Rabbi Gabrielle Commits a Felony

by Roger Herst

  Once inside the room, there was no conversation. When she went into the bathroom, he stopped undressing, dropped into a lounge chair and picked up an Internet trade journal to peruse. Once she slipped into bed, she lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. When he finally joined her, he rolled toward her in an embrace, but she had already fallen into the first stage of sleep. The kiss he planted on her forehead went answered.

  "We'll both be fresher in the morning," he whispered near her ear. "It's the best time anyway. What can interrupt us on Sunday morning? I hope you brought some running clothes because I'm in the mood for a run afterwards."

  She refused to acknowledge what she heard. The k'reat Shemah, the evening prayer of the devout she routinely recited in bed, was on her lips and tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyelids. This was not what they wrote about in romance novels. Kye's easy breathing punctuated the silence and just before she fell into sleep, his hand slipped over her shoulder and rested gently upon her breast.

  Even on Sunday mornings, New York City wakes to the reveille of automobile traffic. Gabby rose at 7:45 a.m, before Kye, who slept soundly with a curled hand beside his lips as a child sucking its thumb. The previous night, he had drunk far more than she and was in deep slumber, occasionally snoring. It was too early to wake him, so she slipped from bed and in the bathroom dressed herself for a jog down Park Avenue. The note on his pillow told how she intended to be back for "their appointment" no later than nine o'clock.

  Outside the hotel, nippy November stirred her circulatory system as her legs stretched into a comfortable gate. To her mind, there was nothing like a good hard run to help put one's troubles into the perspective.

  At 8:45, Kye was still soundly asleep, which gave Gabby an opportunity to shower. He heard the water running and rolled out of bed, then entered the bathroom when she was rinsing off. "My turn," he said and stripped off a T-shirt, the only pajamas he ever wore to bed.

  Naked and still wet, she embraced him outside the shower. Their bodies momentary bonded into a Rodinesque entanglement of limbs and organs. The first signs of his arousal punched against her pelvis.

  Once back under the bed covers, they made slower progress, settling into a pattern of foreplay. Kye knew the precise zones of her body and she knew his. The explosive sex they enjoyed during the initial months of their marriage was replaced with a steady, sustained crescendo. Both attempted to regulate their timing to correspond with what they believed was happening to their partner. Gabby felt herself getting slightly ahead of Kye, and there was a moment when her organs refused to be governed by her mind. Her breathing accelerated as she rose onto a final plateau before orgasm. But in the final moments, the telephone rang. She and Kye ignored the first and second rings, but the third caused him to stop pumping. Both swore aloud and promised not to answer it. But the ringing suddenly deadened her excitement. Clearly, she would not climax while the phone rang.

  The caller was persistent and let the phone ring and ring. Unable to bear it any long, Kye rolled away from Gabby and angrily snatched the receiver.

  "Hello, may I please speak with Rabbi Lewyn?" said Carey Sylerman on the other end.

  Kye did not bother to respond and stretched the phone cord over his hip to hand Gabby the receiver.

  As soon as she answered, Carey introduced herself in a none-too-friendly voice. "Rabbi, this is Carey Sylerman. I'm returning your call."

  Gabby had to take control of her breathing before saying, "Well, thank you. I wasn't sure you would."

  "The truth is, I wasn't surprised to hear from you because I knew that sooner or later, my parents would sick you to me. My first impulse was to ignore your call, but you were good to me when I was growing up."

  "I've always been very fond of you, Carey. I'm in New York today and would love to see you before I catch a plane back to Washington late this afternoon." The saliva in her throat revealed her physical discomfort.

  "What's the purpose? I know why you want to see me and I don't need someone to mediate with my parents. I've explained to them until I'm sick and they still don't get it. Not even a fraction. Communication with them is absolutely futile."

  "Carey," Gabby interrupted. "If I take the subway to Brooklyn before going to La Guardia, could I visit with you for an hour?"

  "Not to repeat things my parents have already said, over and over and over and over and over again."

