Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  Chuck had heard her mutter, "yes… yes," but waited to ask what she meant until in the car headed back to the synagogue.

  "Every Shabbat candlestick I've seen is decorative as well as functional. My mother would never have displayed one as deformed as the one we saw. My guess is that if it had fallen before the fire, Laura Morgenstern would have had a silversmith repair it. So that means the bend occurred during the fire. Maybe one of the children knocked it over in panic. And that opens the possibility that damaged Shabbat candlestick started the fire, not the menorah. Everybody knows that on Shabbat during Chanukah we kindle the Shabbat candles first, then the menorah."

  "How can you tell it fell during the fire, not before?" he was always curious about her sleuthing talents.

  "There was no carbon in the damaged crease. The fire deposited a veneer of carbon on all the exposed surfaces, but not in the crack. It must have been partially sealed upon collision with the floor."

  "And that leads you exactly where?"

  "If the fire was started by a Shabbat candle and not the menorah Asa couldn't be responsible for an omission by not warning the Morgenstern girls. If he didn't instruct them about lighting Shabbat candles, then he can't be expected to warn them about the dangers of fire. If I'm right, this nullifies the charge of professional negligence."

  "Sounds hypothetical to me," Chuck sounded his skepticism.

  "Me, too. But so far I haven't seen the Dominion Mutual lawyers come up with anything better. It might give a jury pause for thought and that pause is just what I don't think the prosecution will risk. After all, they've already got a pledge of ten mill." She threw a wry glance his way, a look he associated with the devilish part of her brain. "I need a favor, friend. Now that I have a notion about the fire, I want you to make contact with Marc Sutterfeld of Morrison and Grand. Talk with Sutterfeld personally and not his secretary. Tell him you're my associate and that you have new and startling information about the Morgenstern case that he will want to hear. Don't tell him what we found. And don't ask for or accept any money for this information. If the issue arises, say you seek absolutely nothing for yourself – only fair compensation for the Morgenstern girls. You knew them in the synagogue and feel horrible about the tragedy. Nothing more. Then arrange to talk with him privately. Not at his firm. Someplace where you are not likely to be recognized, perhaps a park bench near the Capitol, you know, like you see in the movies. Cloak and dagger stuff. Tell him, you'll wear a black Orioles baseball cap with an orange oriole on the front. Make him come in a T-shirt and short running pants so he can't hide a bugging device. Schedule this as soon as possible, but be sure it doesn't conflict with my appointments."

  Nothing about Gabby shocked Chuck. This was not the first time she had called upon him for special help. "You expect me to meet with him?"

  "No. After you set up the meeting I expect you to forget we had this conversation. It didn't happen. I'll never talk to you about it again. And I don't want you asking me what happened when I meet with Sutterfeld in your place. As far as you know, no meeting ever occurred. Nor should it." "Will we go to Lorton Detention Center together?"

  "God, I hope not. I don't think they put women in Lorton, so I'll probably have to do time in a penitentiary for women."

  Asa's letter asking the Ohav Shalom Board of Directors to release him from his employment contract was the first topic for discussion at an emergency meeting of the synagogue Board in the conference room. Max Helfin, legal counsel to the congregation, opened with an overview of the congregation's contractual obligations with Asa Folkman. The atmosphere was heavy with recrimination. Rabbi Folkman's request to waive his final year of service fell on unsympathetic ears.

  "Have you encouraged him, Rabbi?" asked Devorah Chattrel, without seeking permission from Stan Melkin.

  Gabby recognized a loaded question and was cautious. "You all know my feelings about Rabbi Folkman. He's a wonderful rabbi, scholarly, devoted, perceptive, and cooperative to a fault, and extremely gifted. Cantor Blass thinks he's a genius and Reuben Blass is seldom wrong on matters of music. For me not to encourage this talent would be as bad as maligning W.A. Mozart. Of course, I encouraged him."

  "And you support the termination of his contract with us?" Devorah Chattrel pursued.

  "I told him he had my blessing to request a waiver from this board. I cannot answer for you."

  "And you don't see the legal dilemma this puts us in?" Stan Melkin continued the line of questioning.

