by Roger Herst
Gabby thought of Senator Zuckerman and his pledge to contact Senator Vivian Spencer of New York. Apparently, somebody got through to make the FBI change its mind. "Arthur Zuckerman must have arranged this for me," she reported.
"Good, I'm glad that pompous windbag did something other than promote his re-election. You should know that federal agents are monitoring all the exits to ensure that nobody leaves the premises with or without our Torah."
"Splendid. And you say they have no plans to enter?"
"That's what I was told. Claudia Dellum said that the ball is in your court for one hour from now. After that, they'll presume foul play and enter, armed with a search warrant from a local judge."
"Let's hope I don't drop the ball. At least I know there's backup if I get in trouble."
While the Havdalah taper burned, seven individual flames combining into a single pyre, the door at the rear of the shul opened, triggering a wave of anticipation among the students. Spontaneously, men broke into dancing, their arms entwined into each other’s for balance as their feet shot into the air. A familiar Hassidic tune issued from their lips. Heads bobbed as their feet smacked down on the floor in a repetitious, contagious rhythm.
Gabby used this is as a signal to leave the women and hustle down the stairs to the entrance, from which she immediately turned the street corner and headed for the granite stairs, reserved for the exclusive use of men, leading to the ornate entry of Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah. In the brief moments on the pavement, she could have searched for Chuck or paused to identify the black vans transporting federal agents, but timing was critical. Instead, she jogged up the stairs and headed straight for the sanctuary. By the time she stood at the rear, seven men in dark frock coats and broad-brimmed hats were carrying seven Torahs, each dressed in a white silken cover with a single silver breast plate, into the assembly of dancing bodies.
She paused only long enough to note how the Torahs passed from hand to hand, each dancer seizing a scroll, cuddling it close to his chest and twirling with it like two lovers on a Latin dance floor. Other students were waiting to duplicate the ritual as marathon runners ready to receive a baton. The revelers were so engrossed that none noticed Gabby, dodging between them toward the central pulpit. To her surprise, no one blocked her pathway until she ascended the three steps, turned and raised her chin into the air.
The first to recognized that this male domain had been breached stopped dancing, raised his arms toward Heaven and released a piercing howl. For several moments, his shriek was lost in the din until a fellow student in his late twenties ran to the bimah, pulpit, to remove her physically. But he was not prepared for the slap he received across his nose. His eyes flooded with moisture and he staggered back to receive sympathy from comrades who had also stopped singing and dancing to stand in wonderment. It took several more seconds for the revelers to deal with their alarm. In their wildest dreams, no one had anticipated a woman violating the sanctity of their shul. It had never happened! Gabby's voice filled the silence.
"I am Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn from Congregation Ohav Shalom in Washington, D.C," she trumpeted in the loudest voice she could muster. Aware that only a few heard her, she repeated her name, this time before many who were so stunned they failed to understand and her name seemed to hang in limbo. "I have come to take back the Sefer Torah your people illegally removed from my synagogue. And while I am here, I shall also take possession of the Sefrei Torahs you stole from Congregations Beth Torah in Buffalo and Adat Israel in Greensboro, North Carolina."
A contemptuous hissing rose. Not only had a woman breached their rules, but now made slanderous accusations. Men raised their fists in defiance, while their faces reddened with a mixture of distain and defiance.
A tall, bearded man in a dark blue frock coat weaved through the cordon of bodies toward the bimah, a pathway immediately opening for him. "YOU, YOU WILL DO NOTHING OF THE KIND, YOUNG LADY." He possessed a bellowing voice of authority.
"It is not YOUNG LADY. My name is Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn and before I leave this place of distinguished students, you will address me by my appropriate title as I will address you, RABBI JEREMIAH LIEB KNISHBACHER, son of the RABBI WOLF ISSADOR KNISHBACKER, grandson of the revered RABBI MOISHE LIEB KNISHBACKER FROM THE YESHIVA SHEL-MAALAH OF KOLOMYA."
A rumble in the assembly precipitated sharp shrieks from the women's balcony in the rear.
"I am Rabbi Olam v'Ed," the man said as he planted a heavy foot on to the steps leading up the bimah. "And you have no business in dis sacred place. I command you to go before we remove you by force."
