Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  She appreciated his observation but was skeptical. Chuck confused armor for toughness.

  ***

  When Asa entered Gabby's study, she was seated before her Apple, her eyes scanning text. She swiveled about in the leather chair once occupied by her predecessor, Rabbi Seth Greer. "I'm reading about the treatment of burns on the Mayo Clinic web site. The complexity is baffling. It's mostly about infection and scarring. Doctors must balance lost electrolytes; and nurses must keep changing dressings often to fight infection."

  Asa assumed a position beside her to peer at the screen, his hand innocently dropping to her shoulder. She corkscrewed upward to regard a troubled face.

  "Asa, sit down, please," she said in a soft voice. "I know this is weighing upon you."

  "Tybee and Janean are wonderful kids. Their parents wouldn't even see me last night. I sat in the fucking waiting room from nine until five this morning. When I sent nurses into Intensive care to ask permission, they returned to tell me I wasn't wanted. I did that at 8 and 9 o'clock, 12:30 a.m. and at 3 a.m., so David and Laura knew I was there. If nothing else, they should have shown some common decency. What more could I do?"

  "In severe pain people are never at their best. Try imagining how you'd feel if your children were badly burned. I'd be off the wall crazy. Don't let their pain drag you down, Asa. You didn't start that fire."

  "I should have told them how dangerous fire could be and not to touch a match without their parents nearby. But it just didn't occur to me. I never imagined a situation in which they would light candles without their parents around."

  "I wouldn't have thought of it either. We all make assumptions that seem absurd after the fact. It's pretty obvious that small matches start large conflagrations. But who thinks of warning someone before striking one? We don't march up and down the boulevard with a sign board advertising the obvious."

  "This could have been avoided."

  Her tone suddenly became impatient. "Oh, come on now, rabbi. This isn't the time for self-denigration. Lesson one in this trade is don't try to shoulder the world's woes. Suffering is ubiquitous and one person can't suffer for another. To assume the pain for another doesn't reduce the world's supply of tzsoris one iota. We don't blame Wilbur and Orville Wright each time an airplane crashes and passengers are killed. If they hadn't invented the airplane, there wouldn't be aircraft to fall from the sky, but that doesn't make them more than a remote cause of plane accidents. I expect a savvy rabbi like you to understand this."

  He appeared to contract into himself, his eyes dropping away from her to the floor.

  "Okay, friend," she said, turning back to the computer monitor, "let's see what we're dealing with here. Seth Greer taught me never to enter a hospital without first understanding what's wrong with the patient. I usually log onto the Mayo Clinic web site for a start. Seth often went to the National Library of Medicine, where the catalogue system can give you a hundred articles on even the rarest disease. I think he enjoyed reading medical journals more than rabbinic texts. Our envious colleagues dubbed him Dr. Greer, MD."

  Asa's breathing was heavy, punctuated by sniffling as he struggled to express himself. "Truth be told, I really didn't want to enter the ICU last night. The idea of seeing disfigured kids terrifies me."

  "I have nightmares about it, too," she glanced up at him empathetically. "I've seen some pretty ugly adult illnesses and somehow they don't bother me. But sick children are different. I get all choked up inside. Worse, sometimes my hands shake and I can't control them."

  The computer mouse scrolled over the screen and settled on a list of burn characteristics.

  1. Wounds often contain large quantities of nonviable destroyed tissue

  2. Burn victims exude large quantities of serum, blood and water

  3. Pathologic bacteria are prone to colonize in burn zones

  4. Open wounds are sterile for only a brief period, then become fertile territory for opportunistic colonies of bacteria

  The mouse continued to scroll through text, then highlighted the words Wound Cleansing and Debridement.

  "Do we know if any organs other than the skin were burned?" she asked Asa. "If I remember, fire can singe the lungs and eyes."

  Mucus ran from his right nostril in a narrow trickle to his upper lip. "I heard doctors talking about Janean's breathing. Her lungs were burned, too."

  The web site presented pictures of male and female models with non-sticking bandages covering their torsos. A textual discussion of topical antibacterial therapy with a list of pharmaceutical products followed.

  "Did you hear talk about skin grafting?"

  Asa slapped a soiled handkerchief to his nose, then crumpled it back into a ball without folding. "No, but that doesn't mean it's not a consideration. I asked a medical intern in the wee hours of the morning who didn't know what the attending physicians had in mind. I think he just wanted to get back to bed."

  "No doubt they're trying to stabilize the girls before making major decisions."

