by Roger Herst
"They're obsessed with the correctness of their position and demean those who don't go along with their bullshit. How can you condone it?"
"I don't," replied Gabby with a tinge of impatience in her voice. "My Orthodox brethren don't accept me as a Jew, or as a rabbi. When I debate with them they reply to my questions by saying, 'don't ask me, ask God. It's written in the Torah. Go and read.' And when I say I do, they reply, who are you to interpret God's word? Discussion with them is a lose-lose situation, so I've elected not to participate. Let them do what they must. Still, deep inside me, Norma, I must commend their perseverance. "
"Roland is furious with Carey. When she was growing up, he adored the ground she walked upon and defended her, even when she was a bad girl. When she entered puberty, things changed. He got tough with her."
"A common pattern," Gabby said, looking at her grandmother's watch on her wrist and calculating the interval before her Shabbat service was scheduled to begin.
"I need your help in a bad way, Rabbi."
"How would I get in touch with Carey?"
"She living in Brooklyn, in a Crown Heights apartment with other single girls from the cult."
"Have you her telephone number?"
"Of course," Norma said, opening her purse and rummaging for a leather-bound address book. "The girls have only one phone. You can imagine how busy it is until 10 p.m, after which they're forbidden to talk."
"It just happens that I'm going to New York this afternoon to be with my husband. I'll try reaching Carey after sundown. Perhaps I can arrange to visit with her on my way back to La Guardia tomorrow afternoon. I'd like to see her new environment, though a female rabbi isn't likely to get a warm reception in Crown Heights. I can't promise anything, Norma, but I'll try making contact. If not this weekend, then perhaps in the near future."
Norma found the phone number. "Tell Carey that her mother and father love her dearly and only want what is best for her."
That took Gabby by surprise. Was communication between Norma and her daughter so bad that she wasn't saying such words to her regularly? "You tell her that. But only that you love her, not that you want what is best for her. She obviously disagrees with you about that and she'll think you want what is best for your interests, not hers. The two are not always the same, you know."
"But it's true, Rabbi. We do want what's best for her."
"Of course you do, but she has her own ideas on the subject. By joining Sh'erit ha-Pletah she's signaling how she doesn't want to be your clone. When you were an adolescent, you probably strove for independence, too. I always marvel at parental amnesia. Moms and dads conveniently forget their own struggles for personal independence. I fought like hell with my folks. If you think they approved of me going to rabbinical school, think again."
"Her way is bound to fail. Roland and I know it. You know it, too."
"Then Carey will learn for herself. How did you get so smart, Norma? Please, I don't mean to sound smug, but that's a legitimate question. How did you and Roland come to know what you do today?"
Norma was momentarily nonplused yet rallied. "Through the school of hard knocks, I suppose."
"Absolutely. That's how all of us grow. We all get our diplomas from the same university. Why deny our kids the education we got? If they don't' fall on their faces, get up and try again and stumble and pick themselves up and try again, then they won't grow to be wise adults. Let Carey fall, Norma. In the end, you'll have a daughter who loves you. And eventually she'll be strong and wise, just like you and Roland."
The frown on Norma's face indicated she did not follow Gabby's line of thinking. "We only want to spare her pain and suffering."
Gabby lowered her voice for dramatic effect. "Well now, Norma. That's what all parents say. But the funny thing is that kids experience pain and suffering anyway. You and Roland have no choice but to let your daughter be herself. She's a great kid. She may go to Israel and marry an Orthodox young man. If you let her know you love her, she always love you back, no matter who she marries and where she lives. The Torah says that a woman should leave her parent's family and establish a new one of her own. Without females building new family units, there wouldn't be any babies and without babies, civilization would atrophy. That's what this is all about, Norma. Don't interfere with the process. It's both natural; it's healthy."
Norma's head rocked back and forth as if all was lost. She didn't agree with Gabby, yet she appreciated her willingness to communicate with Carey.