Gabby shot back, matching his strength of voice, "Your name is on the elevator license in this building and it isn't Olam v'Ed." She set a forefinger into motion, pointing it at the man who stood only a few feet from her. "I accuse you and your lieutenants of engaging in forced entry and theft of sacred religious property. And that, Rabbi, is not only punishable by imprisonment, but in violation of federal hate crime laws."
"We 'ave taken nothing that doesn't belong to us. You 'ave only a minute to leave or, by the will of haShem, we shall remove you."
Many voices rose in support. To Gabby's disappointment, not a peep crackled down from the women's gallery. "I don't believe you'll do that, Rabbi Olam v'Ed." She slipped from her jacket pocket the walkie-talkie and pressed the button opening the airwaves. Electronic static filled the silence. "Outside are agents of the FBI. One word from me will bring them into the building to make arrests and seize the stolen Sefrei-Torah."
"Go!" he trumpeted, flipping his hand as though whisking away a fly.
Gabby spoke into the radio. "Chuck, are you there?"
"Of course, Rabbi Gabby," his response was immediate.
She turned up the volume to its highest capacity. "Tell me exactly how many vans of FBI agents are currently positioned outside Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"Four plus a sedan. Brooklyn police are now cruising the area and I've seen some talking with the federal agents."
She noticed Rabbi Olam v'Ed swabbing his lips with a heavy tongue and his eyes were no longer glowering. He stepped backward to consult with another scholar whose gray beard with trimmed close to the skin. Others joined in private conversation.
"We will not permit you to remove any Toirah from this shul," Olam v'Ed declared.
"Have you an alternative, except to go back to jail and serve as a second time offender? How many recruits will you have when the community learns that you have duplicated the shame of the Nazis by stealing Sefrei Torah from Jews who cherish them."
"Reform Jews defile d'Toirah!" he bellowed angrily. "D'scrolls from our brethren in Europe are sacred. Vhat do you know about them? We have ties dat you do not. Disbelievers 'ave no entitlement to books dat belonged to our families." Gabby knew the question of entitlement to be her greatest vulnerability, yet she held firm. "Holocaust Torahs were distributed to congregations by a committee of survivors. We have made them available to the entire Jewish community. Our students study from them. Your people are welcome to read from them, too."
More hissing erupted, followed by hooting.
"Toirrot Pasulot, defective Torahs, are unfit fur study."
"Then why do you dance with them?" Gabby jabbed, as though with a rapier.
"Unsuitable for study, but not for joy and respect."
More of the rabbinical counselors circled Olam v'Ed, whispering advice. He broke off with Gabby a second time for more discussion before returning. "Our Toirahs belong to us. You cannot identify what you claim was stolen."
Gabby glanced at her watch, as much for dramatic effect as to calculate how much time she had before federal agents would enter the premises. "Whether you like it or not, in thirty-three minutes, FBI officers will enter Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah and you must deal with them, not me. If you return the three stolen Torahs now, I will not press charges and the FBI will not instigate indictments. Congregations Beth Torah and Adat Israel will follow my lead. Despite what you think of Reform Jews, we do no
t wish to prevent our observant brethren from studying Torah. A public scandal will harm all Jews, both observant and unobservant."
The proposition elicited additional discussion between Rabbi Olam v'Ed and his advisors. Eventually, he cut them off by pointing at Gabby. "Without positive identification, neither you nor the FBI have evidence against Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"But I can, and I will," Gabby barked with utter determination.
The faithful emitted scornful remarks. Anybody who studied Torah knew all Torahs were identical. Only a student of calligraphy might distinguish the handwriting and pagination of a particular scribe.
Olam v'Ed's lips curled into a victorious smile. "Then, young lady, I shall geeve you vone chance to identify the Torah you claim wast taken from Vashington. We have sixteen Sefrei Torahs at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Which of them do you vant to inspect?"
"My name, once again, is not young lady but Rabbi Lewyn. Before I leave, you will recognize that fact, whether you like it or not. Do it now, or wait until you see me in court as a witness for the prosecution."
"Nobody has a case against Sh'erit ha-Pletah without identification."
