Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest

by Roger Herst

  Cross clapped his palms together, then laced his fingers with their manicured nails into a ball. "If you can pull this off, Gabby, that would be a great contribution. But I must caution you, the farther you go down this path, the more slippery it will become. My colleagues have a history of being tough with candidates who jump to conclusions they can't substantiate."

  "Are they jealous?"

  "You bet they are. No member of a faculty likes to admit that one of his students is either brighter or more creative than he is. So the easiest thing is to embarrass someone who thinks outside the box."

  "Should I be worried?" she asked.

  As he shifted his weight forward to signal that the interview was coming to an end, he said, "Of course. But knowing you, I very much doubt you will be. So to keep you from getting into too much trouble, I expect bi-weekly emails with detailed attachments. You're too promising a student to let fall into the abyss."

  Before leaving the Windy City, Gabby typed out four e-mail messages to Itamar, one focusing on her family in L.A., and another, her sadness at returning to the Chicago home she shared with Tim. The third described the memorial service for Tim's colleagues in Bond Chapel, and the last, her meeting with Dr. Cross. None were sent. Instead, she placed them in a computer file, stored in her private mailbox on the university's server, where she could dispatch them on future dates.

  She wanted to see Itamar upon returning to Jerusalem, but didn't know how to resume their friendship without revealing what she now knew about the contents of Cave XII. In the end, she decided to let no one but Rav Zechariah Schreiber know about her return. And that meant staying in a quiet hotel off the beaten track and not entering her Ussishkin Street apartment. She hoped to deceive Itamar by dispatching periodic e-mails from Chicago.

  Her whirlwind trip to the States ended with an over-night El Al flight to Tel Aviv.

  CHAPTER TEN

  To remain anonymous while in Jerusalem, Gabby booked a room at the American Colony Hotel in the predominately Arab neighborhood of Sheik Jarrah. From a nearby café, she called Rabbi Schreiber, but there was no answer. Three more calls that evening and one in the morning also failed to connect. There was no answering machine on his line, but she probably wouldn't have used it anyway. Though she would have preferred to make contact with him first by phone, there was no alternative but to venture into Mea She'arim.

  Dressed demurely, her arms and legs covered in a manner acceptable to the Orthodox and her hair tucked inside a gray beret, she set out for 46 Haydam Street. Knocks on the rabbi's door elicited no response. After several minutes, she knocked again, speculating that perhaps he was in the bathroom or, far worse, his health had failed. She rapped on a neighbor's door. A matronly woman in a faded bathrobe that had been washed too many times, her head covered with what reminded Gabby of a Sikh turban, opened the door but suspiciously closed it leaving only a crack from which to peer over a chain lock.

  "I'm looking for Rabbi Schreiber," Gabby addressed her in Hebrew.

  The woman failed to react and was about to close the door entirely when Gabby took a chance and fibbed. "I'm a relative from America."

  "Brooklyn?" the neighbor said, taking the bait. She closed the door to release the chain, then opened it wider, but blocked the entrance with her body. "Rabbi Schreiber has been taken to Sha-arey Zedek Hospital."

  "I hope it isn't serious."

  "At his age, everything is serious. He had a stroke and fell on the street. I think he suffered a concussion. How bad? That I couldn't tell you."

  "May I ask, how long ago this happened?" "Shabbos afternoon."

  "Will he recover?" "I haven't visited him, but my neighbor says he's lost movement in his legs. Has headaches. He was lucky."

  "Will he come home?” "Im yirtzeh ha-Shem, If God wills it," she replied, as though by eliciting the Almighty's omnipotence, nothing more needed to be said.

  Gabby noted the woman's impatience and thanked her, returning to the street to hail a taxi.

  At Sha-arey Zedek Hospital, she found Zechariah Schreiber in a four-bed ward, awkwardly propped on his elbow, attempting to read a book of rabbinical commentaries with a large magnifying glass. When he lifted his eyes from the lens, he appeared genuinely happy to have a visitor, though he showed no sign he recognized her. Perhaps, she thought, it was because she was now clothed like an Orthodox woman. Or was it the effects of sedation? When she whispered Tim's name near the old man's ear, he twirled a bony finger in a circle to signify that he now remembered.