  ***

  In a multi-storied parking garage at the Washington Hospital Center, Gabby took note of Asa's slow exit from her car, an understandable lethargy for anyone who had endured a sleepless night sitting in a stiff chair in a hospital waiting room. "You're welcome to rest in the lobby," she remarked. "The minute I know what's going on I'll come to fetch you."

  He ignored her suggestion and replied, "I'm spent – inside and out. But I'll make it. I hate this job."

  Her hip injury at White Sulfur Springs forced her to move with slow, painful steps. "Do I catch a whiff of self-pity? That's not what I like to hear from my colleague and one helluva good rabbi."

  "Not self-pity, Gabby. I'm tired of being ineffective. I was a fool to have sat here all night. I keep asking myself, for what purpose? If I managed to see the girls, then what? They need good doctors, not a rabbi's prayers. It's indisputable that I've done Janean and Tybee more damage than good."

  "You've got your subjects and predicates scrambled." She was tart.

  He shot back with equal annoyance, "Why won't you let me feel bad about this?"

  "You can, Asa. But not on the job. Our tradition proclaims life's puzzlements, not its solutions. Our congregants don't want to see feet of clay. If you expose your tender side, they'll devour you like a leopard killing a weak impala for his dinner."

  "I'm sick of pretending to be someone I'm not. This isn't the right job for me. You know it, too. You're different, Gabby. You fit the mold. I just don't."

  The remark caught her as they were navigating through vehicular traffic passing before the hospital entrance. Her bruised hip inhibited a split second dash to safety as a blue Camry sped past, too close for comfort. Once on the curb, she responded to Asa before pressing behind him into a revolving door. "We must talk about this." When they exited into the lobby, she completed her thought. "But when we can spend the time it deserves, without interruptions."

  A color-coded directory map in the main lobby described the six-floor complex. The Burn Rehabilitation Center was located on the third floor, with the supporting Intensive Care Unit at the far end of the hall. They ascended in a slow, over-crowded elevator that stopped on every floor.

  A covey of visitors hovered in the waiting room, some sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups, others staring at the walls lethargically. Steady noise of equipment and voices from the corridor made reading difficult. A TV overhead flashed images of a college football game nobody was watching.

  Gabby projected a strong voice. "Is anyone here from the Morgenstern family?"

  A stylish 40-year-old blond in a ski sweater and riding pants, with lizard skin cowboy boots said, "I'm the aunt. David's sister. Name's Trudy Klein. Are you friends of the family?"

  "Yes. I'm Rabbi Lewyn and this is Rabbi Folkman from Congregation Ohav Shalom. Can you tell us about the girls?"

  Trudy Klein wagged her head sideways to study an overweight, bulldog of a man beside her. "Janean is in serious respiratory trouble. Flame
s singed her lungs and breathing passages. Things are better for Tybee. If they can control infection, they say she'll be all right. She's young and the doctors say that reconstruction is likely to produce a good result."

  The bulldog-looking man with a shock of reddish hair around his ears and freckled skin was Uncle Angus Klein. A rumpled dark gray business suit hugged his bulk like a corset and a black necktie flapped loosely over his chest, the knot a full three inches from the unbuttoned collar open at the throat. He offered an outstretched hand, but pulled back the moment his wife said, "Why did you come here? Doctors are fighting for our Janean's life. If you hadn't tried to evangelize them, they wouldn't be here now. Pushy Jews are no more tolerable than pushy Christians. Coming here is unmitigated chutzpah. Hasn't enough damage been done? It's too late to save their souls? My advice is to leave immediately. The family doesn't need more rabbis."

  "My colleague and I came to offer a prayer and to tell David and Laura how we feel for them," Gabby said, controlling a flush of anger.

  "Too late for sorrow," interrupted Trudy Klein. "You should have thought about the results of your meddling before. You've injured my niece; you've injured my brother and my sister-in-law."

  Gabby struggled to suppress resentment. "I'm afraid you've got the facts twisted. We didn't come to meddle. We came because we cherish the girls and won't be dismissed by anybody but David or Laura. Please tell them that Rabbi Folkman and Rabbi Lewyn have come to offer a prayer."

  Grandmother Nora Morgenstern stepped alongside Gabby. Silver-haired and forty pounds overweight, yet fully painted with mascara and rouge, she was unaware of any controversy and, from an older school, was inclined to regard rabbis reverently. Her offer to fetch her son and daughter-in-law angered Angus Klein.

  Asa tugged at Gabby's arm – teams of physicians in loose-fitting blue surgical gowns were marching through double doors of the ICU, conversing with each other in muted voices. Their smooth, purposeful steps conveyed professional ease. He said to Gabby, "I'm tired of this bullshit. You can go anywhere in this hospital with a blue gown and a clipboard. I'm going in."

