Rabbi Gabrielle Commits a Felony

by Roger Herst

  "Then come on Sunday. Unless you do, there's no way we're going to get pregnant this month."

  "I'll try, but I can't guarantee it, Gabrielle."

  "Then send your sperm in a bottle by Federal Express…"she snapped and immediately regretted being crude about such a personal matter.

  At that moment, transmission from his aircraft ceased. She had no idea how to re-establish phone contact. Calling an airplane wasn't like phoning across the street to a drug store. Kye didn't call back. Maybe, she reasoned, his plane was flying through an electrical storm. Maybe the phone didn't work at a specified distance or altitude. Who the hell knew? In the end it really didn't matter. The damage had been done.

  Getting pregnant proved to be more difficult than she had initially believed. Further delay promised additional problems. After several years of broken promises, Congregation Ohav Shalom's Board of Directors had finally agreed to grant her a long overdue sabbatical, which she carefully planned to coincide with the birth of a baby. To fill in, the congregation contracted with retiring Rabbi Dr. Judah Gould from Providence, Rhode Island, who had agreed to serve eight months in Washington before assuming an administrative post in Tel Aviv. By this time, everybody at Ohav Shalom was sick and tired of her sabbatical problem. Gabby knew that to ask the Board to defer her sabbatical to accommodate a later pregnancy was to risk losing it altogether. In addition, a delay might cause Rabbi Gould, who had obligations in Israel, to change his mind.

  While seated on the living room sofa, Gabby's eyes stared into cold, black fireplace and saw nothing. In the course of her rabbinic duties she had counseled innumerable women with marital difficulties. At the time, it never occurred to her that someday she might experience similar troubles. Molding two lives, each with a different set of ambitions and interests, into a family was more taxing than imagined. Kye's ambivalence about becoming a father forced her to estimate how many more seasons her ovaries would produce fertile eggs. Perhaps she had waited too long already. Unanswerable questions, replete with doubts and regrets, were enervating.

  After a long interval, she dragged herself onto her feet and stretched. If Kye wasn't coming home, there was no purpose in lounging around in her bathrobe. In the bedroom, she allowed the robe to drop from her shoulders onto the floor and then paraded before the dressing mirror. Her determination to retain a lean, athletic body had paid dividends. In middle age, most of her girlfriends were losing the battle against fat accumulating on their abdomens, hips, and backsides. Many modified their diets and spent long hours at sport clubs doing aerobic exercises. Only the most diligent stayed ahead of the weight curve. Gabby complimented her own efforts. Too bad they didn't arouse Kye more.

  A can of tuna soaked in a tart wine vinegar and an English muffin served for her dinner. As was her custom when eating alone, she turned on the kitchen television to catch CNN news. NATO was still wrestling with ethic unrest in the Balkans. Wall Street was nervous about signs of inflation. On the home front, an anchorwoman told of successful triple bypass surgery for Ohio's Senator Arthur Zuckerman and Chairman of the prestigious Senate Committee on Domestic Security. This caught Gabby's attention since the Senator was a member of Ohav Shalom and, while rarely attending functions during the year, always managed to present himself on the High Holidays. Each year, the widowed senior senator would arrive in the sanctuary at the last possible moment, then parade down the center aisle like Julius Caesar returning to Rome after a victorious military campaign, all the while pressing the flesh of his numerous Democrat admirers. She made a mental note to send him a message with prayers for a quick recovery. A hospital visit might be in order, but only if he requested it.

  A shrill ring from the phone pierced the babble on television. She believed Kye would call back as soon as his plane landed. If nothing else, she wanted to retract her crack about sending his sperm by Federal Express. Perhaps she had been too quick to reject the idea of flying to New York. She was prepared to do everything possible to get pregnant, even swallow her pride. Depending upon developments at the synagogue, it might be possible to take off on Saturday afternoon for an overnight in the Big Apple. But the voice on the phone wasn't Kye's.

  "Rabbi Gabby," it was female, throaty and in apparent pain. "Norma Sylerman here. It's terribly uncouth for me to be disturbing you at home, but I must talk with someone. I saw on television what happened at the synagogue. I know you've had a terrible day. I feel your pain. What those despicable men did was simply horrible. Is this a convenient time for you?"