  He spoke about his injury dispassionately, as though his fall had been in response to a command from Heaven rather than a human error. "It's ha-Shem, God, telling me to prepare," he declared in a voice loud enough for the other patients to overhear.

  "Are you going home?" Gabby asked.

  "Nobody talks to me here. I don't want to go to a place for sick people. I'd rather be with my books."

  "Can you still read them?" she asked, her tone empathetic.

  "Not well, but that isn't important. I already know what's in them," he said, smiling for the first time and pointing to his head. "I feared that my thoughts would disappear. They didn't. Baruch ha-Shem, thank God."

  "I'm interested in your work with Timothy. Could you explain it to me?"

  She noticed that he looked over his shoulder to see if the patient in the next bed was eavesdropping. He wagged his finger to caution against speaking loudly, then whispered, "Fragments. Many fragments in his computer."

  "Are you sure there were no original documents. I can't imagine he wouldn't want to work from originals."

  "His copies weren't exactly on a computer," he replied, "but on two disks he carried in his pocket. He bought a small computer in a shop nearby, then all the words and letters showed up on the screen. These new machines. I don't know them. Timothy told me to give you everything. All the fragments he put into his computer. And a single scroll written in Greek, and a letter for you."

  She took note of the lone Greek scroll, but at the moment was thinking more of Tim and said, "His work must not be lost. He wrote me when I was in the States, saying how important his discovery was. When you're feeling better, I'd like to see what you've done together. Perhaps I can be helpful."

  The idea seemed to elude him because he asked, "Do you know why Timothy was murdered?”

  "No. Do you?"

  "Something to do with the Greek scroll. Timothy and I translated it and learned a surprising thing."

  Gabby's curiosity soared. Maybe this was what Tim had alluded to with the discovery of a lifetime. "What was so unusual?"

  "It told about a yeshiva in the desert, far south of the caves at Qumran. Timothy became excited and wanted to visit the site, though he told me it was unlikely he'd find the exact location. A cousin of mine let him use his Volkswagen. The newspapers said Timothy was found in the Negev, but they were vague about the exact location. It was near a spring west of the Dead Sea with the ancient name of Ein Arugot."

  "I know that the army found an abandoned Volkswagen. Did they return it to your cousin?"

  "No. When he learned that Tim had been killed, he reported the loss. He owns the car but can't use it. The police won't even tell him when he can get it back."

  "I'm sorry. It's sounds most distressing. Did Tim leave any maps?"

  "I'm not sure. He had many papers."

  "Have you shown the scroll to anyone?"

  "Timothy and I agreed not to speak about this work to others."

  She wanted to make contact with the old man by touching his hand, but, knowing the Orthodox prohibition against physical contact with unmarried females, restrained herself. "Do you have enough strength to continue with Tim’s work, I mean when you're feeling better?"

  "God willing," he responded as if the thought of completing a scholarly task gave him a fresh sense of purpose.

  "If you'll permit me to return to the hospital tomorrow, we'll get better acquainted. If God wills it, perhaps you'll trust me to help."


  When he failed to acknowledge her suggestion, she took that to mean that he did not want her to come back. But surprisingly, he whispered, "Rav Lewyn?" as though he were testing the idea of her being a rabbi. She was about to leave when he said, "It is not I who must trust you, Rav Lewyn, but you who must trust me."

  An expression of puzzlement crossed her face.

  "Because I know the words and phrases from these fragments," he said with a teasing glance, his eyes dancing with youthful mirth. His index finger, gnarled with arthritis, rose from the bed to wag. "How would you know if I make a mistake?"

  ***

  It took eight days before Rav Schreiber was released from Sha-arey Zedek and two more before he felt strong enough to receive Gabby at home. She arrived heavily clothed to avoid suspicion of sexual impropriety, even with an eighty-two year old widower, nearly crippled by a fall on the street, and, most probably at his advanced age, incontinent and impotent. When she arrived, the rabbi was seated beside Tim’s HP laptop, connected by a cable to a printer, exactly as Tim had left them before his fatal journey.