  Gabby hesitated. "I won't deny that I've spoken to your mother. But you're one of my Bat Mitzvah girls. I'm not a mother myself, so my Bar and Bat Mitzvah kids have become my family, so to speak. I'm very interested in you and your choices. Think about it and I'll call you back in an hour. I'd like to visit at the end of the day, anytime before 7:00 p.m. which will give me time to catch the last Shuttle home."

  Carey hesitated before making a decision. "Well, I guess so. But only if we don't have to talk about what my parents want me to do."

  "That's a promise, Carey."

  Returning to each other, it was Gabby's turn to be aggressive and stimulate her husband. She actually liked it better that way because she found herself most stimulated when giving pleasure to Kye whose orgasm came rapidly. There were a dozen animal models why it was easier for the male than the female, most importantly because orgasm for a male was essential for reproduction. Once satisfied that they now had a shot at conception, she lay on her back, and pulled him against her. He was a restless man and she wondered how long she might hope to keep him alongside. His muscles fell into a state of deep relaxation and for a while, he snored peacefully. She did not interrupt him. Instead, she leaned on an elbow and studied his Asian features and smooth, blemish less skin.

  When Kye's original political website, Politicstoday.com, fell into Chapter 8 of the federal bankruptcy code and was no longer viable, he used his residual capital to pay off creditors. Though his campaign web site failed, his major client, the Democratic National Committee, remained loyal when he started again with a new on-line business. His experience had shown how many Democratic candidates had full election coffers while others were chronically starved for cash. Because political campaigns needed a consistent flow of money, many candidates had to drop out when they ran low. Kye saw that what was needed was an on-line campaign bank in which flushed candidates in the same party could lend to less well-healed candidates. The Internet was a perfect vehicle from which to guarantee that the existing moneys were available when and where required. His new company, Images.com, became the dandy of the Democratic Party almost over night and gave the Democrats a decided advantage over their Republican rivals. The DNC signed an exclusive agreement with Images for eighteen months. That proved beneficial to the DNC at the beginning, but as the months burned off its officers shuddered to think about the cost to renew their contract. The Republican National Committee approached Kye with a counter-offer many millions higher. The auction began six months in advance and Kye was about to become a far wealthier man than he had ever dreamed.

  During the initial growth of Images both Kye and Gabby could easily have afforded to raise their standard of living, but elected not to spend their windfall. Instead, they continued to live in Gabby's modest Palisades townhome near the Potomac River, claiming it to be luxuriously adequate for the "closet Socialists" they secretly believed themselves to be. Neither yearned for a large home, servants, or country club. Their first joint financial act together after being married was to establish a charitable family trust. In the early days, when Kye depleted his capital to pay debts incurred by Politicstoday, the fund was modest in size. But the moment Images took off he generously funded it, and despite substantial annual disbursements to worthy charities, the fund grew with an upsurge of the stock market.

  At breakfast in the hotel's dining room that morning, Kye was on the phone with colleagues who had no intention of spending Sundays for their families. As he liked to boast, his associates worked whenever they felt like it and that meant just about all the time. None were churchgoers. He held his hand over
the speaker and asked Gabby. "What time is your plane back to Washington?"

  She leaned over and said, "Just so I get back on the last Shuttle flight. I'm hoping to visit with Carey Sylerman in Brooklyn this afternoon."

  "Good," he said, throwing a conspiratorial look her way, quite aware how Gabby was incapable of not utilizing each moment of her day for rabbinical work. That was just as well because his associates had agreed to eat Sunday evening supper in their Manhattan office to discuss a list of problems with code.

  A light but cold rain fell as Gabby stepped from the Kingston Avenue subway exit onto the Eastern Parkway in Brooklyn's Crown Heights. She huddled into a raincoat and looked for shelter to consult a street map provided by the concierge at the Sheraton. A small umbrella protected her shoulders but failed to keep rain from her calves and feet. During the five long blocks walk to Carey Sylerman's apartment, freezing water managed to soak through the soles of her shoes and attack her toes that in winter were normally cold. Carey's apartment was on the third floor in a small 1940s red brick apartment that Sh'erit ha-Pletah had leased for unmarried female initiates to their sect.

