by Roger Herst
"As soon as I can," Kye said. "We've got lot's to talk about over this champagne."
To share the good news, Gabby called her sister, Terry, in Cleveland, who almost screamed with delight. She pledged to come to Washington to help with the baby and revealed that she had been saving for this exciting event box-loads of baby clothes outgrown by her own three children. Next, Gabby called her father in Los Angeles, forgetting that he and Mickey Charles were taking a week's vacation in Cabo San Lucas. She left a voice mail stating the good news.
The email Chuck recommended to Gabby's attention was from Professor of Rabbinics, Yechiel Sandermaker in Cincinnati:
Always glad to hear from you, Gabby. You're rabbinical career is easy to
follow because all I have to do is read the newspapers. You asked me about Moishe Lieb Knishbacher, Director of the prewar Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya. I've looked at several cross-referenced genealogies and concluded
Knishbacher's son, Wolf Issador, was being groomed to become Rosh Yeshiva when transported to Belzac, where he perished in the autumn of 1944. From references I have found, he also had a prodigious memory, but unlike his father, never got an opportunity to test it as the director of a yeshiva. I learned that he had a son and a daughter, but all records of this boy and girl have been lost. Below, I've listed several sources mentioning Wolfe Knishbacher and his children. I'm curious to learn why you're interest in Knishbacher. Hope this is helpful.
Shalom, Yechiel Stern.
Gabby thought about replying, but there wasn't time to explain her interest in detail. She had amassed enough information to sculpt the skeleton of her theory about Sh'erit ha-Pletah and its involvement with her lost Torah. But there were still holes in her theory that needed to be plugged. At lunchtime, she put a call into Carey Sylerman, knowing that during the day she would be busy in classes with Sh'erit ha-Pletah neophytes.
The return call arrived just before 6 p.m, when the synagogue staff had gone for the day and Gabby answered her own phone.
"I'm coming next Sunday," Carey blurted into the phone before Gabby had a chance to ask about teaching.
"I'm glad," Gabby said, "but I don't want to put extra pressure upon you. This must be your own decision, not mine."
"I know. And I'm taking the consequences of it. They're angry at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Many members won't talk to me. I haven't spoken to Baruch in days. Rabbi Olam v'Ed wrote a memo, emphasizing that I'm on probation and could be dropped from the society at any moment."
"Teaching a class in Washington isn't worth ruining one's happiness, Carey," Gabby warned. "That's the last thing I wish for you."
"It's not about happiness, Rabbi Gabby. It's about personal integrity. They can't tell me when and where I can go and they certainly can't keep me from seeing my parents."
Gabby feared saying more than was necessary and veered the conversation into another direction. "Help me refresh my memory, Carey. Didn't you tell me once that when you first went to Sh'erit ha-Pletah they asked you about your Bat Mitzvah?"
"Yes."
"What did you tell them?"
"That I read parasaha v' yikra."
"Did they ask you from what scroll you read?"
"I can't remember if they asked me or I volunteered. But I know we spoke about it because they asked how Ohav Shalom had originally become the owner of a Torah from the Holocaust."
"Do you recall if you mentioned that our Torah had been tattooed?"
"Yes, because I remember they said that would make a Torah Pasulah, a defective Torah, one totally unfit for study. I remember them saying that anybody who knowingly read this Torah was committing an averah, a grave transgression. I didn't think that was right because I never considered myself a sinner for studying my parasha from it and I didn't think you would have me or other kids do something prohibited by Jewish law. They then said some pretty nasty things about a synagogue that let the Bar Mitzvah boys study from it."
"And what about the Bat Mitzvah girls?"
"We don't let women do that at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. They ignored altogether the fact that I had been bat-mitzvahed.
"Did you reply to that?"
"No," Carey sounded chocked. "I wanted to become a member of Sh'erit ha-Pletah and feared creating an argument."
"I have another question that might be difficult to answer. Are you aware of other girls in Sh'erit ha-Pletah from Buffalo, New York?"
She had to run that one through her mind for a few seconds. "No. I can't think of anyone."