  Gabby wanted to tell the truth and say it was a very inconvenient time, but she didn't. Her resentment at constant invasions of her private time annoyed her more each year, but she had also come to accept the inevitability of interruptions. When she could no longer tolerate it, she resolved to throw in her tallit and yarmulke and retire from the rabbinate. But that time had not yet arrived. She said, "No, Norma. Please tell me what's on your mind."

  "Roland is on a bone fishing expedition in the Caribbean and I can't reach him. Our daughter, Carey, just called from Brooklyn. She announced plans to get married and make aliyah to Israel with her boyfriend."

  "Are you concerned about her living in Israel or the boyfriend, Norma?"

  "Both."

  "Is she serious about him?"

  "Who knows? I can't imagine she's in love with him. It's no normal romance; this is an arranged engagement. We haven't met the boy. It's very possible she's never even kissed him. Carey rarely calls and I think she did it this afternoon just to torment me."

  "I don't understand. Does she think you won't approve of her fiancée?"

  "She knows damn well I won't. He's ultra-Orthodox. And I mean ultra, ultra. Baruch Teitelbaum, belongs to a cult called Sh'erit ha-Pletah. I don't even know what Sh'erit ha-Pletah means, do you?"

  Gabby's first instinct was to chuckle her amusement but she withheld. Norma Sylerman was the kind of mother who should be delighted that her daughter had found a Jewish boy. But sensing her to be a controlling parent, no one would be good enough for her daughter, particularly an observant Jew. "Not off-hand," Gabby replied. "But there's a reference to a Sh'erit ha-Pletah, a saving remnant of Israelites, in the Book of Deutero Isiash. After the Northern Kingdom of Israel was sacked by the Assyrians in 722 B.C.E, the Second Isaiah spoke about a small group of the faithful that would endure until God saw fit to redeem His vanquished people."

  "I don't understand the mentality. Carey told me how wonderful Sh'erit ha-Pletah is, but I don't understand a word she's saying. They have their own Tzaddik, learned leader, who they believe walks on water. They do whatever he says, no questions asked. And this jerk told Cary and her boyfriend to make aliyah. Carey's always admired you, Rabbi Lewyn. You've got to help me reason with her." Norma's words were broken by a sob, immediately checked. "They're so Orthodox she won't even come home to talk with Roland and me. The clan won't let her come to Washington or eat off my un-kosher plates. You can help us, can't you? I know Carey will listen to you."

  "I'd have to know more before I make that judgment, Norma. But I hear that you're hurting."

  "Carey told me many times you instilled in her a love of Judaism. She often talked about going to rabbinical school and becoming a rabbi just like Rabbi Lewyn."

  "Being Orthodox is living Judaism to its fullest," Gabby said, embarrassed for the omniscient tone of this declaration.

  "This has nothing to do with Judaism, Rabbi. This is a harpoon thrust at Roland and me. Don't you see, she wounding us with our own weapons? We always wanted her to be a good Jew, to marry a Jewish boy and raise a Jewish family. Now she's becoming a super-Jew, wants to marry a fanatic and live in Israel! She knows Roland and I can't stomach fundamentalism and we're certainly not Zionists. This Sh'erit ha-Pletah rabble is more Orthodox than the Lubovichers. And their Tzadik, Rabbi Olam v'Ed, is a bona fide charlatan. Hell, I don't know if he's even a real rabbi."

  "Let's talk face to face. This sounds not only painful but complicated. You can imagine how I
have meetings all day tomorrow. Can you come to the synagogue before Shabbat services? I'm afraid I haven't got any other time to meet."

  "Help us, Rabbi. I beg of you. Fly up to New York. We'll take care of all your expenses."

  "Better you should talk with Carey yourself."

  "I offered, but she refuses to see me. She said her father and I could come to her wedding in Jerusalem. I know she'll talk with you. She adores you."

  "I'll have to give this some thought."

  "There's no other place for me to go. I can't reach Roland. He'll probably call from the fishing lodge in a day or so."

  "When is he coming home?

  "Next Wednesday."

  "Is there anyone at home with you tonight, Norma?"

  "No."

  "Do you feel strong enough to be alone?"

  "I don't know. It's all so horrible."

