by Roger Herst
To Gabby, this follow-up question sounded unnecessarily provocative, but she decided not to be addled. "Absolutely. I encourage Asa to interact with the kids in our school. When time permits, I do the very same. And here, I need to make a strong point – I thoroughly associate myself with Asa's handling of the Morgenstern instruction and would have done nothing more or nothing less than he. He did exactly what is required of a rabbi in his professional capacity. We're a team, Marvin. If you're hinting that one of us might be negligent, then please hear this loud and clear: we're both negligent. As senior rabbi, I insist that we must approach his issued with that in mind. Without wishing to sound disrespectful, I'm telling you right now, I will accept no other standard. I hope you understand this."
Stan glanced toward his legal colleagues, as if to transmit through his eyes that if Morrison and Grand decided to move forward it would be necessary to separate the actions of each rabbi, attributing different levels of omission to each. The senior rabbi will be attacked for negligent supervision and the junior, for professional incompetence. "We'll certainly keep your wishes in mind, Gabby," he said without enthusiasm.
Shirley followed with a kinder question. "Where, may I ask, did Rabbi Folkman teach the Morgenstern kids about lighting candles?"
"In his study, I believe. He told me that the girls came to him after religious school to say that they wanted to practice lighting the menorah. He thought that odd because normally parents teach their children this at home. They said that their parents didn't possess a menorah. Their mother, who isn't Jewish, looked to their father to take the lead. But David didn't seem to care. Asa got the impression the kids intended to teach their parents about these rituals."
"To your knowledge, Rabbi, did the Morgenstern girls actually light the dandles in Rabbi Folkman's study?"
"Yes, I believe so. Asa told me he was impressed that they knew the appropriate blessings without referring to a siddur."
"And they used matches?" Shirley continued.
"Asa doesn't smoke and wouldn't carry a lighter. So they must have used matches."
"And did he tell them how dangerous fire could be?"
Gabby sensed how these lawyers viewed the problem. "I think you'd better get Rabbi Folkman to answer that in his own words."
Marvin Jankelrod exhaled a puff of air, making brief eye contact with Stan Melkin. "Yes, Rabbi, we can appreciate your position about shared responsibility, but we must also be realistic. In this context a jury is not likely to understand the notion of joint responsibility. It might make perfect sense to you but I'm afraid not to outsiders."
Stan appeared troubled and interrupted. "That's where we think there might be some liability. It's a thin straw, so to speak. But Morrison and Grand might try to make a case that Ohav Shalom was duty bound to have warned the children in advance, either orally or in writing about the dangers of using matches. Perhaps a parental waiver document."
Gabby swelled with frustration. "Gimme a break! We only have these kids for a few precious hours in our school. We can't go running to their parents seeking written permission to teach their children. It's easy for lawyers to insist on waivers, indemnities, and tons of boilerplate documents, but we haven't time to clutter up our lives with such stuff. We have a job to do, regardless of the potential risks."
"Perhaps, but we all know how written documents affect a case."
"We don't know how the accident happened, do we?" Gabby insisted.
Stan reentered the conversation. "The fire-marshal hasn't released his report yet. Knowing how slow things work in the District government that might be several weeks. Nelson McKesson, Ohav Shalom's insurance agent, has promised to notify Harold as soon as his company gets the report. So for the meantime, we're got to batten down the hatches."
"People are asking about the accident. I can't just whitewash it," Gabby added.
"We don't envy your position," Stan replied. "But it's imperative that no officer of the synagogue respond until we know exactly what happened. A slip at this juncture could prove very costly later."
Gabby shook her head in disgust. "Sounds like a war to me. We're supposed to be working with the Morgensterns, not against them."
Jankelrod commented, "That's the theory, isn't it? But if the family sues, we're in an adversarial relationship whether we like it or not. We've heard that they refused your services a Janean's funeral.
