Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  "And how did they come to light the candles?"

  "We used a menorah I've possessed for years. We placed it on my desk. Janean, I believe, recited the blessing. Tybee practiced another blessing over bread, which we didn't have. In Jewish practice that's not kosher, because you should never say a blessing without first fulfilling a commandment, such as eating bread immediately after reciting the barachah. But I felt that for instructional purposes we could make an exception. I was impressed because they knew their stuff cold. I hardly made any corrections."

  "Did they light the candles in your study?"

  "Yes," Asa said, thinking that he was talking more than necessary.

  "Again, who lit the candles, Rabbi?" Sutterfeld followed immediately.

  "Janean. She was the oldest. It seemed appropriate."

  "Why do you say that?"

  He had to pause before looking at Corcoran for a signal to go on. A nod of his head was sufficient. Shirley disagreed, trying to get him to change his mind. She had always regarded insurance lawyers as slow witted. Corcoran was far too passive for her tastes, but what could she do?

  "Since Janean was the oldest."

  "What has age got to do with it, Rabbi? Is it written somewhere in Jewish laws that this is the prerogative of older children?"

  "No."

  "Might it be because lighting matches is intrinsically dangerous?"

  "It might be, but that was immaterial at the time. I was standing next to them. There wasn't any reason to anticipate a fire."

  "And did you warn them about the dangers of lighting matches?"

  He had been prepared to expect this question because it was critical to the case of negligence against Ohav Shalom. Sutterfeld wanted him to say exactly what he already knew. There was no way of wiggling out without lying. "No." Asa said in a low voice.

  Sutterfeld hesitated in order to be certain the stenographer had recorded the answer faithfully, then continued, "Is it not standard procedure at this synagogue not to warn children about the dangers of matches?"

  Asa frowned, running the query through his mind. "I'm afraid there are too many negatives in that question. I don't understand."

  "Is it synagogue practice to warn your children about the dangers of using fire?" he rephrased reluctantly, aware that the use of negatives to confuse Asa had failed.

  "No. I don't think the issue has come up. Nor do we warn them about eating contaminated food or walking though traffic."

  "I didn't ask about food or walking, Rabbi Folkman. I want you to confine your answers to my questions and we're talking here about the use of fire. Do you mean that warning the children is done by some teachers and not others?"

  "I don't know what our teachers say in their classrooms when teaching about the lighting of candles."

  "I repeat, so there's absolutely no confusion on this point, is it true that you don't have a synagogue policy about this?"

  "Not to my knowledge."

  "Could there exist such a policy and you might be ignorant of it?"

  "There could. After the tragedy, we checked our Manual of Policies approved the

  Board of Directors and found nothing."

  "But you do agree that matches can be dangerous, don't you?"

  "Objection, Marc." Shirley interjected. "This hair-splitting is unnecessary. It doesn't establish any matter of fact. Your question has been asked and answered."

  Sutterfeld glared across the table at his adversary with a predatory eye, forcing civility into his response. "My follow-up question is perfectly acceptable in deposition. I'm only trying to establish Ohav Shalom's practices with regard to lighting matches. Do you have an answer for that, Rabbi?"

  A nervous twitch on the corner of Asa's lip emerged. Aware of navigating a carefully constructed minefield, he remained intense. How would his answer play out later? How would the prosecution twist his words to fit their intention? He stammered, "We, we assume the proper place for educating children about life's dangers is in the home. Parents usually instruct their kids long before they come to our school. No doubt such things are also taught in their primary schools."

  "And on this specific occasion, sometime in late November, you didn't warn Janean and Tybee Morgenstern about lighting Chanukah candles, even though you had them do it in front of you in your study?"

  "I think that's right."

  "Why didn't you?"

  Asa's nervousness became apparent. His eyes darted from Sutterfeld to the stenographer as he felt the trap closing around him like the sharp daggers of an Iron Maiden during the Inquisition. Why he should have to answer such questions in the first place seemed manifestly unfair. "It didn't occur to me," he blurted and could not stop himself from adding more. "The girls never told me they would attempt to light candles in the absence of their parents. In fact, they made it clear that they very much wanted them around. They wanted to show off their skill. I think they also wanted to surprise them with what they had learned."

