Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted his thought. He felt inclined to let it ring, but Anina was trained not to resist a phone. A moment later she brought a walk-about receiver to the piano.

  "Where are you?" Asa opened up as soon as he recognized Gabby's voice.

  "In my car. Janean's gone, Asa. While I was in the waiting room I heard a Code Blue on the hospital intercom. A lot of doctors rushed into the ICU. I tried to find out what has happening, but there were too many hospital people around the nursing station. It was mayhem. Then suddenly voices quieted. I could hear David wailing but couldn't see him."

  "Did you say a prayer at least?" "It wasn't necessary. Chaplain Kornen arrived and they made room for him to enter. Clearly, the family didn't want me. I didn't make a fuss about it."

  "What about Tybee?"

  "A resident said she's okay."

  "Does she know about her sister?" "I don't know."

  "Will they want us to conduct the funeral?" "I doubt it. We'll offer, of course. But this family doesn't want us. Not now and not for the funeral. They prefer to deal with Reverend Kornen."

  "Gabby," he said, smelling garlic and sesame from the kitchen. "Come over to my pad now. Anina has just brought enough Chinese food to feed Mainland China."

  "Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

  "That's the way I feel. Like someone hit me with a sledgehammer in my gut. But you need to talk and, unless I'm missing something, I'm your best bet."

  "Hold on. I've got some heavy traffic coming up and gotta pay attention; otherwise you'll be peeling me off the roadway with a scraper," she replied. "Stay on the line."

  When her voice returned, Asa said, "Gabby, I need to talk with you. Come, please. We can make a mess together with chopsticks. Where are you?" "On Mass Avenue, headed home."

  "Come here. You don't need to be alone at a time like this. We'll put the lo mein into the micro-oven to keep it warm."

  "Eat it now, friend, otherwise it will get soggy and there's absolutely nothing worse on this entire planet than soggy Chinese noodles."

  "Perfect. Soggy noodles in soy sauce for a soggy spirit. We're expecting you in about fifteen minutes."

  Two zombies was the way Anina interpreted the behavior of Asa and Gabby, who had little interest in food, though both drank from a half-gallon jug of cheap California red he had stashed behind cartons of stale breakfast cereal. They picked at the slippery Chinese noodles, barely conversing enough to be sociable.

  Anina, who thought of herself as a pragmatic, upbeat personality, concluded that spending a Saturday evening in such somber company was a waste of time. She'd rather crawl into bed and fall asleep watching TV. After washing the plates, she looked for a reason leave. Asa had left the kitchen and returned to the piano, staring down at the keyboard, his index finger plucking a melody from Prokofiev's Seventh Symphony which soared almost two octaves before resolving. She followed him to the piano where she claimed her back was hurting after a long day bending over an operating table.

  The moment Anina let herself out of the apartment, Gabby poured herself more wine and returned to the living room, saying, "I don't even like red wine."

  He stopped the Prokofiev melody in mid-bar.

  "Please continue playing. I love your music. It's the only thing that makes sense in a situation like this."

  Asa’s fingers preferred the raised black notes over the neighboring whites. The Fiev theme enlarged with harmony and syncopation.

  He leaned over the headboard, looking to Gabby very much like a nightclub musician. "You're good at the job," he said. "As good as any I've seen on the pulpit. But I'm a different personality. I've got to get out now before I'm trapped forever."

  Alcohol made her dizzy as she stepped to the foot of the piano. He remained seated – gaunt, fragile, withdrawn, staring down at his fingers slipping along the keys with detached agility, the kind of movement that would make most piano students mad with envy.

  "I don't want to lose you, Asa," she said with crystal clarity, not revealing how tipsy she felt. "Things are bound to look brighter when this is over. I beg you not to make rash decisions. We all have low moments. Getting thrown out of the ICU was the pits. And it isn't going to get better in the near future. We've got to answer to a lot of people. They already know the answers to their questions, but they'll pose them anyway. And the two of us will have to stand up and somehow appeal for reason. I can't do it without you, friend."