  A home health aide and housekeeper ordered by the hospital's social worker had already come and gone, leaving behind frozen kosher meals to heat in a small microwave oven, also on loan from the hospital. Schreiber offered Gabby fresh peaches on a cracked plate still dusted with crumbs from a previous meal. In his kitchen, she made a pot of the strong Italian coffee he preferred, then watched as he struggled to control an unsteady hand while lifting a cup of it from the saucer to his lips.

  At the first opportunity, Gabby searched for a translation of the Greek scroll Schreiber believed was responsible for Tim's death. The text was not easily found amid reams of paper that had emerged from Tim’s printer. Schreiber helped by rummaging through individual sheets, reading portions then assigning them new homes atop different piles that reminded Gabby of scattered tombstones. He tired before locating the scroll and was forced to call a recess. In the meantime, she booted up Tim’s laptop to learn what was stored on the C-drive. There were more than three thousand entries, but Tim's proprietary software blocked access to many.

  When he awoke from his nap, Schreiber discovered the modern Hebrew rendition of the Greek scroll, beside which both he and Tim had penned English translations. Gabby read first the English, then the Hebrew. Was this the discovery of a lifetime? Upon a second reading, she came to the same conclusion that Tim had. Fearing the wrath of foreign gods, Romans had usually refrained from interfering with the religious customs of the peoples they governed. They asserted their authority only when threatened or when their subjects refused to pay taxes. Obviously, this remote yeshiva at Ein Arugot was no ordinary school. And since the Greek scroll was found among other Hebrew and Aramaic fragments, not at Ein Arugot but north at Qumran, they were very likely related.

  Gabby's reaction paralleled Tim's in another way. Just as it had stirred his curiosity to visit the proposed site, so it instilled the same passion in her, demanding she revisit her earlier decision to keep Itamar Arad out of the loop. While initially wishing to work with Rav Schreiber in secret, she no longer felt that practical. The time had come to share with Itamar contents of the Greek scroll.

  ***

  On the phone, she expected Itamar to be more annoyed with her than he sounded. In their conversation, he mentioned, but did not dwell on, the e-mails sent from Chicago, leading him to believe that she was still in the States. But contrary to her expectations, he seemed genuinely happy to have her back. Instead of a rebuke, he said, "To tell you the truth, Gabrielle, I wasn't sure I'd see you before autumn, if then. Jerusalem must be filled with unpleasant memories."

  "And many pleasant ones as well," she replied. Then, making a peace offering, she added, "Like our friendship, Iti. You've helped me deal with a terrible loss. And that couldn't have been easy. I appreciate how our friendship presents a conflict of interest with your work. I've forced you to walk a delicate line."

  "If you had trusted me, we might have arrested Tim before he was murdered."

  "We've been through this station before. I couldn't tell you because I knew Tim wasn't a thief, much less a murderer."

  "Very noble, but as a result, he's dead, the government doesn't have the stolen documents from Cave XII, and the academic community has lost a giant. To add insult to injury, the Ministry is now on my tail, big time. If I don't make some progress very soon, you may be dealing with a new antiquities director."

  "That makes me feel more like a louse than I am," Gabby said. "I made bad decisions."

  Itamar didn't like the direction of their conversation and changed the subject. "I know that you're not staying at your apartment on Ussishkin Street. Are you with friends?"

  "No. I've taken a room at the American Colony Hotel."

  "That's just great!" he said caustically. "You're an intelligent woman, but sometimes you lack common sense. By last count, the American Colony houses a dozen spies from at least six countries. You still don't seem to understand the danger you're in. Tim’s killer obviously wanted something he believes you have. I can't trust you because you've given me at least a half-dozen reasons not to. But while you were gone, I gambled that you might return and converted my daughter's bedroom into a guest room. I'd rather you stayed in my home than the American Colony."

  "So you can keep watch over me?"

  "Well, yes. Somebody has to. You can come and go as you please. The kitchen is yours because I'm hopeless with anything more complicated than scrambled eggs."