  "It just didn't occur to you." Sutterfeld paraphrased slowly, then growled his displeasure. "Isn't that a rather serious oversight?"

  "Stop!" Shirley Delinsky placed a hand on Asa's forearm. "Just wait a minute." And to Sutterfeld she said, "Marc, you know that's inappropriate. Your client is making a case against the officers of Ohav Shalom on the basis of negligent omission. In deposition you cannot ask a major party in this lawsuit to admit that omission. "

  Annoyed at being blocked, he snorted at Asa. "Rabbi, in view of the tragedy that occurred, do you now regret that you didn't warn the Morgenstern children?"

  "Excuse me," Shirley interrupted again. "I'm not going to let my client answer that as phrased. His state of mind today is irrelevant to what occurred to the Morgenstern children last November. We all feel terrible about what happened and not one of us in this room doesn't feel regret at not anticipating the tragedy and interceding to prevent it. But that has absolutely nothing to do with any alleged negligence before the accident occurred. Withdraw your question."

  Sutterfeld looked to Horace Corcoran who might have allowed the question to slip by. To Asa, he said in a callous manner, "Your explanation for not warning the Morgenstern girls was because it never occurred to you that they might be endangered. Is that true?"

  Asa remained silent.

  "Well, is it or isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "And you didn't think ahead to a scenario in which they might be injured?"

  "No."

  "But you did know they were planning to light Chanukah candles?"

  "Yes. But not without the supervision of their parents."

  "And you didn't anticipate that having learned the prayers and knowing how to use matches, they might attempt to do this on their own without parental supervision?"

  Asa paused, trying to discern the effect of his answer. Hesitantly, he said, "Yes, that's right."

  "Had you warned them about the dangers of using matches, would it have made a difference?"

  Asa looked to Corcoran then Delinsky. Neither objected. "I don't know. That's pretty hypothetical, now isn't it?"

  "Remember, Rabbi. I'm asking the questions here. But do you think it might have helped?"

  "I'm… I'm just not sure even of that." He stuttered, uncertain exactly where Sutterfeld was headed.

  "So are you saying that the Morgenstern girls would accept your counsel on how to say the blessings and conduct the ceremonies, but they wouldn't obey you on the matter of lighting matches?"

  "I don't believe I'm saying that at all. You're putting words into my mouth, Mr. Sutterfeld."

  Sutterfeld's voice smarted with reprimand. "Just answer the question. Do you convey authority on religious rituals and not on matters of fire safety?"

  "I'm a rabbi not a bloody fireman."

  A ripple of chuckles spread around the conference table. That was not the expected response.

  "Would they have heeded your warning, if given?"

  "I don't know. Maybe yes and maybe no."

 
; "If they were before you at this very instant, would you attempt to warn them?"

  "Knowing what happened, of course, I would. Anybody who cares about children would. But I didn't know then the accident would occur. And I didn't have any idea that David and Laura Morgenstern would be having cocktails when these rituals were performed."

  The attorney persevered. "The Fire Marshal's Report says that Chanukah candles were the probable source of the fire. Why it is silent about any rituals before or after the accident?"

  "Perhaps Tybee Morgenstern can enlighten you, Mr. Sutterfeld."

  Marc Sutterfeld turned to regard the stenographer, waiting until all the words were recorded and nodded approval, as though he now had on the record exactly what he needed to make his case. "Well then, I suggest we take a short break. I've got to make an urgent telephone call and recommend we resume in, say, fifteen minutes. Anybody have any problems with this?"

  The air was frigid. Counsel for Ohav Shalom and its rabbi were not happy with the tone of the questioning. Sutterfeld had established himself as a strong advocate who knew how to convince a jury of negligence. As soon as the meeting recessed, Sutterfeld and his associate immediately exited, heading first for a bathroom, then a phone.

  Gabby was waiting as Asa and the lawyers left the conference room. She placed a hand on his shoulder for encouragement and said, hatzlachah, for success in Hebrew. "I'm sure you did beautifully; I'm very proud of you."

