Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  Alternating red and white strobe lights indicated that the ambulance was still at some distance. Before it could get close, two medics in navy-blue uniforms were running forward hauling a stretcher. Seeing that there was nothing more for her to do, Gabby eased back on her haunches. A second later, she shifted to her knees, then onto her feet. After providing a newly arrived police officer with her phone number, she looked around for her car, which Stan had obviously moved. A spectator said to her, "You should have been a doctor."

  It took ten minutes for Gabby to find her Volvo parked on a residential street. Stan was seated comfortably in the passenger seat, studying his legal brief as if nothing untoward had occurred. Without speaking, he exited to reseat himself on the passenger side. Clearly, they were now going to be late for their appointment in Baltimore.

  He finally spoke as she navigated a secondary Beltway ramp leading northeast on I-95. "I'm sorry for what I said back there. I know you were trying to help. Only I've seen too many Good Samaritans find themselves with hellish legal problems. Even if the court exonerates them, they wind up with astronomical legal fees. We've got enough trouble with the Morgensterns."

  His caution annoyed her. "You're the lawyer, Stan. It's a sad day when someone can't help a fellow human being in trouble."

  "It was probably her fault for reckless driving. We saw with our own eyes how she was hot-dogging it."

  "When a skier arrives at the bottom of a slope with a broken arm, the doctor doesn't tell her that she shouldn't have been skiing. You've got to fix what's broken first. Then later, you might consider future prevention. I'm afraid I'd make a poor attorney."

  He fell back into a silence, but this time did not return to his papers. At least five miles later, he said, picking up the thread of the previous conversation. "On the contrary, Gabby, I think you'd make an excellent lawyer. But I'm certain you're a better rabbi. I wish like hell we could keep you at Ohav Shalom."

  "Now what does that mean?" she asked, knowing exactly what he meant.

  He didn't rise to her bait, and eventually returned to his brief. That worked to her benefit because she needed time to compose herself. During the accident, reflexes governed her responses. Things had to be done in sequence. In such circumstances she possessed the ability to put herself on autopilot. But once the emergency was over, she was subject to delayed emotion. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly to prevent her limbs from trembling.

  ***

  Fifty minutes late, a receptionist at Dominion Mutual's regional offices on Charles Street escorted Gabby and Stan to a studio where a videoconference with the company's headquarters in Cleveland was in progress. The discussion broke to introduce Gabby and Stan to the Cleveland team. Horace Corcoran and several of the Dominion Mutual personnel in Ohio had seen From Slavery to Freedom on television and were complimentary about Gabby's role. This was also the first opportunity several members of the synagogue board had had to express themselves about the production.

  "Since our last meeting," Corcoran summarized for the benefit of Stan and Gabby, "we've made additional phone contact with Marc Sutterfeld, counsel to the Morgenstern family. We feel it is in everybody's interest to settle this lawsuit as soon as possible. The very last thing we want is to have Mr. Sutterfeld put Tybee Morgenstern on the witness stand. We're monitoring her medical situation and, I can tell you, it's pretty ugly. We're not talking logic here, but pure, unadulterated emotion. Unfortunately, that's Marc Sutterfeld's trump card. He won't budge from the original demand of forty-six million."

  The insurance company's counsel in Cleveland, Jameson Terry, spoke with a chiseling Chicago twang. "Ladies and Gentlemen. It looks from here that we have a thirty-six million dollar delta. There's two and a half million left in our pot, so to speak. We know Sutterfeld will eventually come off his outrageous figure, but not apparently by gentle persuasion." He addressed Stan Melkin as president of the synagogue. "I hope that Ohav Shalom has benefactors willing to reach deep, very deep, yes, very deep into their pockets to close the gap."

  Melkin knew the issue would come up and reported, "We've already had discussions with several of our more affluent benefactors. We might raise another million or two, but that's the ceiling. So I'm afraid your suggestion doesn't solve our problem."

  To the silver-haired Delmont D'Foro of Jameson, Crew and Gottwin, litigating counsel to Dominion in Washington, he declared. "Litigation is inevitable, wouldn't you say?"