  "You don't have to," he hit a staccato cord and held his hands high over keyboard until they came to rest on the music stand. "Let people go at my throat. I'll be the kaporah. There's no purpose in you going down with me."

  "It's not going to happen that way. It's together or not at all. Whatever you did, I did too. Whatever you said, I said. The rabbis at Ohav are not individual players; we're a team that pulls together. I'm declaring this by fiat and I refuse to debate the issue with you or anybody else. I'm the boss of this shul, and that's the way it's going to be. You're not dissociating from me, Asa. That's absolutely final."

  The uncharacteristic dictatorial eruption stole his response.

  "Now I'm asking you for a personal favor, a very personal one. Please don't rush to any decisions about your career. A month or two makes no difference in a lifetime. And don't talk to friends, except your closest confidants. Despite their good intentions, friends will only confuse you. I know; I've been there. They mean well, but they can't begin to sense our predicament. The answer is inside you, not them. Of course, you can always talk to me. Always, Asa."

  For the first time in the evening, his fingers tapped out a light melody in a major key and he smiled at her. "You sound like a rabbi now, Gabby."

  She returned the smile. "Yep. That's what I do for a living, friend. It's my job."

  "Anina thinks I'm a wimp."

  "Physicians can afford to be tough hombres. What would happen if they got paid directly by their patients and not an insurance company or HMO? You'd see personality transformations real quick. And no more waiting for hours in a doctor's waiting room."

  When alcohol no longer swirled Gabby's brain, she thanked Asa for his hospitality, then, while he remained seated at the piano, let herself out of his apartment.

  The following morning Chuck Browner declared from his customary position in the doorway to her study, "I'm worried about you, Rabbi Gabby; I haven't seen you so moody in a long time."

  "Does it show that bad?"

  "You're a great actress, but I control your schedule. You dash around as fast as you can so you won't have time to let your own feelings well up. What would you do if forced to take a full day off every week. No phones? No emergencies? No fires to fight?"

  "I'd play tennis and read sexy novels."

  He lifted his chin and let his eyes peer through the lower portion of his glasses. "What about lounging around all day in bed with a steamy lover?"

  "You take liberties, friend."

  "Now that I've sent formal rejections to over a dozen invitations for New Year's Eve, what's left on your agenda for some old-fashioned romance?"

  "I've got a date for New Years – with the synagogue. The New Year's Eve service is probably my most successful innovation at Ohav Shalom."

  "That's over precisely at 8:30. I meant what are you doing socially, after the service."

  "No plans of yet." She hesitated mentioning Chuck's living companion, Thackery Darnston, but since he had introduced the subject of dating, she felt justified. Chuck had done better at replacing his deceased lover, Thomas Belmont, than she in finding a replacement for Joel Fox. "And you? What are you and Thack planning?"

  "Progressive parties, beginning at noon and continuing through the holiday. Our friends who know how to throw bashes. You're welcome to come with us, of course. You're still a queen in the gay community. There's rarely a day my friends don't ask about you."

  She scanned her desk for a distraction and came up flat. "Thanks, Chuck. That's a wonderful invitation. But this year I'm not
in the mood. If I suddenly change my mind, I'll take you up."

  "Bring a date to our parties. There will be a lot of straight people coming."

  "Not this year. Perhaps next."

  CHAPTER THREE

  LIFE CYCLE BLUES

  Early Monday morning, Chuck took advantage of a call from Lyle Carberri's office to tap briefly on Gabby's door, then enter without explicit permission and halt on the edge of her Persian carpet. "The big man from the Big Party wants to talk with you."

  "He wants to talk politics," she lamented, at the moment uneasy about talking with him. "Can we say I'm in conference? That's what business people say when they don't want to be interrupted."

  "Say whatever you want. I tried taking a message, but was told the subject is confidential."

  "All right then, patch Lyle through."

  A moment later, the Southern drawl of the Director of the Democratic National Committee echoed in her phone. "Enjoyed your service at the Greenbrier, Raaab-bi," his delivery lazy with familiarity. "Kye Naah liked it too. Koreans take their religion very seriously, ya know."