"I'm not interested in the Torahs you study. Let me look at the seven you dance with. One is mine and two others belong to Beth Torah in Buffalo and Adat Israel in Greensboro. I will need a place to open them."
The rabbi waved with his heavy hand for his disciples to step back and make room to arrange tables. A troop of students pulled together scattered study tables around the bimah, coupling them in order to provide room to unroll the scrolls.
Rabbi Olam v'Ed whispered to those nearby. They knew that each scroll was rolled to different books of the Mosaic law and that only an expert would know how to navigate through verses without punctuation and pagination. Clearly, that was not a woman's skill, even for one who claimed to be a Reform rabbi! One Sefer Torah was placed on each table. No one moved to help Gabby, who quickly calculated how little time she had before the FBI arrived.
The room, only minutes before filled with singing and dancing, was suddenly silent.
"Come, Rabbi," Gabby said to Olam v'Ed. "Let your students say a barucha while I open each Torah."
He knew this was proper and nodded for his younger students to step forward and recite a blessing as Gabby unrolled the first scroll. A glance at the disproportionate amount of parchment rolled on the left stick told her she was reading from Deuteronomy, the last book of the five Books of Moses. That meant rolling the scroll back through Numbers to the beginning of Leviticus, where she wanted to be. It is far easier for two people to roll the scrolls than one, but no one from Sh'erit ha-Pletah was given permission to assist. When she came to a relatively rare space in the text, followed by the enlarged script of Vayikra, she stopped.
The second scroll was rolled to the narrative of Jacob and his brethren, found in Genesis. To move forward to Leviticus required a smaller move through the remainder of Genesis and the entire book of Exodus. Once again, she stopped at the space and the word Vayikra. The third scroll was also in Deuteronomy and the fourth, only a few chapters into Leviticus. The fifth and sixth to Numbers and the seventh to Deuteronomy. When she lifted her torso and stood erect, a sharp pain from bending over shot through her lower back. A grimace of pain flashed briefly over her lips, but disappeared when she turned to find that Olam v'Ed had slipped through the curious onlookers surrounding her.
"Rabbi Gabby," a familiar voice bristled through the walkie talkie in her breast pocket. "Are you all right? Let me know, please. Our friends are getting nervous. They have guns in their vans."
She pressed the button to communicate and said, "No, Chuck. We're making progress here. So far, they haven't laid a finger on me, though I had to slap one fellow pretty hard. That's probably the closest he's ever gotten to a woman other than his mother or sisters. It might ruin him for life."
"Keep me posted, will you?"
"If I have time. Over."
"So vhat is yawr choice?" Olam v'Ed said, his Yiddish accent more conspicuous now.
She glanced over the seven scrolls, each opened to the beginning of Leviticus. Through the narrow space left before each scroll, she walked cautiously, regarding each carefully, rejecting the first, second, third, then pausing to examine the fourth more closely. Her fingers touched the rim of the parchment, just above the word Vayikra. To make sure she had made the right decision, she stepped quickly in front of the fifth, sixth and seventh scrolls, stopping to study the parchment on the sixth. She tested the touch with her fingers before sauntering back to the fourth Torah, and turning to meet Rabbi Olam v'Ed's eyes in which she recognized redness.
With her finger she pointed to the fourth scroll. "On the obverse side of this text you will find the number 3325-T609, the code number tattooed by Nazi archivists and removed from the region near Kolomya where your father and your grandfather performed their wonders. I have testimony from a young woman in St. Louis that this was the number on the Sefer Torah she studied for her Bat Mitzvah. Whether you approve of studying from this scroll or of Bat Mitzvah for Jewish women is irrelevant. I need only make the case that the code on the other side of this scroll matches the code remembered by my Bat Mitzvah in St. Louis."
Sweat emerged on Olam v'Ed's brow. He started pulling at his beard nervously. "If dat code is not there, zen vaht?"
"Then you can have a hearty laugh at my expense."
"How do you know dat number is not vone of d'other scrolls?" he asked.
Gabby gambled with her answer, but decided to play it straight. "I was told by another Bat Mitzvah that when she studied her parasha, she marked beginning of V'yikra with a paper clip. The indentation in the parchment is still there. Look for yourself."