  Delmont D'Foro showed no discomfort at the prospect of a trial that guaranteed his firm's involvement in the case for many more months. "Yes, sir. We're making preparations as we speak."

  "Do you intend to make further contact with Mr. Sutterfeld?"

  "He knows our phone number. If you ask my opinion, I don't believe he wants to settle when there's an opportunity to have his day in court. Since he's confident he can win before a jury, he can always argue that he serves his client best by choosing the battlefield. His firm has been known to take cases on a contingency basis, though we have no evidence of this so far."

  "And are you satisfied with our position, Mr. Melkin," asked Jameson Terry in Cleveland.

  "Have I an alternative?"

  "Rabbi Lewyn?" asked Jameson Terry. "You understand that you and your colleague Rabbi Folkman will be on the hot seat, so to speak. We're not pleased with Rabbi Folkman's deposition, but we'll have to work around it. He admitted things that Mr. Sutterfeld will exploit in a trial."

  "He's not a lawyer, Mr. Jameson. Rabbi Folkman is an superb rabbi and, for your information, also a very talented musician and composer."

  "He'll have to convince a jury of that, Rabbi," sighed Jameson.

  Stan Melkin interceded in his interrogator's tone. "Mr. Terry, what is the sum you feel Dominion would pay to have this problem go away?"

  "Ten million and not a penny more. Frankly, we feel fleeced at that sum. But we must be practical. Many of our clients are non-profit and religious institutions. Were Ohav Shalom not a respected synagogue, we'd dig our heels at less than five Ms."

  "So there's no figure a bit more generous to make this problem disappear?" "No, sir, as I said, not a penny. Of course, you're free to supplement with anything Ohav Shalom can raise."

  The videoconference ended with the sour prospect of an unpleasant trial.

  In Dominion Mutual's reception area, Stan Melkin and the Ohav Shalom board members gathered to commiserate about the unfortunate turn of events. Stan looked at his watch to note it was nearly lunch time, and declared, "Since we still have some things to discuss with the rabbi, let me take you to lunch at the Sheraton, just up the street. It's early and we can get a quiet table."

  On the short walk from Charles Street to the Sheraton Hotel, Gabby moved on the outside of the pack, certain Stan wanted to talk about her intention to run for congressional office. A frigid wind gusting against them presaged Gabby's growing sense of isolation. People who should be her strongest supporters now seemed distant and aloof.

  At lunch, there was an agreement not to s peak about the Morgenstern lawsuit. Food service in this austere white tablecloth restaurant decorated with a colonial motif was friendly and efficient. Gabby ordered simple green salad and iced tea. Others, with more robust appetites, ordered sandwiches and fish entrees from the Chesapeake waters. Between service from the kitchen, Sally Medford-Quine, who has been most active in opposing Gabby's entry into a race against her childhood friend and political heroine, Toby Ryles, opened a polished leather briefcase and extracted Gabby's profile in the Washington Post.

  After receiving a nod from Stan Melkin, she said, "Rabbi you've no doubt read Gina McQuire's piece. Most people would be flattered, but I don't mind telling you we've been deluged by phone calls from our members. It's quite disturbing, you know."

  Gabby glanced around to gage the response from others and failed to discover signs of sympathy. "What exactly are their objections, Sally?"

  "The picture."

  "Many people saw the same frame on t
elevision and nobody complained to me."

  "Perhaps, but Gina McQuire suggested the man beside you was a significant and steady companion. That's news to us."

  "People put lots of labels on relationships. I certainly never told Gina about this. In fact, I never spoke a single word to her. Had she asked my permission to print that, I would not have approved. But then everybody knows Gina McQuire's style of journalism."

  "Let's not argue about degrees of relationships, Rabbi," Marvin Jankelrod intervened. He was not a member of the synagogue board, but had been invited to attend the meeting at Dominion Mutual because he chaired Ohav Shalom's legal committee. "May I ask if Ms. McQuire is accurate?"

  Gabby knew she was headed into quicksand but the thought of prevaricating never entered her mind. She detested the Washington sport of parsing words. "Yes, Marvin. Kye Naah and I are good friends."