  "He got me out of two scrapes in one day. I guess he told you about our encounter jogging earlier that morning."

  "No, he didn't. But that's not unusual. Kye's a private individual. Many think he's eccentric and don't take him seriously. In the vote-procuring business I've learned you can't afford to ignore him, which brings me to the business between us. If I don't put a credible candidate into the Maryland race next year, I'll be peddling frankfurters on the corner of K and Connecticut Streets."

  She knew he'd eventually get around to asking. "Sorry, one of our kids just died from the fire; the other will require a reconstructed face and lots of skin grafting. I haven't given your matter much thought."

  A moment of disappointment elapsed before he said, "Well, Raaab-bi, I can understand that. Why sure I can, but I didn't call to apply pressure. You made a good impression on Kye. I took the liberty of giving him your phone number."

  "Could have fooled me. I was sure I flunked several tests at the Greenbrier. What's he want to talk about?"

  "He's active in the Korean Baptist community and expressed interest in learning more about Judaism. But knowing him, he wants to talk about the Internet."

  "If we meet, will you be present?"

  "Absolutely not. I'm in the doggy condo for inviting him to the Greenbrier. Many in this palace of rectitude don't trust him. They'd love to delete the both of us, to use a current metaphor. Until things settle down, Kye and I must keep our distance. I'm sure you can appreciate the situation."

  "He must have stepped on some tender toes."

  "Every prima donna thinks he can run the Democratic Party. Kye poses a threat to the way my people run elections. I can't afford to forget this is their bread and butter. The quickest way to make a snarling enemy is to attack his means of making a living."

  'Wanta bet you haven't got all the prima donnas?" she responded, not intending humor. "I've got a few lulus on my synagogue board."

  "Now that you mention it, I can imagine you have your hands full. Someday we should swap war stories."

  "Not stories, Lyle. If you're real nice to me, I'll show you my battle scars."

  As soon the conversation ended, she buzzed Chuck who avoided the intercom whenever possible and poked his head through her door.

  She was in the act of bending over a cardboard beer carton beside her desk. With a push from her foot, it slid into Chuck's view. "The photographic memory of my tenure at Ohav. When I started, I put every picture into an album, but they multiplied like bacteria and I gave up. Buried in here somewhere is a shot I took of Asa sitting behind his new desk. I'd like you to find it."

  "Sure," he said, stepping forward. "And may I ask what's so important about this particular photo. I don't think he looks a day older than when he was installed."

  "I'm interested in what's on his bookshelf. I recall the ugly Chanukah menorah he lent to the Morgenstern girls. It was thickly crusted in old wax, looking as if it had been used by the Maccabees themselves when they entered the Temple grounds in Jerusalem. I kept thinking, 'why the devil doesn't he clean it?' It was my first glimpse into his temperament. Asa's sensitive to things most of us aren't, but yet sometimes quite oblivious to objects around him. He can be a lovable slob."

  An empathetic smile expanded on Chuck's cheeks. There was usually a good reason why she asked him something like this. "So what are you cooking up now, Rabbi Gabby?"

  "Oh, nothing special. It's just a matter of curiosity."

  "Your nose is growing like Pinocchio."

  Her fingers rose instinctively to feel along the bridge. "Is it?" she sounded her embarrassment.

  ***

  The first thing Gabby noticed when she dropped by Asa's study at 10:45 a.m. was that the menorah was gone. He was reading Midrash haGadol, a compilation of Hebrew folk tales written to explain the biblical passages read weekly in medieval synagogues. Such folktales were obviously a distraction from other matters on his mind. He barely acknowledged her presence until she asked, "You okay? I'm worried about you, Asa."

  His eyes rose from the large tome lying flat before him, Talmudic style, and landed upon her, but dropped again to the text while his lips remain sealed. "Asa. Talk to me, please. We're both in this together. Don't wall me out. I know you're hurting. I came to ask if you think we should attend Janean's funeral this afternoon."

  His words barely broke a whisper. "I want to, but my guess is David Morgenstern will throw us out."