After services, Chuck Browner was waiting for Gabby in the robing room as she shed her clerical gown before greeting congregants in the foyer to bless the Sabbath wine and bread. His unexpected presence gave her pause. Only on a rare occasion would he give up a cherished Saturday morning gardening in the back yard of his Silver Spring bungalow or a walk with his pet Labrador retriever, Samuel, not Sam as he insisted he should be addressed. He once confessed after three glasses of wine and a rich French meal that working at Ohav Shalom five days a week was about as much religion as his irreverent soul could absorb. For him to be there on the weekend, something had to be wrong.
After a brushing Shabbat kiss, he said, "You know I always listen to your voice mail messages on the weekends. You got two calls. One from Senator Arthur Zuckerman at the Washington Hospital Center. I returned his call to the nursing station on the cardiac floor, then left a message that you were available if he wished a visit. I didn't expect a reply, but one came anyway and it wasn't from one of the Senator's lackeys. It was from the big macher himself. He sounded pretty weak but asked to see you this afternoon. He said he had something important to talk over. The second call was from Dr. Melanie Ganeden's office to remind you about your physical exam scheduled for Monday at ten o'clock."
"I've already got the appointment with Melanie in my scheduler," she said, then used him as a sounding board for an idea she thought little of. "Can I postpone a visit to the Senator? Kye has theater tickets this evening in New York. He's going to meet me at La Guardia this afternoon."
"He said he wanted to see you today. I don't think Arthur Zuckerman is accustomed to being put off."
Trying to juggle a schedule in her mind, she grumbled deep in her throat. "Damn it, Chuck. Zuckerman is a publicity hound who comes to shul two days a year for no other reason than to press the flesh of his Jewish campaign contributors and present himself as a God-fearing servant of the people. Now he's commanding me to present myself at the hospital."
"If you stand him up, there will be trouble. All he has to do is lift a telephone and in a heartbeat the Board will have you on the carpet. I can mimic the impending dialogue for you, but I'll spare you the aggravation. Besides, the Senator's just had a double bypass. It's not like you to ignore a patient in need, If you go now, you can still get to the airport for a later plane."
She wiggled from her clerical gown and quickly replaced it with a navy blue suit jacket. After fluffing up an ermine white and navy blue silk scarf, she turned Chuck toward the social hall. A glance at her watch confirmed it might be possible to dash home to collect a few things for the weekend, stop by the hospital and still make a two o'clock US Air Shuttle.
In the social hall, Cantor Reuben Blass was waiting at the kiddush table for Gabby to join him as he chanted a blessing over a silver goblet of Sabbath wine. To her amazement, her address that morning stimulated many greeters to ask questions. Answers took more time than she wanted, but how could she cut off people who had shown sufficient enough interest to listen carefully?
That she was late getting away from the reception forced her to exceed the speed limit traveling home. She planned to take the last Shuttle home on Sunday evening in order to be at the synagogue Monday morning. That meant only one overnight with Kye and one change of casual clothing for Sunday. Ideally, she would have wanted at least two nights with her husband to improve the chances of conceiving. But since the evening before she had lost hope of getting pregnant that month, it was time to count one's blessings and
make compromises.
Midday traffic heading to the Washington Hospital Center was unusually heavy. On Connecticut Avenue, people were involved in errands and Saturday shopping, unconcerned of Gabby's rush to make a hospital visit and catch a plane to New York. Parking in the 6-story garage adjacent to the Hospital Center was nearly impossible. From the number of cars, it looked as though the entire city had come to visit a convalescing family member. To slow her progress further, the information desk in the main lobby was un-staffed and there was no way to immediately locate Senator Zuckerman's room. Assuming he would be recovering from heart surgery on the cardiac floor, she took the elevator to the cardiac unit and there cornered a nurse who let it be known that the Senator's room was off-limits to all visitors, including her.
"I'm his rabbi. Senator Zuckerman specifically asked that I come this afternoon," Gabby almost pleaded, employing an uncharacteristic obsequiousness. "Can you get a message to him?"
She eyed Gabby with the skepticism of one who didn't believe there existed such an animal as a female rabbi. Folks often came to her nursing station after visiting hours claiming to be members of the clergy, most she was certain were imposters. Gabby gave up trying to prove she was legitimate and charmed a less-experienced volunteer nursing-aid to check with the Senator.