  He was a hound on scent. "But that doesn't answer the key issue, Rabbi, if I may be so bold. What we need to know is whether your relationship with Mr. Naah is romantic or platonic?"

  "Why is that necessary?" her guard rose still higher than before.

  Stan interjected himself in the conciliatory role of president. "Because, many members are concerned about the image this presents. Our rabbis are supposed to be guardians of Jewish family life. We expect them to be strong advocates for Jews dating and marrying within the Jewish community. The congregation has a sorry history of battles over role models and I don't have to remind anybody about Rabbi Greer. If it's true that Mr. Naah and you are more than close friends, then doesn't this send the wrong signal to our young people?"

  "I could pretend I don't understand your drift, Stan, but that would be disingenuous. If you're referring to the fact that Kye is Korean, then say so."

  He hesitated. "Don't make this into a debate over racism, please. We're not suggesting the slightest disrespect for the Asian people. But the Jewish community is attempting to maintain it's ethnic homogeneity – not by fiat but by setting a good example, especially its leadership?"

  "I'm not sure this is the time or place to debate that. I don't believe Judaism will be able to sustain itself by rigid adherence to notions of racial homogeneity in the twenty-first century."

  "So you are condoning intermarriages with Asians?" Sally Medford-Quine almost trumpeted.

  "I didn't say that, Sally. You did."

  Two waiters fussed over the delivery of lunch. Room had to be made on the table crowded with glasses and butter plates. New silverware was added to the clutter. Harry Dealson, a mild-mannered, chubby owner of racetracks in Delaware and northern Maryland, asked to modify his order of baked sea trout.

  As soon as the waiters disappeared, Devorah Chattrel from the sisterhood spoke. "I feel terrible about delving into your private life, Gabby. Lord knows, we're all entitled to some privacy in this world. But unfortunately, you're not only a public figure, but have become something of a celebrity. It wasn't as if you and Mr. Naah had a private relationship. The media broadcast his image throughout the nation. Each time the camera returned to you at the seder, he was nearby. It sends a message that we Jews are encouraging inter-racial relationships and ultimately interracial marriages. And that's not what I think you have in mind, now is it?"

  It saddened Gabby that the matter had come up, but then Chuck had warned her. About such things he was seldom wrong. "No, Devorah, I'm not trying to promote anything. The fact that Kye Naah is Korean is incidental. We're good friends. I brought him as my escort to the community seder because it is considered a mitzvah to invite Gentiles. Passover is a popular holiday in the Christian community and Kye is a church-going Baptist and curious about Jewish observance."

  "Then you don't take responsibility for the message this sends?" pursued Sally Medford-Quine.

  "I do, Sally," Gabby barely hid her irritation.

  "And this relationship is romantic?" Marvin Jankelrod recast his previous question.

  "That's a movie word, Marvin," she said. "But let me answer with a little history. First, my friendship with Kye Naah is more than an acquaintance. Many of you know that he's the founder and CEO of Politicstoday.com. We're working together on a congressional campaign. He's been very supportive and encouraging."

  Sally Medford-Quine said, "There are people who think you engineered the Disney seder to publicize your campaign. I can tell you, Rabbi, the Ryles for Congress people are steaming mad about this exploitation."

  "Now wait a second, Sally," Stan jumped in to defuse an explosion. "That's unnecessarily provocative. From almost all quarters, even our Conservative brethren, the seder was a great success. We've gotten sterling reviews in the Jewish press. There's no purpose to impugn the rabbi's motives."

  Sally turned her frustration on the president. "It looks to me as if Ohav Shalom is now fighting a war on multiple fronts. We've got one rabbi with political ambitions and another who has become a nightclub performer. We're facing the costliest lawsuit in our history and our own members are saying that we're promoting the wrong family values. I ask you, without trying to be facetious, Stan, is this the way to run a shul?"

  Stan Melkin delayed defending his presidency while waiters settled main courses before the diners. He felt like Abraham Lincoln, who had become President of the United States in the midst of bitter political haggling and a brewing civil war, then ended his tenure with a united nation, the South in ruins and even nastier political squabbling. Unfortunately, the late president didn't live long enough to understand how much the American people owed to his genius.