  She stepped closer to his desk, then moved around it to place a hand on his shoulder and said. "I once had a dear friend in California. A wonderful man who was sick for many years. When he finally died, his wife and kids buried him privately before notifying close friends. No funeral. No memorial service. Nothing. One day he was alive and the next, in the ground. I felt totally excluded. Since when should any family deny friends the opportunity to say Kaddish at a burial? I felt it was wrong then. Still do today, years later. Inside me, I'm angry. I'm thinking, to hell with David and Laura's sensitivities. I don't want to make a scene, but to grieve. You probably feel the same. "If we sit in the rear, perhaps no one will recognize us. The ceremony starts at 2 p.m. First Methodist in Chevy Chase. According to the papers, the Reverend Claire Goldwater will conduct the ceremony. Know her?"

  "You know I make a point of avoiding ecumenical meetings and don't frequent Methodist circles."

  "I've met her at the Washington Association of Women Ministers. I have a suspicion there are a few Jews buried in her ancestry. And there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that some of our illustrious alumni are members of her congregation. So are we going, or are we traveling the low road?"

  His lips curled into a smile for the first time in days.

  Chuck Browner usually knew which phone calls to put through to his boss and which to postpone. He possessed an instinctive, almost animalistic sense about strangers. When callers got testy, he immediately lost his finely honed diplomatic craft. His low threshold for pushy people launched a steady stream of complaint letters to Ohav Shalom's Board of Directors, with copies to the rabbi. On more than one occasion Gabby interceded with the Board in order thwart a notice of termination.

  When Kye Naah called, Chuck's initial reaction was positive. He put Kye on hold for a moment and, through the open door to Gabby's study, not only let her know who was holding, but added an observation. "I read about Kye Naah in the papers all the time. On the community pages he's a hero. In the business section, he's a minister of Satan."

  She took up the phone immediately.

  "Rabbi Lewyn, do you remember me? The guy who knocked you down at the Greenbrier?"

  "Hard to forget. I still bear some pretty ugly black-and-blue marks in places that don't see much sunlight. I tried to speak with you after your fabulous presentation, but there were too many people around."

  "I called to find out about your injuries."

  "Aside from jokes ab
out the heavy-weight prize fighter who took his revenge, my face is healing with little danger from scarring, thank God. The hip's a bit slower. I played some indoor doubles with my Tuesday night tennis group."

  "That makes me feel better. But if I'm correct, something else was going on with you at the Greenbrier. Your hands were trembling. You must light lots of candles in your job, so I presumed something was bothering you. I hope it wasn't because of me."

  His power of observation was impressive. "Absolutely not. You caused cuts on my face and the bruise in my hip, but not my trembling. That started years ago when I was a child. It still happens when I'm upset."

  "Maybe I upset you."

  "It wasn't related to you. A few minutes before the service, I learned of a tragedy in my congregation. You might have seen on TV how two young girls were badly burned in a fire. One subsequently died. Our community is in shock. I must have looked like a computer geek who can't type."

  "You rallied nicely, and that's what mattered. Sorry about your community. Learning about it would have completely unnerved me, too. Incidentally, I never learned to type properly and must hunt and peck at a keyboard. Big disadvantage in my field. Fortunately, my company has plenty of people to cover for me. Guess I could have written you a long email, but I wanted to talk."

  "About the DNC?"

  "Yes and no."

  "Has Lyle put you up to calling me?"

  "No. I went to him first with my idea of running your campaign completely on the Internet."

  "I've been swamped and haven't given much thought to politics. But if you wish, my secretary will schedule an appointment."

  "I'm a peripatetic, rabbi. Sit down meetings are okay, but I prefer to talk while in motion. My brain doesn't work well while I'm seated or hunched over a restaurant table. If your hip doesn't bother you, could I entice you into a walk by the river, perhaps? Or better yet, do you ice skate?"

  "I skated a lot as a kid. These days it's tough finding anyone to go with. My friends are lame, self-conscious, or frightened of falling. One quipped that he's certain each year the Zamboni operator drops chemicals to make the ice harder. My old skating friends are content to stand behind the barriers and watch others have the fun."