"Take it!" Rabbi Olam v'Ed bellowed in full, furious voice. "And be gone with you."
"No, Rabbi. Not until I also have Torah number 3324-J397 that belongs to Congregation Beth Torah in Buffalo. For that I must turn over each Sefer Torah and examine the tattoos. I have no number for the Torah from Greensboro and will make a random selection. That leaves you with four scrolls. Let the Z'chut Avot emanate from four. You did not take covers or silver breast plates. We do not wish to remove these from Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
The identification and removal of three Torahs occurred in icy silence. Two of Olam v'Ed's disciples led him to a chair beside the bimah, his orderly world in collapse. After she had found the Buffalo Torah and selected a sister for Greensboro, she radioed Chuck to bring plastic containers into the shul for transporting their valuable documents.
Though she had achieved her goal, Gabby returned for a final confrontation with the august founder of Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Rabbi Olam v'Ed was still sitting, disconsolate among his students, dry and in silence after Chuck had left the building. "I will do everything in my power to see that this unfortunate episode ends here," she said before looking down at her watch. "In two minutes, the FBI is scheduled to make arrests, unless I declare my intention not to press charges."
"Vat was our bargain," Olam v'Ed came alive. "That was what you said," he repeated himself in alarm.
"I did, Rabbi, but I said something else you have eventually forgotten."
He looked frightened for the first time.
"You must address me as Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn."
His mouth opened in defiance to exhibit strong teeth, but closed again. His eyes shot up toward the Women's Balcony at the rear. "Go please, Rabbi Lewyn," he said in a low voice, barely heard by any but the disciples nearby. "Let us be finished with dis business."
She nodded in agreement. "It is finished, Rabbi Jeremiah Lieb Knishbacher, ben Wolf Issador Knishbacher, ben Moishe Lieb Knishbacher. You are welcome to come to Congregation Ohav Shalom and dance with your grandfather's Torah at any time. We will honor and respect it, as we respect your lineage and your history." She began to break off from him before a new thought occurred to her. "Or better yet, Rabbi Olam v'Ed, come and listen to one of our young people read from this scroll. For us, it isn't pas
ul, defective."
On the street outside Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah, FBI agents Phearson and Dellum expressed unenthusiastic congratulations for taking possession of the three Torahs, then used cell phones to tell their superiors in Washington. From the FBI's point of view, little had been accomplished. Any arrest made would have shown up on the Hate Crime Division's record. But as things turned out, neither the Department nor its agents could claim a success. And someone was bound to be critical of the cost for the investigation. One by one, the black vans pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Chuck gently packed the three Torahs into his rented Dodge van and waited for Gabby. She quickly debriefed Claudia Dellum who wrote copiously in her notebook.
In the van headed to LaGuardia, Gabby suddenly changed the subject by asking, "I did ask you to bring a toothbrush, didn't I?"
Chuck had just turned onto Astoria Boulevard. "If you did, I don't recall," he said.
"Well, we're going to stay at the airport tonight to bring this sad affair to a conclusion tomorrow morning. I'd like you to catch a plane first thing in the morning to Greensboro and return a Torah to Adat Israel. I'll call the rabbi from our hotel to give her a heads-up. And I'll fly to Buffalo with Beth Torah's scroll. The sooner they're returned, the easier it will be to keep what happened under wraps. Frankly, I'm worried. Too many people already know. Somebody is likely to talk with the press and when they do, you know whose neck will be under the guillotine blade."
Chuck didn't look pleased, but heavy traffic building near the airport temporarily distracted him. "What hotel?" he asked.
"There's a Shearaton nearby."
"Have they a restaurant because I'm famished? I want you to tell me over a good bottle of wine exactly what that sonovabitch Olam v'Ed looked like when you called his bluff."
"If you promise not to say a word, I'll tell you a secret."
"Have I ever abused your trust, moi, discretion personified?"
"I now believe that back in the 1950s when the Holocaust Torahs were distributed, errors were made. The commission failed to consider historic sensitivities. I'm not saying Ohav Shalom hasn't made good use of its Torah. Only that the right of ownership is suspect."