"Asa and I went to the Washington Hospital Center Burn Unit where the girls received emerge treatment. The family was so angry they wouldn't let us into the intensive care unit to see their daughters. While we were in the waiting room, the Reverend Morris Kormen showed up. A retired Congregationalist minister, he moonlights on the weekend as hospital chaplain. Somebody from the family called for him. He recited prayers for the girls. A very sweet man."
"Do you know who conducted the funeral?" "Reverend Claire Goldwater from the First Methodist Church on River Road in Bethesda. Interment was at the Rock Creek Cemetery. On behalf of the congregation, I sent a letter of condolence and a contribution from the Rabbi's Discretions fund to the burn center. Grieving for a lost child is the worst. I'd be totally undone. I don't like thinking of David and Laura as adversaries."
As the meeting drew to a close, Stan Melkin jotted notes on his legal pad and thanked everybody for attending. It was time to bring Harold Farb into the discussions.
Gabby held back to speak with Stan. He looked fatigued. Being president was one thing, but having to preside over a sticky legal issue quite another.
"How long is this likely to go on before resolution? she asked.
His mental distraction caused him to pause before fabricating a response. "Hard to say. If David is reasonable, we should know in a month or two. If not, it will take much longer. Litigation moves slowly."
"I hope you remember that I'm scheduled for my sabbatical after Pesach. You don't think this might derail it, do you? There have already been two postponements."
"Too early to tell. Make your plans, Gabby. We'll just have to monitor the situation and make adjustments as needed."
"You haven't forgotten about this sabbatical, have you?"
His lips curled like a child's about to cry. "How could we? It's been on our agenda for months, but we haven't yet found your replacement. That's another rickety bridge to cross."
"Need I remind you how capable Asa is?"
There was an uncharacteristic wry look on his face as he scrutinized Gabby. "Given the Morgenstern problem, I think the board will want to give serious thought to letting him run the congregation, even temporarily. The trustees have a phone conference on the matter scheduled for tomorrow."
"There's no one more able than he. I most certainly hope nobody will blame him for the accident."
Stan, usually supportive of the rabbinical staff, was suddenly professionally aloof, more a lawyer than a congregational president. "That remains to be seen. Attitudes are strange states of mind. Often, there's no accounting for them."
"Is the board having second thoughts?"
"Let's put it this way. A dark cloud covers a wide swath of territory. These will be trying times, to say the least."
"I hope you won't postpone my sabbatical a third time," she voiced a bit more disappointment than was politic, but her frustration over the matter was unquenchable. "The congregation owes this to me, Stan. I won't say my batteries are spent, but the juice is mighty low. There haven't been any easy years since I came aboard. Seems like there's always an emergency de jour. But this is the first time we've had an associate rabbi capable of running the place."
He interjected, "You were associate when Joel Greer brought scandal to our pulpit. Without you to pick up the pieces, I really believe we would have splintered and broken into tiny fragments."
"I rest my case, Counselor. The congregation owes me time off."
***
Among Gabby's innovations at Ohav Shalom was an annual New Years Eve service. Yes, of course, Jews had their own Rosh Hashonah in the
autumn, which related to a lunar calendar, but the reality was that as denizens of the western world, they also felt their old year closing down in late December and a new calendar emerging with January. It turned out that her intuition proved accurate. In addition to the festive Rosh Hashonah in autumn, many of her congregants wanted to say goodbye to the old year on December 31 in a formal manner. The service at Ohav was scheduled to start precisely at 7 p.m. and end at 8:30 so that the worshippers were free to welcome the New Year afterward with streamers and Champagne. When pondering an address for this New Years service, she faced a difficulty. TV commentators, politicians, entertainers, writers, clergy, and just about anybody who had access to an audience interpreted the significance of a retiring old year and plans for the new. Just about everything that might be said had already been said. People had become glutted with wisdom and eventually tuned out. And when the witching hour of a new year had past, what then? In the end, she settled for a modest theme of thanksgiving. American Jews had much to be grateful for. A small people, who by all logic should have perished in the cauldron of previous centuries, had survived and become a valued component of American society.