  Harry Dealson characteristically attempted to assuage raw tempers. "We're sorry, Rabbi, that this has come up. There's a lot on our plates. We would be remiss in our duties were we to hush up the criticism over Dr. Naah. Jews are matchmakers by nature and I guess we've all jumped to conclusions. The bottom line is," and here he paused to emphasize what he felt, "we really don't want you to run for Congress, not because you're unqualified, but because we want you in the shul, not on Capitol Hill. And we want you to have a happy Jewish family with a nice Jewish boy. And, I guess, Dr. Naah threatens that. First and foremost, we want this terrible lawsuit to go away. I think I speak for the other board members when I say we feel trapped. Our alternatives are very limited."

  "Thanks, Harry," Gabby said. "I appreciate your honesty. I'm not insensitive to your conclusions. All I can say is that we'll have to move forward step by step and see what evolves." She put down a fork that had remained inactive in her hand since the salad arrived and glanced around the table. "Besides the public side to being a rabbi, I also have a private life and, yes, private ambitions and private needs. I have never believed them to be inconsistent with the welfare of the synagogue. When they diverge, I shall resign immediately."

  This short oration produced silence, an opportunity for the diners to return to their food. When a solicitous waiter stopped to ask if any wished to see the dessert menu there were no takers. Only Marvin Jankelrod ordered coffee. The others began looking at their watches to estimate when they might expect to be back in the Washington area.

  En route home with Gabby, Stan Melkin resumed making notes on his legal brief. He was in contact with his office by cell phone, estimating his time of arrival at 2:30 in the afternoon. Gabby was relieved that he had other things to occupy his mind and did not wish to rehash the luncheon conversation. Through her cell phone, Chuck reported that two afternoon appointments had been postponed. Danzansky's Funeral Home urgently needed a reply about setting a time for a funeral. Asa called her twice from San Francisco and had left a hotel phone number. For once, the rat race sounded like relief.

  ***

  When Gabby phoned Asa at the Clift Hotel in San Francisco, he was not in his room. She left a short message on the hotel's voice mail system, purposely failing to mention her unpleasant confrontation with members of the synagogue board. Coming to grips with her feelings about that meeting required ruthless honesty, something never easy under the best circumstances and particularly difficult
when her feelings about running for office were hopelessly scrambled. She appreciated the caution of the Board of Directors – each individual, assuming personal responsibility for the synagogue's long-term welfare. Nor was she insensitive to concerns about her running for public office against Toby Ryles and a dating relationship with a Korean. Still, she was also deeply disappointed that after years of service she had failed to engender a reserve of trust in her judgment. Didn't they know she would never willfully harm the congregation? Or the Jewish community?

  That evening, Kye's presence was reassuring. She stopped at a Safeway on the way home to buy fresh asparagus and pasta to show off what, by now, had become a recurring joke between them, were extremely limited culinary skills. He liked being in the kitchen, cleaning pots and utensils as fast as she managed to dirty them. Together, they produced a pasta dish, flavored with the hot Jalapeño peppers from New Mexico, which his palate savored more than hers. Both were fast eaters, claiming the same excuse of working in jobs where they were constantly on the run and were accustomed to wolfing down food. They did not linger over tea. As soon as they had loaded the dishes into a dishwasher, there was work to be done.

  On a coffee table in the living room, Kye booted three parallel laptop computers and a single palmtop. Gabby joined him on the sofa to practice toggling, upgrading and downgrading screens, then transferring packets of data between them. During an election campaign, most candidates rely heavily upon technicians to manage requests from potential voters. In Kye's view, a candidate able to react immediately, without the intervention of helpers, expedites the process and thereby creates a dedicated voter. Personalize email from a candidate, he declared, was equivalent to a handshake on the stump. And what voter shakes a hand, then votes for the opposition? Gabby was required to learn a dozen what-if situations; each demanding repetitious practice until her reactions were honed. During these exercises Kye remained patient and encouraging.