  "I do, Stan. But I hope you will appreciate that this is an extraordinary young man. Can we deny this opportunity to someone who has served us so well?"

  "There are differences of opinion about that, Rabbi." Helen Blutton-Fine interjected. "Particularly since the Morgenstern tragedy. Things should have been handled differently."

  "If there's a trial, Rabbi Folkman will return to Washington. Most of you have heard his musical compositions in the sanctuary. You have to admit he possesses extraordinary talent. Should we not recognize this and allow him a bit of slack? He will bring great honor to the Jewish community."

  Vice-President Nora DelGrotto spoke in a voice elevated with rage, "So that leaves Ohav Shalom with a senior rabbi on sabbatical running for Congress and her associate composing music in California. Aren't we entitled to have our spiritual leaders serving as rabbis and doing rabbinical things? Is that asking too much? Why do they always want to do what we didn't hire them to do?"

  A few board members cringed at the insult. This was not the respectful tone they were accustomed to. Gabby stole a brief interlude to compose herself, knowing that her response would likely reverse the direction of the meeting. "Nora, you have brought to my attention what I consider a reasonable expectation. I acknowledge the responsibility your rabbis have to the congregation and wish to make the following offer." She paused again to let the tone of her admission sink in, then resumed in a carefully modulated voice, "If Rabbi Folkman is released from his contract, I am prepared to postpone my request for an immediate sabbatical. But only, and I repeat, only if Rabbi Folkman receives an unconditional waiver from his contractual obligations. The congregation should not and cannot be without a rabbi. I am prepared to begin an immediate search for a new associate. A couple of excellent young people come to mind."

  Board members glanced around and stopped at Stan Melkin. Had he withheld information from them?

  Nora DelGrotto recovered first. "Rabbi, how can you run for Congress while serving on the pulpit – especially with Rabbi Folkman gone?"

  Again, Gabby paused for dramatic effect and let a phrase blow from her lips. "I can't."

  "You can't what?"

  "I can't run for Congress. This might be surprising, but there are many reasons why I have decided to stand down. The Democratic National Committee will be notified of my decision tomorrow morning and it will soon be looking for my replacement. Anybody present interested in having a go? Republicans excluded, of course."

  The question lightened the mood and several members laughed.

  Morris Stein, the heavyset, good-humored restaurant owner, blurted, "Well, that's good news. I'm sure Toby Ryles will also be relieved. She's been sweating. You're about the only one in Maryland who could beat her."

  "I think not," Gabby responded.

  Stan Melkin grunted his approval. "Well, this does change the landscape. It solves at least a few problems. But we must still come to a decision about Rabbi Folkman.

  Since Gabby promised to remain on the pulpit at Ohav Shalom, legal arguments were no longer as compelling. Stan pressed the board to make a decision and not let the matter slide to a future meeting. Rabbi Lewyn needed to start the selection process and Rabbi Folkman needed to make his plans.

  However less acrimonious, the debate continued until Gabby intervened, "With all respect, you may not have heard my words. I said as clearly as I could that if Rabbi Folkman is released from his obligation, then and only then I shall postpone my sabbatical. My pledge is conditional. Then again,
some of you might want some relief from my sermons and would be delighted to see me banished to the august halls of the U.S. Congress."

  That was enough to expedite a decision about Asa Folkman's future. The last item of business was to issue a letter of gratitude for Asa Folkman's service to Ohav Shalom, wishing him success in his musical career. The matter of a severance package for him was relegated to the Rabbinical Services Committee.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW

  A call from Reverend Woo of the First Baptist Church in Bethesda took Gabby by surprise. She immediately recalled his offer to help locate Kye, but at the time was not optimistic. Why would a pastor spend time on someone who had left his flock when there was so much to do for those who had not? Opening conversation with Reverent Woo was cordial, almost collegial, suggesting to Gabby that he genuinely respected her as a clerical colleague. Of course, there were significant differences between Protestant ministers and rabbis, both in training and function, but there were also significant similarities.