  She shifted weight from her injured hip before studying him as though a painting on exhibition. "It's my job. You've already put in time, Asa." She turned to a plump nurse in a flowered gown flapping like an unbuttoned overcoat who trailed the physicians. "I'm Rabbi Lewyn. Can you please update us about the Morgenstern girls?" The nurse regarded the question as an unnecessary intrusion into her business, yet sounded empathetic. From a repertoire of canned responses employed with nervous family asking too many questions about the patients, she said, "If there's anything that can be done, we'll do it. Don't you worry about that."

  "Of course. May I enter?" The nurse hesitated. Clergy often frequented the ICU, sometimes as valuable partners with the medical staff. But when Janean's life hung in the balance, she failed to think of how a clergywoman might be of assistance.

  Uncle Angus Klein marched into the corridor to stop Gabby, but Asa blocked him with classic basketball pick-and-roll footwork.

  Unhappy about being outflanked, Angus bellowed through the corridor. "Rabbi. Leave us alone. If you persist, I'll call hospital security."

  "That's not your decision," Asa responded. "We're all on the same side here. Please don't interfere with us."

  Trudy Klein joined her husband in pursuit. "The family is coping with a lot of pain. I beseech you both, please don't add to it."

  "I'm sorry you feel that way," Gabby invested one last effort to diffuse the conflict. "We have no desire to cause injury. Now please..." She left the sentence dangling. What was the purpose? Only a stainless steel door barred entry to the ICU.

  The ICU consisted of a glass-partitioned nursing station surrounded on four sides by individual treatment and examination rooms. To Gabby's left extended a debridement theater for removing destroyed skin from burn victims and, to her right, a larger clinic with huge stainless steel Hubbard tanks for sterile baths. Like jungle vines, a matrix of pulleys and lifts to maneuver patients dangled from the ceiling. Near the nursing station, a bearded physician in a faded green gown and white surgical shoes was talking to Laura Morgenstern, whose eyes were staring motionless over his shoulder as if too exhausted to refocus. Behind them, Gabby regarded medical personnel adjusting respiratory devices and intravenous bottles in a glass paneled treatment room.

  As Gabby stepped forward to greet Laura, her eyes caught sight of a child in a neighboring room. Sterile dressings covered the entire face, except for portals for the mouth, nose and eyes. Could this be Tybee? she wondered, tempted to walk over for a closer look. But after a half-dozen steps she elected to first talk with Laura.

  At the same moment, David Morgenstern exited from another treatment room to confer with his wife. His features seemed lost in a bog of unshaven whiskers. Laura turned from the physician to gather him near.

  "You can hear our baby wheezing," he cried in a heavy, broken voice. "She's leaving us, Laur… I know it. God be my witness: I want our daughter, but I can't bear to see her suffer like this." Gabby stood in place, giving the parents time for their sorrow. The mother's eyes eventually encompassed her, quickly communicating hatred.

  Recognition came to David a moment later. "You? You?" he addressed Gabby in a biting tone, "after what you've done to us!"

  "I understand how you feel, David," Gabby replied. "I've come to recite prayers for Janean and Tybee. Whatever you may think of me or my associate, your children deserve God's attention. I come with a humble and sincere prayer to implore His favor upon them. From time to time we all need prayers."

  "They have enough of your prayers." His throat gargled saliva.

  "Are you certain of that?" she countered, feeling diminished by the severity of her remark. "Rabbi Folkman was in the waiting room all last night. He's there now. We have come to provide comfort and seek God's help. I'd like to see Janean and Tybee."

  "They don't need you or Folkman. Go away. Please!"

  The cacophony of voices from inside Janean's room interrupted Gabby's desolation. Nurses at nearby workbenches immediately rose to be of service. Two green-gowned doctors appeared from the outside corridor and merged immediately into others around their patient. David Morgenstern returned to the congested room, elbowing his way forward.

  A hand on Gabby's upper arm gently tugged in the direction of the exit. It belonged to Asa, the only person she believed might understand how she felt. How was it possible to become so marginalized?

  He guided her out of the ICU into the hospital corrido. "I've tried; you've tried. It's no use. Whatever we have to give, they don't want it." Once near the waiting room, he said, "I feel like I want to sleep until this nightmare is over. But I know it won't end."

  Once distanced from the ICU, she felt stronger. "Let's go to the cafeteria for a cup of tea. We need to clear our heads."

  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 Le
wyn, 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."