  Asa looked doubtful. "It was wretched. But then I guess you know from personal experience on the witness stand."

  "Don't remind me. That was a catastrophe on wheels."

  He laughed a hollow laugh. "That's not what I recall. The whole bloody country came to your support. But I'm different. I'm the guy who destroyed two young lives."

  "That's about as stupid a thing as I've heard you say."

  "My words will read back like a bad novel. I walked squarely into Sutterfeld's trap."

  Shirley Delinsky broke from a conversation with Horace Corcoran to encourage Asa. "You did just fine, Rabbi Folkman. Just remember when we resume that you can't win anything in a deposition. But you can lose big time. Try to answer the questions with a simple yes and no. As little explanation as necessary."

  Corcoran added over her shoulder. "Marc is wily. He likes to let you hang yourself. I think he wants us to relax so he can come get something bigger than what he's already got."

  Asa shook his head to acknowledge that Sutterfeld had him on the ropes and was pounding his ribs with heavy blows. How much longer could he take such punishment before collapsing?

  At lunchtime, Gabby again waited outside the conference room for Asa. Corcoran approached her. The lip of his briefcase was secured by no more than his index finger. From under it he withdrew a small ream of stapled papers. "Nelson MeKesson at Dominion Mutual said that your secretary requested a copy of the Fire Marshal's Report. The final draft arrived at company headquarters yesterday. He asked if I would deliver this copy to you personally."

  Her eyes dropped over the papers entitled Fire Incident Report, Office of the Fire Marshal for the District of Columbia. 3414 Quebec Road, N.W. Family: Morgenstern.

  Personal Injury: Yes. Mortality: Yes.

  "Thanks," she said. "I don't suppose there's anything here we don't already know. But I'd like to review the details anyway."

  She took Asa's arm, leading him to her study for sandwiches and drinks from a local deli.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  POLITICS EVERYWHERE

  On Friday evening before calling an end to an arduous week, Anina Norstrom's partner, Franklin Terkenoff M.D. popped his head into her office to share an elaborate treatment plan for Tybee Morgenstern's facial reconstruction. He was not the Morgenstern's attending surgeon, but as a member of an inter-hospital surgical ethics board was apprised of special procedures in the region. Planning for Tybee had started two weeks before to accommodate the tight schedules of specialists involved in the first phase of her treatment. A pediatric dentist, child orthopedist and an ear-nose-and throat specialist produced an array of CT and MRI scans of Tybee's skull and soft-tissue organs. A specialist in maxillo-facial prosthetics contributed a three-dimensional model of Tybee's head, followed by four test therapeutic masks for controlling facial scars. Plastic surgeon Hank Rasnick, whom the family has elected to lead this team endeavor, kept in close touch with all the specialists.

  "I know Asa has an interest in Tybee Morgenstern and I thought you might want to participate in one of the planning sessions," Franklin Terkenoff addressed Anina.

  On multiple occasions Asa had asked her how surgeons would approach Tybee's injuries. Unfamiliar with specifics of the case, Anina's response remained general. Without knowing the depth of the burns and the extent of damage to the eyes, nose and throat, she could only make calculated guesses. As a member of Georgetown University's medical staff, she had been invited to surgical boards meetings but, more often than not, declined to attend. For years, her relationship with the Department Chief of Plastics, Hank Rasnick, had been less than cordial. From the moment she and Hank clashed over treatment methodologies of eye reconstruction at a national conference of plastic surgeons in New Orleans, they disliked one another. Old-timers in the field enjoyed telling jokes about a battle of soap and brushes when two feral cats, Drs. Norstrom and Rasnick, inadvertently met at the scrub basin.

  "I don't think Hank would welcome my presence," she answered by exaggerating the separation between each word. "He suspects me of stealing his patients. Every time I speak on television, he writes nasty memos to the Hospital Center medical director accusing me of misleading the public and acting unprofessional. At our monthly departmental meetings, he's out rightly condescending."

  "Hank hates to be upstaged and, more importantly, he isn't as pretty as you, Anina," Terkenoff responded, trying to both flatter and impress.

  "No excuses, please. He's a schmuck and you know it. But if you happen to attend one of the meetings, I'd be interested to know more. I can then give Asa informed answers."