During her sermon, Asa disappeared and re-emerged beside a huge pipe organ in the choir loft. An improviser by nature, he composed music as he played, often contending that for him, playing and composing amounted to pretty much the same thing. His fingers struck out new melodies, rhythms and harmonies as easily as old ones. For the New Year, he made a habit of writing a new composition. And thus, like the service itself, a new custom at Ohav was born. Staccato notes were peppered with a private brand of syncopation. His musical phrases reached into high octaves, evoking optimism. Toward the end of the composition, the music accelerated in both volume and tempo, coming to a finale with a series of subdominant chords without resolution, symbolic of the open and untested year to come.
As music and prayers came to an end, Gabby concluded with a benediction; Yisef Adonai, veni oovenay chem., key nistatar ish merachoo. 'May the Lord watch between you and me when we're apart, one from the other.' It was precisely 8:30 p.m. when she released her congregants to dash off and celebrate in a less modest manner.
Anina Norstrom was waiting for Asa outside the robing room. Cantor Reuben Blass, a self-effacing, non-judgmental man in whom envy was unthinkable, was ebullient with praise for Asa's composition and insisted that it be included in a CD of liturgical music, which his association of cantors was producing. A lover of music in almost any form, including jazz and rap, he stated a determination not to let Asa's music go unrecognized. His enthusiasm was manifest in a powerful bear hug, which nearly pulled Asa off his feet.
Anina, an elegant dresser whose wardrobe came largely from New York boutiques, wore a stunning cardinal red dress with exposed shoulders. She planted a proprietary kiss upon Asa's cheek, a statement of public claim, and reminded him that they had not one but two parties to attend.
Gabby no longer enjoyed New Year's Eve bashes. This was not to say she didn't like socializing on other occasions. But not New Years. She made excuses to friends, refusing a host of invitations. Instead, she reserved crossing the threshold of a new year for memories of the late Joel Fox. When he perished in the spring while saving her life in Fort Stanton Park, she pledged to incorporate his lost life into her own and in a large part kept that vow. She argued to herself that if one gives his life for you, then are you not obliged to carry the lost spirit into your world? Without Joel's sacrifice, there would be no new year to celebrate.
In the sanctuary foyer, Stan Melkin and his family circled about with greetings. It was clear that his two sons were eager to depart, but Stan lingered for a final comment. "I've spoken with board members about your sabbatical, Gabby. We must discuss this right after the holiday."
She was taken back. "What's to discuss, Stan? I'm making plans."
His younger son tugged at his arm. The synagogue foyer was now nearly empty. "Let's leave this for the new year. We all recognize our obligations."
She didn't like what she heard. The sub-text was all too clear.
As soon as the last congregant disappeared, Ohav's custodian, Rafael “Doc” Veracruz, switched off the main chandeliers.
Gabby used his nickname "Doc" to address him. She had never learned how he had been so knighted. "Doc, please lock the street doors and go home. I'll let myself out. We'll see you next year. Un buen neuvo ano para usted. Senor Veracruz."
Nicaraguan born, the 54 year old janitor had lived in the States for the better part of his life. Gabby didn't know anything about his family or if he was an illegal alien. Ye he remained in the shadows of congregational life – steadfast and loyal. When something needed to be done in the building, he was always there, no matter how strenuous or at what hour. To her knowledge, never had a function been postponed because he failed to set up a room, and never had he complained about having to remain on duty because congregants needed to be on the premises well after working hours. Her conversation with him had always been cordial and respectful, but never personal. He seldom spoke Spanish on the job, but seemed to take pride in referring to her as mi rabbina. "Si, mi rabbina, I'll lock up."
From the main sanctuary, she made her way to a smaller chapel lined with inlayed polished walls and multi-colored stained glass panels depicting biblical scenes and calligraphy. Ornate chandeliers cast the shadow of a candelabrum on a plush ochre carpet. Thick teak doors insulated the sanctuary from ambient noise. The quiet hum of tranquility was almost palpable. Two lights recessed in the ceiling bathed the cavernous space with pale luminescence. Here she felt the protecting wings of the Shechinah, the Divine Presence on Earth, wrapped around her.