"How about from Greensboro, North Carolina?"
Again there was silence. "Yes. I think Micah Lawrence is from North Carolina. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I think she once mentioned Greensboro. Why do you ask?"
"Just a hunch, Carey. I promise to tell you very soon. And by the way, I have some wonderful news to share."
"I could use some these days," Carey responded.
"I'm pregnant. I'm finally going to become the mother you wanted me to be."
"Well, well, Mazel Tov, Rabbi Lewyn. That's wonderful news, indeed."
Rabbi Cici Landau reported how her psychotherapist, Dr. Sylvan Denardo, recommended that, until she had ample time to work through the depression suffered by her miscarriage, she work only part time. While that didn't surprise Gabby, she privately believed Cici's depression the consequences of pent up anger. Cici was one of those women who harbored significant grievances with her absentee husband, but was too timid to confront him, directing her anger at less threatening targets. She returned to the synagogue, blaming Gabby for creating a climate of stress, which ultimately led to the miscarriage. There was nothing for Gabby to do but re-state the facts and keep quiet.
Among the duties that Cici did not wish to resume was the Sunday afternoon class on Orthodox Practices. That worked to Gabby's advantage since she was happy to have Carey home on the weekends with her folks. Though Sunday afternoons were usually her only free time on the weekend, Gabby made a point of being in the synagogue when Carey taught her class, looking better kept and less frumpy than in previous weeks. She had washed her hair and tied it into a neat bun behind her head and, to Gabby's surprise, added a tinge of artificial color to her cheeks.
"I'm so happy about you being pregnant," Carey said the moment she pulled out of a warm hug.
Gabby laughed in her girlish manner. "Well, now, according to your people at Sh'erit ha-Pletah, I'm finally fulfilling my duty to be fruitful and multiply. Can I drive you to the airport after class?"
Carey's cheeks widened and her eyes glistened. "I had hoped you'd ask me. When I'm here, I don't really look forward to going back. There's a comfort level from one's childhood. Know what I mean?"
"Of course, there is," Gabby sounded her sympathy. "I feel it all the time. I think that only changes when you have your own children, then the draw of our childhood home is no longer as strong. Or at least that's what my girlfriends tell me. I'll know soon enough. On the way to the airport I have something rather startling to tell you."
"How about now?" she asked.
"No. I don't want to divert your attention. Go to your class and be the fabulous instructor I hear you are."
Because she didn't feel a need to monitor the class, Gabby shuffled papers at her desk and gave up, deciding upon a walk while waiting for Carey. When she returned to the library, she found a cluster of students engaged in animate conversation with their teacher, a sign of good rapport. The after-class discussion consumed more than thirty minutes, another sign of a healthy learning environment.
On the George Washington Parkway, driving toward Reagan National Airport, Gabby looked across the seat to Carey, who eyed her with anticipation. "Neu?"
"I don't think the FBI or police have made any progress finding out who stole Ohav's Torah and tied me up. But I have."
"Can they arrest the thieves?"
"No, and I'm not going to recommend they do. It's an in-house, family matter that's better off settled between members of the family. No need involve t
he law. I'm interested in getting my Torah back, not seeing the thieves in prison."
"Can you tell me who has it?" Carey pursued.
"Rabbi Olam v'Ed or his haverim, disciples."
The warmth in Carey's face faded and she seemed to contract into herself. "I don't believe it. Why would he steal your Torah? That's against the law!"
"Breaking the law never stopped him in the past. You said he had spent time in jail for extortion or something like that."
"But that was a long time ago. A Torah is the last thing he needs. We have plenty at Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"But Ohav Shalom's Torah is very special, Carey. It comes from a region in the Ukraine where his grandfather and father lived and taught Torah. His grandfather was Moishe Lieb Knishbacher, Rosh Yeshiva of the Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya. His son, Wolf Issador, was Rabbi Olam v'Ed's father. The Torahs stolen from Buffalo and Greensboro were also from the same region, near Kolomya. The way Sh'erit ha-Pletah trains students to memorize large tracts of Talmud mirrors the methods stressed in yeshivas run by Olam v'Ed's grandfather and father. The memory of texts separates the men out from the boys."