While waiting, she paced a figure-eight pattern on the polished linoleum floor, a habit she had cultivated in grade school when pressed for time. The volunteer returned to say that a team of attending physicians was with Senator Zuckerman. Yes, he want to see "his rabbi," but certainly not while being treated. The team needed a few minutes more alone with their patient.
The few minutes ran to more than fourteen. Gabby calculated and re-calculated the time for a visit and drive to Reagan National Airport and concluded there was no way she could make the two o'clock Shuttle. The three o'clock plane would land her at La Guardia an hour later. She tried unsuccessfully to contact Kye on his cell phone and left a message not to meet her at the airport. Instead, she would take a taxi to the Sheraton Russell Hotel in town.
Senator Arthur Zuckerman looked exactly like what you would expect of a sixty-eight-year-old Alpha Male who had just been knocked off his lofty perch by serious heart damage. A mound of pillows propped him up in bed. Like jungle vines, plastic tubes dangled from various stainless steel stands and entered his body under the bedding. Gabby was struck by difference between the senator's commanding presence in public and this new vulnerability. The fire in his normally commanding eyes had vanished along with healthy pinkish color of his cheeks. A full-time male nurse who remained at his bedside stepped aside to make room for Gabby. Another gentleman who looked vaguely familiar introduced himself to her as Daymon Tyler, US Representative from the 4th District in Ohio and a childhood friend of the Senator. Beside him stood Cynthia Zuckerman-Beerbohm, Zuckerman's eldest daughter from Dayton.
Zuckerman's hand slowly rose from the bed to take Gabby's. "I'm still here, Rabbi," he said in a playful but weak voice. A slight twinkle sparkled in his eyes as if he was ready to crack a joke. "I wasn't so sure a few days ago. The Good Lord must have wanted me around a little longer. I asked you to come in order to thank Him for me."
Gabby inched closer and tightened her grip on Zuckerman's hand, bending over him for direct eye contact. "Now, Senator, I think God would be very pleased to hear that from you," she said in a voice only slightly louder than a whisper. "He hears gratitude less frequently from senators than rabbis."
Zuckerman's eyes darted across the room to Daymon Tyler as if entering into a boyhood conspiracy. "Oh no, no, that wouldn't work at all, Rabbi. I make fabulous political speeches, you know. But prayers? They're not my cup of tea."
"That's hard to believe. I've listened to your addresses. You haven't been a senator for three terms because you lacked for words."
"I've just returned from the dead, Rabbi. Literally from the dead. For several minutes, there was no life left in this beleaguered body. Ask the doctors. They'll tell you. Then Dr. Garcia played his magic and revised me. Do you know what it means to return from the dead? Or are you too young for such an experience?"
"I've never been born again, if that's what you're implying."
He cleared his throat and glanced again toward Daymon Tyler before saying, "This must be confidential, Rabbi. Because Daymon works like me in the Big White House up on the Hill, he already knows what I want to say. You see, we're in the business of politics and we make our living by periodically convincing voters to cast ballots for us. Most of what we say in public is jargon. If you talk all day long, every day of the year, you're bound to slip into cliché. At first I was very uncomfortable with this, but over the years I've come to appreciate how essential repetition is for people in my line of work. And in order to keep the voters on your side, you obviously can't say exactly everything that's on your mind. Voters want to hear what they feel is correct. So professionals like us accommodate to their needs and periodically they return us to office. It's a craft that can be learned and practiced. Those who learn it well get elected and then re-elected. Those who don't, well, they never see public service or, if they do, don't last long. What happened to me a few days ago was a reprieve from Heaven. God bestowed upon me more than I deserve. I believe He must know when I bend the truth, so to speak. The truth is, I'm profoundly grateful to Him. When I try to express my gratitude, words fail me and, you know, I'm seldom at loss for something to say. Given my record, I feel unworthy to approach the Almighty. How is it possible for an insincere, hypercritical SOB like me to thank God? If I were as wise as He, I'd shut my ears… or break out in laughter."
"Because you're a human SOB, Senator, and there's cunning in all of us," Gabby said without hesitation. "Were the Master of the Universe to disallow prayer from sinners, he'd have very few followers. While I don't presume to stand in His shoes, I'm certain He has received prayers from folks far more venial than yourself."