  Gabby possessed a sterling memory for details about her congregants. Seven years before, Norma Sylerman was hospitalized with liver complications. When Gabby visited her in the hospital, she was surprised to find Norma on the floor with patients suffering from substance abuse, not renal complications. Until that moment, Norma had hidden from her the fact that alcohol caused her liver problems. "Do you have friends to stay with this evening?" Gabby asked.

  "Oh yes. I need only ask."

  "Please do. And if you can't find anyone, call me back. You can stay at my house. The guest-room is available and my husband, Kye, is away. You will call, won't you? Promise?"

  Norma hesitated a bit too long to be convincing, then said, "Absolutely, Rabbi."

  "I'll call back in a half hour to check on you. Above all, I don't want you alone tonight, Norma."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Cecilia “Cici” Landau became Gabby's associate at Ohav Shalom after the resignation of Rabbi Asa Folkman. Though her appointment required final ratification by the synagogue's Board of Directors, it was Gabby who had been impressed during the initial interviews by her academic achievements and views on involving congregants in synagogue activities. At the time, there had been considerable debate among the membership about having two female rabbis on the pulpit of such a large and prestigious congregation. But, in the end, the Board sought to respect Gabby's wishes, tacitly conceding that Ohav Shalom's luck with male rabbis hadn't been all that good. Gabby's own predecessor, Senior Rabbi Dr. Seth Greer, whom Gabby adored, resigned after an affair with a congregant. Then, shortly after coming to Washington, Gabby's newly appointed associate, Rabbi Dov Shellenberg, became infected with Potomac fever and left the rabbinate to become a White House Fellow, a steppingstone to a career in politics, not Judaism. When his successor, Rabbi Asa Folkman, was targeted in a frivolous lawsuit for professional negligence, he resigned his post to write music in California. At the time of her appointment, Rabbi Cici Landau's unassuming, winsome personality seemed a perfect complement to Gabby's flamboyance.

  What had slipped during the hiring phase, Gabby recognized only months after Cici came aboard as Associate Rabbi. Despite having authored four articles about Jewish creativity in the arts, Cici's thinking proved to be predictably conventional. Her sermons, which rarely strayed from the weekly biblical lesson, failed to stimulate sufficient interest to be remembered a few minutes after delivery. Unwilling to commit herself to a project until blessed by a higher authority in the field, she allowed synagogue programs for which she was responsible to languish. Such professional caution transferred into daily life. Gabby noted that she wouldn't see a movie or dine in a restaurant that had not been favorably reviewed in The Washington Post. And a book wasn't worth reading until had made it to The New York Times Best Seller List. Other than the welfare of her family, no fire appeared to burn in her belly. In many ways she was a model Jewish wife and mother, but that, in Gabby's mind, left much to be desired in an associate.

  When she worked, Cici proved to be technically proficient, though as mother of two young boys and pregnant with a third child she was constantly distracted. During her first months of service at Ohav Shalom, when Cici's children needed special attention, Gabby volunteered to cover her rabbinical duties. This, she discovered, established a bad precedent. The more Gabby helped, the more dependent Cici became. The need to drive her children to and from school activities, visit pediatricians, special education and recreational events, or to get away for school holidays grew exponentially. Gabby was prepared to accept such impositions upon her own time in the spirit of being a good colleague and friend, but on the rare occasion when she asked Cici to reciprocate, her schedule was usually too full to be accommodating.

  "I'm terribly sorry," Cici phoned Gabby at 7:45 am on Saturday morning. "Teddy has more of his stomach pains and I was up all night with him. To make matters worse, I'm having the worst nausea I've ever suffered. They say each pregnancy gets easier. Don't believe it."

  Gabby listened to a litany of family problems, knowing that Cici would eventually ask to be excused from officiating at the morning's Shabbat service. What could Gabby say in response to the needs of a sick child? She considered a reprimand for not hiring a nanny or a baby sitter, but thought better of an early morning argument when time was so precious. If Cici was not going to deliver the sermon, there was less than forty-five minutes to compose a substitute message.

  Before the Sabbath service, Gabby rummaged through a file of articles and quotations she maintained for last-minute inspiration, such as this. She had just settled on a probable theme for a message when Kye phoned from New York.