Carey looked skeptical. "That's great sleuthing, Rabbi, but it doesn't tie your stolen Sefer Torah to Sh'erit ha-Pletah. You haven't told me why."
"Do you remember what they said when you told them you studied your Bat Mitzvah parasha from a Holocaust Torah?"
She had to rummage through her mind for a moment to remember. "That any Torah tattooed by the Nazis was a Torah Pasulah, a defective Torah, unfit for study. They said that Ohav Shalom should never have permitted me to read from it."
Brake lights ahead signaled to Gabby that the traffic was slowing. She braked, then glanced at her watch to judge how much time they had before reaching the airport. "Right. Now tell me, my little yeshiva student, what would happen if you revered a certain Torah and found that someone else was desecrating it? Suppose it really offended you because you believed that particular Sefer Torah to be sacred."
"But if the Holocaust Torah is pasul, defective, nobody at Sh'erit ha-Pletah can use it either," Carey sounded triumphant.
"You can't study from it, but you can use it. In fact, my guess is that this Sefer Torah is used every evening at the end of Maariv, when they dance in the shul. You told me that the processional Torahs are not stored in the Holy Ark, but in a chamber reserved for members of Z'chut Avot. They can't actually study from defective Torahs, such as the tattooed Torahs from Ohav Shalom, Buffalo, and Greensboro, but they can dance with them. Rabbi Olam v'Ed uses them for inspiration, not learning. As members of Z'chut Avot hold the sacred books of their predecessors, the merit of their fathers transfers. Rabbi Olam v'Ed, alias Jeremiah Lieb Knishbacher, survived the Holocaust to perpetuate their memories in America and Israel. He knew exactly what he wanted when he took Torahs from Reform congregations in Washington, Buffalo, and Greensboro. In his mind, we defiled these tattooed scrolls and were not worthy of them. They rightly belonged to their descendents of the Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya. You can guess who that is."
From the George Washington Parkway, an entrance to the airport swerved off to the right. Gabby knew that the traffic would bunch up as she approached the departure zone and that her time with Carey was coming to an end. Carey sat silently, peering at the cars jockeying for lanes before them.
"It sounds crazy," she finally said in a voice choked with feeling. "Yes, we have dedicated members, but they wouldn't do something as terrible as steal Torahs."
"People do strange things when convinced they are working for God."
Carey brushed off the previous insight without a response. "Baruch has a photographic memory. I see him reading a verse or paragraph, then reciting it b'aal peh, from memory, only a few minutes later, as though he were imprinting it on his brain. How do you know that Rabbi Olam v'Ed's grandfather and father trained students with memories like this?"
"Nothing is lost to Jewish scholarship. I didn't know myself, but I knew who to ask for confirmation."
Carey looked dubious as she exited from the passenger seat onto the curb and an instant later, looked back into the car to thank Gabby for the ride.
A car waiting behind Gabby tooted impatiently for her to vacate the precious curb space. In her side-view mirror, she could see the uniform of a traffic policeman trying to clear a temporary bottle up of cars by blowing his shrill whistle. It would only be a minute before he'd start working on her. "What would it take to convince you, Carey?" Gabby shot a last moment question as she was leaning forward to glance through the open passenger window.
"There can only be one tattoo number 3325 T609."
"Can we get into the chamber of Z'chut Avot for a look?"
The policeman was only a car behind Gabby, furiously waving his hands for drivers to dispatch their passengers and free the congestion.
"The chamber is always locked. Only senior rabbis and selected students like Baruch are permitted to enter."
"This isn't a Senate caucus, Lady," the policeman, a heavyset man with smooth, creamy brown skin, barked. "Let's move it out, NOW."
Gabby set the gear shift into Drive, but didn't apply any pressure on the accelerator pedal. "Can Baruch get us in there?"
"I doubt it. He plays by all the rules; besides, women are never allowed in."
The policeman hauled a large ticket book from his back pocket and ceremoniously flipped over copies of previous citations. "If I get past the license number, Lady," he growled, "there's no reversing this ticket. And don't try any teary eyes at me either. This is your last chance."