"That's reassuring, but I don't want Him to think here stands old Artie Zuckerman, saying once again what is expedient. I don't want Him to think I'm expressing my thanks only to weasel a few more years on this planet."
Gabby's lips broke into an affectionate smile before saying in a voice so low as to exclude Daymon Tyler and Cynthia Zuckerman. "Well now, Senator, perhaps you've just made the sincerest speech of your career, and not to the voters of Ohio, but to a heavenly audience. There's no need for you to be reticent before God, but if you wish, I'll rephrase your thoughts. In Hebrew as well as in English. But I assure you they won't go half as far as those you've already spoken."
"Things will be different now."
"I'm sure they will."
"Well said," Representative Tyler interrupted for the first time. "Arthur is a showman's showman who early in his career chose the Senate floor rather than a stage. On the outside he's a showman, but on the inside, a very sensitive human being. I think the people of Ohio sense that."
"No doubt," Gabby nodded, then continued. "Lord of all worlds, your humble servant and servant to the people of Ohio, has asked me to express his thanks for delivering him from acute illness and giving him more time to enjoy the bounty of this wonderful life. His lips are sealed to You, but his heart is open. It is said that You ask for no more from your child than a word of gratitude and, I assure you, it is sincerely given. Ba-ruch a-ta A-don-ai E-lo-hei-nu, me-lech ha-o-lam, she-he-che-yea-nu ve-ki-ye-ma-nu, ve-h-gi-a-nu la-ze-man ha-zeh; Blessed are You, Lord our God, who has sustained Arthur Zuckerman, nurtured him and allowed him to reach this moment." She noted that the Senators lips moved with her familiar Hebrew barucha.
"That's perfect," Cynthia Zuckerman-Beerbohm said. "I'm sure that my father greatly appreciates you're coming to see him."
"That much I can say for myself," he intoned, brushing away his daughter with a sweep of his free right hand.
Four resident physicians in green surgical gowns suddenly barreled through the corridor door to check on their patient. No invitation, no knock, and no int
roduction. They had come at just the right time to let Gabby take her leave. She'd have to run in order to make the three o'clock plane and there was a good chance she'd miss it. Waiting for the slow elevator to reach the 9th floor, she paced a tight figure eight, thinking that come the next Erev Rosh Hashonah when Senator Zuckerman would march down the aisle of the sanctuary shaking hands with all and sundry she'd be more charitable in her condemnation.
She bypassed the crowded US Airways ticket counter at Reagan National Airport and made a dash for the three o'clock departure gate, expecting the door to be closed and the plane in the process of being pulled from the ramp. But instead, passengers were milling in the waiting area, the majority clustered around the ticket counter. Folks who should have been embarking onto the aircraft were actually exiting from the gate with exasperation written on their faces, their plans to be in New York obviously thwarted. Those circling the counter were badgering two airline agents for information. A male passenger beside Gabby was on a cell phone, plugging his free ear with an index finger to block ambient noise.
"What's happening?" she asked of a shaggy-haired blondish teenager, the cuffs of his pant legs spilling up over a pair of ripped sneakers.
He looked perfectly detached from events around him. "They said La Guardia was closed down. I donna know why."
A paunchy airline agent, his light complexion reddened by either too much sun or too much drink, waved off inquiries, then finally lifted his phone to address impatient passengers through a local-area loudspeaker system. "Ladies and Gentlemen, if you'll just give me a chance, I'll tell you what information they've shared with us. We know you're concerned about getting to New York and we're trying to find out exactly what's happening. All I can tell you at this moment is that LaGuardia is shut down to incoming traffic. That's right, all inbound traffic. Not just the US Air Shuttle, but all aircraft. And as far as we know, nothing is outbound either. Obviously, we can't take off from here until we know if we can land and I don't think any of you want to end up in Boston or Philadelphia." He paused to listen to a query from someone directly in front, then switched back to the amplification system. "Sorry, everybody, we don't know when the airport will open again. No, there's no information about an accident. All we've heard is that airport officials have closed down the airport. We have a call into Delta to see if their shuttles are flying into the Marine Air Terminal, but I doubt it. There's an unconfirmed report that the police have cordoned off all ramps leading to and leaving La Guardia."