  Franklin thought long about the implications of that. "I'll see if I can work it into my schedule. If I show up, our colleagues will probably put two and two together. Since they won't be fooled, you're better off going yourself."

  "What? And listen to Hank pontificate? Spare me, please. His good-old-boy club hates strong women."

  "That sounds like a bad line from an afternoon TV soap opera. Haven't you heard that doctors stopped stereotyping female physicians long ago? And since I know you make more money in our practice than ninety-percent of the male doctors in Washington, you can't plead impoverishment. It's time for you and Hank to bury the hatchet."

  She threw a penetrating glance at him and growled. "Thanks, pal. I'll keep that in mind next time you ask for a favor."

  "Aren't you usually at Georgetown on Tuesdays?" "Yes. But I'm already committed, unless I can get Charles Daintree to move his operation back a few hours."

  "I didn't know you work with Daintree. He's a urologist, isn't he?"

  "Generally, I don't. But he's doing an orchectomy and prosthesis on a young man who's very sensitive about the cosmetic result. Charles asked me to help restore a scrotum."

  Franklin Terkenoff curled his lips into a wry expression. "Sounds right up your alley – like the ultimate satisfaction for a ball-busting female. Next thing you know you'll become the regional expert in adult circumcisions."

  Her index finger targeted his groin in good humor. "Don't knock it, pal. Somebody has to do them. If you'd take the time to read our financial summaries, you know that I've done four in the past year. Since there are only about a dozen performed each year in the Washington area, I'm building the reputation.

  From Gabby's feigned cheerfulness during official duties, you would never suspect her battle with mild depression. This affectation had become so much a part of her persona that only an astute observer perceived the blackness lurking inside. Yet the embrace with Kye Naah at Politicstoday had done
wonders for her mood. On several occasions, a question popped into her mind whether Joel Fox would approve of her seeing Kye. It was a silly question of no practical significance. Still, at regular intervals it returned unanswered. She hoped that Kye would communicate with her, yet she received neither emails nor voice mails. For two days, she waited before placing a call to Politicstoday. A curt recorded message from the phone company stated that the number was no longer in service. Next, she typed an email message feeling there might be more life in Kye's computer than his phone.

  A final check of her electronic mail at the end of the day revealed a message from a Bat Mitzvah youngster who wanted to talk about the subject of homelessness for her Bat Mitzvah speech. Another dealt with rescheduling a bi-weekly meeting on urban affairs. Last on the log was a message from Kye in abbreviated computer lingo.

  Hi, gabby,

  Great of you to come last nite. total chaos here. still no power, but retrieved 50% of data. Politicstoday no longer exists in previous form. sad news abt staff. many preparing to leave the company. i'm devastated. love 2 take you 2 dinner tonite. nothing expensive, please. reply ASAP. no phones operating here.

  Kye

  Hearing from him was heartening. Her fingers began typing a response before her brain had worked out the implications.

  Hello, Kye,

  Sorry to learn about troubles, but delighted you have saved some of your data. I'd love to learn the details, if they are not too painful. Sorry, can't make a greasy spoon. Lyle has sent me a veritable library of information I must study if I have any intention of running. Been so busy I haven't had a moment for homework. But if you're willing to risk a meal at my home, you're welcome to come by. Nothing fancy. Be forewarned, cooking is not one of my talents. I'm leaving the office now, but let me know by email. I'll pick it up at home.

  Gabby

  Driving home, she wondered about the wisdom of inviting Kye for dinner. To do so broke a solemn pledge she had made to herself. After three promising romances had ended short of marriage and motherhood, she vowed never again to get involved with an improbable mate. Yet despite a voice that counseled for control of her feelings, she could not shake her fascination with Kye – perhaps because of his dedication to cyberspace and his commitment to improving the electoral process. Politicians often spoke about a more equitable political process but in practice concentrated on their own return to office. Kye's dream excited her. Or, she had to ask herself, was she just a run-of-the-mill sucker for the underdog, struggling in a perennial war to upset the established seats of power? All this, she knew, to be food for the mind, bypassing a more primordial physical attraction to Kye.