  "Some of my elders had already started to make inquiries about Kye," he moved quickly to the purpose of his phone call. "But, to tell the truth, they hadn't learned anything. Kye just seemed to vanish. Even his close friends didn't know where. Then out of the blue, in today's mid-day mail delivery, we received a postcard from him."

  "From where?" she was impatient.

  "From Israel?" he stated, concealing any indication of surprise. "With a picture of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. You've probably seen the same scene reproduced dozens of times. He wrote in Korean."

  "Can I ask what he said?" she pursued, feeling a flush of excitement.

  "It's addressed to the church membership. I guess I won't violate any confidences if I translated for you."

  As Gabby grappled with her puzzlement over Kye's travels, the pastor stumbled over a translation:

  Dear Friends,

  Studying the origin of Christianity in the Holy Land. Vibrations of history are in this soil. I am learning at the feet of masters in a Jewish yeshiva. Best wishes to all.

  Kye Naah

  "Reverend, Kye never mentioned to me an interest in the Holy Land. Or in the history of Christianity. I can't understand why he didn't share this with me."

  "I assume you kindled his curiosity," Woo said. "For my part, I don't recall him showing interest in much but his technology. In the past months, we noticed a softening. Women here say that could only be explained by a feminine influence."

  "Anybody at the church know how I might contact him in Israel?"

  "There's no return address. Others might have received something from him in Israel. Maybe he left a return address. I'll keep asking anybody who makes sense."

  "If I'm not mistaken, there are about a hundred and fifty yeshivas in Jerusalem. I doubt I could track him down that way."

  "But how many Koreans are enrolled? Maybe there's an association of yeshivas on the Internet. Somebody in Israel might respond to an appeal."

  "Now that's an idea."

  "Please, Rabbi, don't be a stranger here. I intend to invite you to talk to our members about Josephus Flavius, if you wish. We have much to learn from you. And if you discover Kye's whereabouts, please send regards from all of us. We miss him."

  Gabby called for Chuck to come into her study to share with him the news. A second later, he appeared in the doorway where she explained, "Reverend Woo just called to say they learned where Kye's been hiding."

  He made an unnatural grimace as if pained by an overload of ideas flushing through his computerized brain.

  "Want to take a guess where?"

  He ducked his chin down and mopped it in a dramatic gesture to indicate prodigious mental effort. "Yes. How about Israel?"

  She was flabbergasted. "How did you know? Who told you?"

  "He did. Before he left, he called me once to give him the names of yeshivas in Jerusalem. I put him in touch with the cultural ambassador at the Israeli embassy. He made me promise on a stack of Bibles that I wouldn't tell anybody, including you. I didn't want to pledge that because I don't like having secrets from you. But he told me it was very, very important to him and ultimately to you, too. I didn't think it mattered in the long run, so I relented."

  "Why didn't you break your pledge and tell me?"

  "Because I figured out what you haven't."

  "What's that, Doctor?"

  Chuck thought whether this was the right time to reveal an idea that had been rumbling around in his brain for over a month.

  "Well?" she pursued.

  He abandoned the protective caution that a kept him silent and stated matter-of-factly, "Kye didn't go to Israel because he's a Zionist."

  She didn't respond, looking a bit disappointed, then appearing old into her own thoughts. Her brain was in breakdown mode – ideas colliding like drunken mosquitoes around a camp lantern. Why, of all places, did Kye go to Jerusalem? And why, without first telling her? A yeshiva in Jerusalem?

  This was a conversation Chuck didn't want to enlarge upon, so he backed out of her study, leaving her to pursue her own thoughts – perhaps to retrace the thinking that had led him to make his final remark.

  That afternoon, she got on the Internet with her old mentor, rabbinical colleague, and close friend, Rabbi Seth Greer, who had emigrated to Israel and eventually settled in Haifa. Seth Goan, as he was known b'Aretz, had established himself as one of Israel's premier standup comedians, later to branch out from the stage to television and cinema. A substantial part of his income came from being a highly paid emcee on the emerging Israeli convention circuit. She asked him for a list of email addresses for the yeshivas in Jerusalem. In such a technologically sophisticated society, that was a modest request.