  "No, Iti. I can't do that. And you can't afford to let me. I've screwed things up enough here. But I'm not going to give your bosses reason to fire you. Those kind of friends you don't need."

  "If I'm going to be terminated anyway, it won't matter. You can't stay at the American Colony. Is there another place?"

  "On the sixth day of creation, God created hotels for vagabonds like me."

  The following morning, Gabby moved from the American Colony to the King's Hotel. Itamar stopped by that evening for a drink. In the lobby bar, over a glass of Claret from a small winery on the Golan Heights, she added details to her e-mails from the States, narrating Tim’s funeral in New Bedford and conversations with her advisors at the University of Chicago. The excellent wine helped them bridge their difference until she volunteered,

  "Tim e-mailed me in Chicago before I came looking for him here in Jerusalem to say he had made the discovery of a lifetime."

  "Have you an idea what he referred to?"

  "No. I assume it was something found in Cave XII."

  "Some of us are old enough to remember what happened in the Christian world when scrolls from Cave IV were first published. E. B. White predicted in The New Yorker that the Essenes meant the beginning of the end for modern Christianity. He thought historians would prove that Jesus was a member of this monastic sect, not a living god. White was wrong. Archeology will never erase two thousand years of church doctrine. Nothing we dig up will ever uproot Christian faith. It's too strong and too embedded. What else haven't you told me?"

  "Something important, but it's so sensitive that I must ask you to promise not to tell anyone. You'll just have to trust me that it won't help you find the stolen artifacts. Or further Major Zabronski's murder investigation."

  "What investigation?" he snapped. "Zabronski's department is dragging its feet. Tell me what's so important."

  "Do I have your pledge?"

  "That depends, now doesn't it? The day you arrived from Chicago, I asked for an unconditional pact of secrecy. You declined because you didn't know the nature of the secret. The same with me now. Tell me, and I'll do my best, but this is no absolute pledge."

  That gave her pause for thought until she blurted out, "I know who Tim's collaborator is. The same person who helped him on his book. I always believed it would be someone with a profound understanding of ancient Hebrew and Aramaic."

  "Who?"

  "I can't reveal his name. He approached me before Tim's memorial service. He's a To
rah scholar here in Jerusalem. A deeply religious man. I give you my word he's neither seen nor touched an original text. According to him, Tim never had any original documents. They worked together entirely from computer scans. I'm not sure if Tim ever paid him more than pocket money. As far as I can tell, it's simply a labor of love. All he's asked of me in return for his help is anonymity."

  "So you want me to believe that Tim didn't possess original documents and he was working solely from digital copies?"

  "Yes. That's what I understand."

  "Then someone else has the originals?"

  "That's a logical conclusion."

  Gabby paused to let her disclosure settle in before excusing herself to retrieve something from her room. She returned a few minutes later with the modern Hebrew translation of the Ein Arugot scroll and presented it to Itamar. He snatched a pair of reading glasses from his breast pocket and, when they were perched low on his nose, read the document slowly, saying nothing. Before rereading it, he exhaled air that he had inadvertently held in his lungs during the initial perusal.

  To fill the silence, Gabby said, "This is from the scans from Cave XII. Tim's collaborator told me that this is the only scroll Tim had intact. All other texts are fragments. Over four thousand of them. And this is the only Greek one in the entire lot. I was told that Tim went to look for Ein Arugot in a VW. There's a chance he left behind some maps. If I can find them, I want you to take me there."

  Itamar stripped off his reading glasses, folded them carefully before returning them to his shirt pocket, and taking his time before saying, "You never cease to amaze me. Why would you want to go into the desert? It's hot and rugged. And if there's any truth to this scroll, there certainly nothing worth seeing."

  "Wouldn't you want to know where your lover died? Didn't you visit the Palace Hotel after your family was murdered?"

  "That's a low blow and you know it."

  "Well, didn't you?" "Of course I did. And when I'm in Tel Aviv, I still drive north to say Kaddish on the beach nearby. But that's a lot different from traveling in the central Negev these days."