too much hairspray urged her to take a handout, saying, "Please help us make our point. No more DNC funds for Politics Today. Underwriting Kye Naah's website is subsidizing our party's destruction."

  Gabby furrowed her brow in a gesture of puzzlement. "I'm afraid I'm not current on the controversy."

  "Read the flyer, please. And remember our protest will occur when Kye Naah is being introduced. Just get up and walk out with the rest of us. We've reserved the Chesapeake Room for our own rally. Please join us."

 
Beyond the crowded entry, Gabby entered a cavernous banquet room, the floor tightly packed with circular luncheon tables, adorned with vases filled with fresh hothouse flowers. A laptop computer on each table stirred her curiosity. She was eager to find her place and study the handout. Lyle Carberri had mentioned that opinion was divided about Kye Naah but, until that moment, she hadn't appreciated how much.

  The seating arrangement honored a hierarchy in which senators and representatives assumed primary locations, flanked by wealthy contributors and distinguished observers. Senior party members dined near the speaker's table while their staffs and volunteers assumed seats in the rear or on the flanks. Gabby's place card was inked out with a last-minute substitution. At Table 27, she found herself in the company of six Democrats from the State of Maryland, presumably for them to get acquainted with a potential candidate from the Eighth District. During introductions, everyone expressed curiosity about the presence of laptops throughout the ballroom, a signal that perhaps the DNC had finally entered the 21st century.