  The next morning, he responded with the names and email addresses of two associations of yeshivas. Both provide lists of their members. Gabby put out a carefully worded bulletin seeking information about a Korean student, then frequented her email more often than was her habit. Nothing showed up for five days. Her mood, temporarily lifted, began to slip. Only an over-scheduled agenda at Ohav Shalom prevented her from boarding a plane to Tel Aviv's Ben Gurion Airport. Chuck observed that she looked like a scarecrow, a sign of her mental state. He saw to it that a blend of yellow, orange and white daffodils and carnations were always on her desk. Efforts to cheer her up proved fruitless. When no one was around, he planted his arms around her and hugged her fast against his chest, where he said close to her ear, "Nothing is so painful as a broken heart. I know, I've been there myself."

  Chuck possessed an instinct about exploiting the foibles of others. It took him a dozen calls to actually make contact with counsel for the Morgenstern family, Marc Sutterfeld. When he caught him off-guard after-hours in his office at Morrison and Grand, he feigned a nervous, conspiratorial voice, presenting himself as a timid whistle-blower from Congregation Ohav Shalom with significant new information about the Morgenstern situation. Sutterfeld, cautious but predatory, nibbled at the bait. Knowing that a court would be skeptical about information purchased from an employee of the congregation, he careful avoided mention of compensation.

  "I'm interested to see justice done; that's the sum of it," Chuck asserted, still pretending extreme nervousness. While most people might feel nervous about making this type of contact with Marc Sutterfeld, Chuck loved acting, though he knew he was hamming it up a bit. "There's too much damn bullshit around this place. Religious institutions are supposed to be the bastions of morality, but I can tell you, Mr. Sutterfeld, I can tell you when you work here you see an entirely different picture. They run this place like a burlesque show. Kinda makes you sick when you think of it. When I get home at night, I need two double scotches to purge my conscience."

  "Come to my office at second and D streets, just north of the Federal Court House. Morrison and Grand occupies the third and fourth floors at 1550 second street," Sutterfeld said.

  "I'm afraid that won't do," Chuck replied, pretending
agitation. "I've got a family to support. They pay me well at the synagogue and I'd be in trouble without my job. You must understand that what I'm about to tell you, can't get back to Ohav Shalom. Can we meet someplace less conspicuous? Since you're near the Supreme Court, let me suggest we meet on the west steps. There's a statue of a partially clothed Greek woman on the southwest corner, quite a beauty I can tell you, since I've admired her for years. Best for me after work."

  Sutterfeld hesitated, mulling over the possibility of a setup but, given the nature of a synagogue, dismissed it as unlikely. To Chuck he said, "Does tomorrow work? Say 6:45 p.m.? How will I know what you look like?"

  "Yes, 6:45 is fine with me. I'll wear an Orioles baseball cap. You know, black with an orange bird on the front."

  "Do you know what I look like?"

  "No. Come in a T-shirt and short pants. No briefcase. I want to be sure you don't come with a recording device. That's the last thing I want to be saddled with."

  "I'm not sure I like this arrangement."

  "It's your call, Mr. Sutterfeld. You may not like the situation, but I assure you you'll like what I have to say. But then, it's entirely your call."

  To avoid parking problems near the Supreme Court, Gabby took the Red Line Metro to Union Station Exit and walked south from there. She dressed in navy-blue sweat pants, a white UCLA sweatshirt with gold and blue lettering and her New Balance jogging shoes, the signature black Orioles cap pressed firmly over her skull. A schoolgirl's book bag hung from straps over her shoulders. It was 6 p.m., providing three-quarters of an hour to jog before the appointed rendezvous with Marc Sutterfeld. Her plan was to descend upon him from the top of the Court's alabaster steps to catch him by surprise. The jog on the Mall produced a film of perspiration under the book bag and under the arms. It eventually brought her to the top of the Court steps with a view or the Capitol, a reminder of her walk with Kye Naah months before. That she would never work under the majestic dome of Congress filled her with regret and, for a brief moment, she thought about changing her mind about the race. But she also understood that the point of no return had already been crossed. There was no reversing her commitment to Ohav Shalom.