  "I've got a scalper holding two tickets for this evening's performance of Cheryl Teabrook's newest play, Heaven is No Place for the Soul. He's charging a king's ransom, but it's the hottest ticket in town. Take the Shuttle after your services. I'll pick you up at the airport. We'll go right to the hotel and screw like bunnies. Dinner at Trattoria Dell'Arte before the show."

  She noted Kye made no excuses for having ratted out on her the night before. That was not unusual. While he never apologized for his shortcomings, by the same token, he never sought an apology from those who wronged him and she had come to believe the notion of apology was just not in his mental lexicon. She had the choice of being angry or of accepting a dynamite invitation. The former was likely to escalate into acrimony at a delicate moment in their relationship; the latter an opportunity to get pregnant and see a Broadway show everyone was talking about. Time to smoke the peace pipe. "I'll try catching the two o'clock flight which will put me at the US Air Shuttle in LaGuardia about three."

  He seemed delighted. That didn't surprise her. He was a man without sense of the past. To him, there existed few prior events, only the present and the future.

  At 9 a.m, Norma Sylerman arrived to talk before the Shabbat service. After apologies for the mess in her study, Gabby made a place for her to sit, then circled behind the desk to be seated herself. She noticed Norma sizing up the venue where the newspaper article said Gabby had been bound and gagged. She inhaled air into her lungs for a long moment before letting it escape through puckered lips causing a low whistle, then said, "Wow, I can't imagine being tied up all night."

  "If it wasn't so awful sitting here like a pickled mummy, I'd have to giggle," Gabby responded while repositioning herself in the leather chair. For assurance that she was no longer a prisoner she found herself constantly rising and settling back into the cushion.

  "Sometimes the only thing you can do is laugh because life appears so preposterous," said Norma.

  "Then laugh," Gabby smiled widely, the dimples in her cheeks enlarging. "I wish you would. I haven't seen anything but sour faces around the Temple since the break-in. I know it's no laughing matter, but what happened is pretty ludicrous, isn't it? Would you believe that now our Holocaust Torah has been pinched not once but twice? Seems the Nazis started a fad. I'm angry enough to steal it back myself and make it a third time… I trust you found somebody to stay with last night."

  Norma's eyes were red and her makeup was unevenly applied on her cheeks. "I didn't
want to burden anyone, Rabbi, so I sat in my bed and cried until I eventually fell asleep."

  Because her sense of humor did not always correspond with others, Gabby learned to resist a girlish giggle that she knew often erupted at the wrong times. "Carey hasn't died. As far as I know, unless there's some new development you haven't shared with me, she's only going to get married."

  The humor was lost on Norma, who replied, "Of course not, but I didn't raise a daughter to join Rabbi Olam v'Ed's ridiculous cult. I know Carey doesn't believe this Sh'erit ha-Pletah crap. She's always been open-minded and loved to debate, particularly with her parents. She enjoyed defending unconventional views just for the hell of it. Roland always believed she was headed for law school to become a litigator. Her girlfriends made her captain of the track and softball teams. She was always the leader and playmaker, a kid trained to give orders, not take them. I can' t get used to the idea that she's allowed herself to brainwashed by wacko fundamentalists. It just isn't in her character. She's putting up walls around herself that neither Roland nor I can breach."

  "Any ideas why?"

  "Where this Sh'erit ha-Pletah shit came from, pardon my French, Rabbi, I haven't the slightest idea. It's probably her way of getting back at me for my problem with the bottle. Alcoholics always hurt their loves ones. We leave a lot of wreckage in our wakes. That's the main subject of our meetings at AA. Our children fight back in devious ways. Roland and I love Carey terribly. But we've come to appreciate how cunning she can be."

  "You're hard on yourself. Beware of simple explanations for complex relationships. Carey may have unsettled scores, but she may also want to experiment with a life style different from the one she grew up in. Most young people do. Where is it written that they must follow in the footsteps of their parents? Certainly, Orthodoxy isn't for all Jews, but it has endured for thousands of years. Whatever criticisms we may have, you can't argue it's a fad. Quite the contrary; Orthodoxy is a model of endurance. Those of us who aren't Orthodox have a debt to pay our brethren for keeping the faith in times when it wasn't easy to keep."