  For single women to live on their own while waiting for a shuduct, arranged marriage, with an eligible yeshiva student was unthinkable. Besides, Sh'erit ha-Pletah wanted its female initiates meticulously prepared for life in their community and this required sustained strenuous training. Under no circumstance could the sect tolerate a wife who might shame her husband and family by failing in her observance of Jewish law.

  In the vestibule of Carey's apartment, Gabby was struck by the odor of stale cabbage that seemed to hang in the unventilated air like low-hanging coastal fog. As soon as Gabby presented herself at the door, Carey stepped into the corridor. In the initial moment of greeting, Gabby noted how Carey had put on considerable weight since her Washington days and used no makeup to accentuate attractive features that resembled her mother's. Short, kinky hair was pulled back behind her head and secure there with a rubber band. She wore an unstylish dark lavender dress and a black sweater buttoned unevenly over an ample bosom. As an unmarried woman, the rules of female modesty did not require her to wear a sheitel, wig, yet they obliged her to cover her hair in public.

  After a cautious welcome, Carey explained that her roommate, a year younger than herself, was visiting the parents of her fiancée, who had left the Etz Hyaim Yeshiva in Flatbush to sample secular life for two years before returning to his Orthodox roots and embracing Sh'erit ha-Pletah. She led Gabby to the kitchen and offered a cup of tea. Feeling damp and chilled, Gabby readily accepted. While busying herself with a tin kettle, Carey appeared withdrawn and wary.

  "So tell me about how one of my favorite Bat Mitzvah girls finds her new life in Brooklyn," Gabby asked.

  Carey worked an unnatural grimace onto her lips as if ready to release more than Gabby expected. "For the first time in my life, I feel comfortable," she answered, lifting the kettle a minute before the water came to a boil and shaking it to judge whether it contained sufficient liquid for two cups. "In Sh'erit ha-Pletah, we live every moment before the eyes of ha-Shem."

  The use of ha-Shem, the Name, reminded Gabby of Orthodox piety in which even the name of God was so holy it was left unspoken, except in prayer.

  "Rabbi Olam v'Ed makes us feel like a true family in which everybody is pulling in the same direction. Most of the younger girls here don't see him very often, but he's big on email and encourages us to write with questions. It seldom takes more than 24-hours before there's an answer. He's written me on several occasions. I know exactly what I must do in Sh'erit ha-Pletah and so long as I do that, none of the other girls in my program are catty or judgmental. We're required to take classes every day except Shabbat and Sundays and to put into practice what we learn. My fiancée, Baruch, is extremely devout and is showing me the path to God. I enjoyed your school at Ohav Shalom, Rabbi, though in Washington, I never felt God's presence as I do here."

  Gabby accepted a porcelain teacup, noting that Cary used the same teabag for her own. It occurred her that Sh'erit ha-Pletah probably provided the girls in Carey's program with no more than the barest essentials for living in Brooklyn. "With respect to God," she replied, "I think you're more fortunate than I am. I've never enjoyed an easy relationship with God. Like Jacob, I'm constantly wrestling with Him. Perhaps you can help me establish some peace in this relationship."

  "I'd rather introduce you to Rabbi Olam v'Ed," Carey said while dropping the used teabag into a nearby garbage pail. "He's in direct communication with ha-Shem. But I wouldn't tell him you're a Reform rabbi. When I applied to join Sh'erit ha-Pletah, officers asked me questions for days. They wanted to know about my Jewish education and experiences. I told them a lot about my Bat Mitzvah at Ohav Shalom and how I studied my parasha from the Ohav Shalom Holocaust scroll. That seemed to make a deep impression. They were less impressed by that fact that I had a female rabbi. I was ordered to forget my past in Washington and to build an entirely new life in Brooklyn. Women play a different role here. None are studying for the rabbinate."

  Gabby hesitated before confronting Carey. "And as a woman, is that acceptable to you?"