"Okay, officer," Gabby replied to him and said to Carey, "Think about it. We need to confirm that number somehow."
Gabby trusted Chuck Browner's judgment when it came to non-rabbinical matters, specifically when she felt her own impulsiveness required gentle restraint. He had bailed her out of many situations reserved only for risk-takers. And when it came to her plan for recapturing the Ohav Shalom Torah stolen, there was no question the risk was high.
FBI headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue is an imposing building designed to convey the impression of power and stability. An intricate array of security checks prevented Gabby and Chuck from wandering through the marble floored corridors without official escort. Guards at each station cleared their passage by phoning ahead until they found themselves on the fifth floor outside a suite of offices for the Hate Crimes Division. From an undisclosed location, an armed escort joined Gabby and Chuck, leading through a warren of partitions to a windowless conference room and no pictures on the walls. Agents Janna Phearson and Claudia Dellum showed up ten minutes late without an apology for keeping them waiting.
After the re-introduction of Chuck Browner, whom the women had met at Ohav Shalom, and a short exchange of introductory banter, Gabby re-launched a complaint already started on the phone with Agent Phearson. "As far as I can determine, the FBI has contributed little to this investigation other than identifying two synagogues that were robbed. If Ohav Shalom and the others choose not to press charges against the perpetrators, I don't see why the government should insist."
Claudia Dellum, whom Gabby had previously identified as a dedicated jogger, looked even gaunter than in the past. She said, "Because, Rabbi, we have a responsibility to discourage hate crimes and we can't do that by dismissing evidence when one has been committed, no matter who unearthed it. In this case, three separate robberies have been committed, in addition to your willful abduction."
Before answering, Gabby glanced at Chuck, who appeared distracted by buzzing ballast in the fluorescent ceiling lights. "If my plan works, I think I can return the Torahs to their rightful owners. As we guessed from the outset, this was not your run-of-mill bombing of a minority church. The thieves are not anti-Semites, but fellow Jews who had a reason for what they did. I regard this as a family matter, and by that I mean within the Jewish community. You can understand why a small minority doesn't wash its dirty laundry in public. And while I'd like nothing better than
to tie the perpetrators in a chair until they pee in their pants, I'm not happy about sending fellow Jews to prison."
"That's very noble of you, Rabbi, but if everybody felt as you, we'd have to exchange our criminal code for anarchy," said Dellums.
"That's if you see only one side of the picture," Gabby had begun to understand that the FBI would offer more resistance than she anticipated. "The fact that Ohav Shalom, Beth Torah, and Adat Israel congregations became the possessors of these historic Torahs was actually little more than accidents of history. You might say that we were standing in line when they were distributed in 1951, well before my time in this community. We never paid a cent for them. They were bestowed upon us by the largess of British philanthropists who thought it would be a good idea to set the seed of Jewish regeneration outside Europe. So I can understand how others who were never invited to apply might feel left out. I don't condone what the thieves did, but I can appreciate their logic. In an objective debate, I can imagine arguing that these sacred books don't belong to any single congregation like Ohav Shalom, but to the surviving Jewish community and that includes Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"That's very generous of you," offered Janna Phearson, who brushed her short dusty blond hair back over her ears, fluffing the locks with her fingers like a comb. "You must understand that this case is larger than a family squabble. The intruders to Ohav Shalom assaulted you. They violated your First Amendment rights in pursuit of their crime."
"I don't deny that, but despite a very uncomfortable night wrestling with an exploding bladder, I have no long term disabilities. The nightmare has past me now and, for the sake of peace in my Jewish house, I'm not asking for retribution. In a strange and personal way, that night has allowed me to associate intimately with suffering from the Holocaust. My grandmother and grandfather perished in that inferno. Here," she said, pointing to the hexagonal watch on her wrist. “This belonged to my grandmother and was passed on to my mother. I rarely look at it without thinking about the lives ruined. Jews in Europe suffered a lot more than I did sitting tied up in a chair for a night."