The pulpit, with its woven tapestry, was raised two steps from the sanctuary floor. But for the moment, Gabby wanted nothing of her rabbinical persona. She was content to sit in the first pew and let her mind luxuriate in quiet reflection, which began with a release of mental focus. Eventually, her inner eye cleared on the image of Joel Fox's face as she lay in Fort Stanton Park, beaten and wounded. For many months after this ordeal, her memory played amnesic games failing to refresh his image. There was no recall of the horrid details. But of the succeeding months, as the trauma subsided and the body healed, small fragments of memory crept back into her consciousness. One day her memory exploded, releasing full details of the nightmare. Joel was kneeling above, his lips close to hers, uttering, "It's all over, Love." An instant later, she heard the shots that claimed his life. His body slumped over hers and for a fraction of time, they were united.
"Mi rabbina," Doc's voice carried from the chapel's vestibule. It was necessary to repeat this because Gabby was lost in thought. "Mi rabbina."
She turned to see Doc Veracruz silhouetted by lights from the outside corridor. "Didn't I tell you to go home to your family."
"No, mi rabbina. I got no family. As long as you're here, I stay. People loco these days. Tonight they all loco. I don't want nothing to happen to you."
That he had no family with whom to celebrate struck her with horror. No one should pass through the portals of a new year alone, and she was suddenly humbled by her previous insensitivity. Everyone at the synagogue took him for granted, unaware of his solitude. It was shameful that she hadn't thought of that before. Such loneliness was not uncommon. It scratched the surface of many who lived and worked in a big city. "Well then, Doc, you must come and sit next to me and we'll enter the New Year together. Just you and me."
"No, No, mi rabbina. There's a Chinaman waiting outside on the street. When I checked to see if everybody left, he was there. He asked if you were still inside. Looks like a bad hombre to me. I told him you were, but I don't wanta let you go out there alone. Too much locos.
"Chinaman? That's odd," she replied. "How's he dressed?"
"Jeans."
"And he asked for me?"
"Si, for rabbina."
"I can't imagine why any Chinese man would want to see me tonight, but if you're sure he's been waiting f
or me, bring him in. I'll see him here."
In the first pew, seated in the corner with her back to the mahogany siding and staring at the stained glass panels across the aisle, Gabby heard, "Mi rabbina." Doc's Hispanic intonation greeted from the rear and awakened her from a momentary lapse of consciousness. She rose to observe two men standing in the arched doorway, but the light was dim and she could not recognize the individual Doc had escorted from the street. An awkward moment elapsed as she stepped into the aisle and moved to meet them.
"Happy New Year, Gabby," the voice was that of Kye Naah. If Doc had recognized him as Korean and not Chinese this misunderstanding would have been averted, but then how could she have expected him to know the difference?
"I came to your service," Kye stated. "It was more moving than spending time with my associates surfing the Internet. I intended to go to our corporate office and join the party there, but wanted to talk with you first. But you didn't come out."
She was close enough to reach forward and shake his hand. "Doc and I are waiting for the New Year here. You're welcome to join us, Kye. I'm afraid this won't be as exciting as connecting to the world through the Internet."
A warm smile expanded his lips and his eyes enlarged behind glasses to correct for a mild case of astigmatism. "Perhaps more exciting, that is in a spiritual way. I consider myself a good Baptist, yet I found wholeness in your service. I felt very comfortable, even though I didn't understand the Hebrew."
"That's not unusual. Many Jews don't understand Hebrew. Hopefully, they also feel comfortable." She took his arm to squire him back down the aisle and simultaneously reached with her right arm to gather Doc near. "The three of us will enter this New Year together. If the company is good, the journey isn't difficult. And I can't imagine better company anywhere."
The first pew was her favorite, with cushioned seating for five. Kye was on her left and Doc on her right. Kye glanced down at his wristwatch to estimate the time left of the old year and turned the dial in her direction to read. With her index finger, she signaled there was a little more than an hour and a half to midnight. Her arm hooked inside the arms of those flanking her and pulled close.