  "Do you want my real opinion, or something I can dream up so as not to offend you?"

  Gabby leaned back against a kitchen cabinet and weighed Carey's query. "That's a leading question if I ever heard one. Of course I want to know your real views."

  "The first commandment in the Torah is peruey ur-voyey, to be fruitful and have children. I believe God put women on this planet to bear children. And if you, Rabbi, weren't so busy taking care others, you'd have time to have children of your own. God fashioned women's organs to bear offspring. Men can't do that. But men can be scholars and teachers, like Rabbi Olam v'Ed and, to a lesser extent, Baruch. In Sh'erit ha-Pletah, we discourage women from anything that will impede the divine mitzvah of having and raising children."

  Gabby's instinct was to defend both her rabbinical role and her feminism. But caution told her not to respond directly to the mantra of Orthodox Judaism, a position that kept women constantly pregnant and perennially subservient to their men folk. In Gabby's view, Orthodox women enabled this antiquated system by acquiescing on the question of childbearing. By the time a woman had raised a brood of children, it is too late for a meaningful career. She found it difficult to believe that, given Carey's upbringing in Washington, she would embrace such an anti-feminist position. Surely, there must be some lingering doubt in her mind. But exposing it would take time.

  Responding to Carey's observation, Gabby said," Thanks for your honesty, You're probably right about my postponing motherhood, but I still wouldn't have given up my career just to be a mother."

  "Do you want children?" Carey asked in a softer, more intimate tone.

  "Of course I want children. My husband and I are trying right now," she said, recalling bed play with Kye that morning. She then did what often endeared people to her by revealing a personal intimacy for which they were unprepared. "Normally, one doesn't talk about things like this, but I feel close to you, Carey. And I trust you. I just left my husband in Manhattan an hour ago. We were making love together at the hotel exactly when you called this morning."

  "Oh, I'm sorry for the interruption. I didn't know."

  "Of course, you couldn't be expected to know." Gabby pointed to her pelvic region. "Given a little luck, egg and sperm are having a caucus as we speak."

  This personal disclosure caught Carey off guard. It had never occurred to her that her childhood rabbi would be so personal. "Well, Baruch haShem," she finally said in recovery.

  "This new life you've chosen obviously suits you, Carey," Gabby added, steering the conversation in the direction she earlier intended.

  Carey showed reticence before saying in a less confident voice, "Yes. It's far less stressful than living at home. Here you learn the rules of the road, so to speak, and ha-Shem takes care of you."

  "Is that what Rabbi Olam v'Ed teaches?"

&
nbsp; "He's living proof and is absolutely up front with us. Years ago he was sent to prison for some kind of financial embezzlement. He often talks about his humiliating incarceration and eventual rebirth in jail. In his cell, he reached out for ha-Shem by purifying his soul through absolute and unquestioned obedience of the mitvot.

  Carey's words filled Gabby with the remorse of a parent watching her child follow in the footsteps of a felon. She set her mug on the pitted Formica kitchen top and asked, "What crime did Rabbi Olam v'Ed commit?"

  "I don't know for sure. Nobody talks much about it, except to acknowledge it once happened. What's important is that people can be pardoned for their transgressions. Rabbi Olam v'Ed stresses how important it is to let people atone for their mistakes. That's why Sh'erit ha-Pletah welcomes gerim, converts, like myself."

  "Just because in your earlier life you didn't observe all commandments of the halacha, I don't regard you as a gerah, a convert to Judaism, Carey."

  "Why quibble over a concept? It doesn't matter to me. Our Zaddik says that we are cleansed through the mitzvot."

  "I would imagine you won't get into trouble by observing the halachah. But you might not have much fun either."

  "Who said anything about fun?" she almost growled contempt for the thought. "Ha-Shem didn't put us on this planet to have fun."

  "I have no idea about God's intentions in this department. He may communicate directly with your Zaddik, but He certainly doesn't favor me. Tell me, what you do to keep in shape? You were quite a jock in your college days."