Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest

by Roger Herst

That evening, she returned to her hotel, exhausted but inspired. Sooner or later, she was bound to get access into Tim's software. Itamar came by, and after a beer at the bar, they went to her room where they could talk in private.

  He waited until she had reported on her day before saying, "Forensic tests in the police lab came back today. They confirm that the bullet casing found in the desert originated from an Uzi. The forensic examiner has not yet determined if Tim and the Bedouin were shot by the same weapon. The police now have both a bullet and a casing. If they match, they'll search their database for the weapon. And, if necessary, they can expand this search internationally through Interpol."

  "I've been thinking, Iti," she said. "The major made it clear that he didn't think the government would interfere with the Bedouin. So who cares if the bullets came from the same gun? Don't we already know who murdered Tim?"

  "Do we? I've talked with a friend who has worked in the desert for many years and knows the Bedouin. I asked him if they use Uzis and he said it wasn't their preferred weapon. They got used to Lee Enfield rifles the Brits left them after World War II. Enfields aren't as efficient as Uzis at close range, but they're far better for distance shooting in the desert."

  "Do you think Bedouin did it?"

  "This is Zabronski's case. He knows the region and its people. And besides, we know there were two deaths. Can we be sure there was only one killer?"

  Gabby and Itamar had early morning meetings, so they stopped talking before midnight and said goodnight with what was intended to be an affectionate hug. Before releasing each other, his lips slipped over her cheek and pressed gently against hers. She released him, pushing back long enough to recall Hamlet's rebuke to his mother for not letting the bed sheets cool before sleeping with her husband's brother. Was Tim's presence still too fresh to feel physical affection for another man?

  She stepped back, but returned a moment later to touch her lips against his cheek. She wanted to curl into his embrace but turned away and opened the door for him to leave.

  ***

  When an ambulance and social worker returned Rabbi Schreiber to his home three days later, he was eager to resume work. Gabby suspected that, despite living a life under the strictest sexual regimentation, he had always been something of a ladies' man and that this inclination had not disappeared even in his twilight years. When she would lean over his shoulder to speak near his ear, he seemed to enjoy the physical closeness. Nor was it unusual for him to grasp her arm and hold on while playfully testing her knowledge of Torah.

  Rather than invent a new modus operandi, she purposely duplicated Tim's method of reading out phrases, then individual words. Schreiber would listen attentively, often ask for a spelling, scribble letters in Hebrew, then fall into silence before providing a modern Hebrew rendition. At Tim's laptop, Gabby would enter Schreiber's interpretation and commentary into the unsecured existing database.

  "You're faster than Timothy," he said cautiously during a break, not wishing to lavish more praise than due.

  "I think I know more Hebrew and Aramaic than he did," she said. "He was exceptionally talented with languages, but he studied Hebrew and Aramaic late in life. I've been using Hebrew since my bat mitzvah." When she mentioned this ceremony, Schreiber registered his discomfort with an unabashed grunt. She skirted the sexist focus of Orthodox rituals by continuing, "While you were in the hospital, I've been experimenting with Tim's software. I'm excited because I can now do preliminary sorting. Merging the fragments is something different entirely."

  Schreiber cut her off, "But you won't have a clear picture until all the words and phrases are entered."

  "You're right, of course," Gabby conceded. "Partial assemblies can be misleading. This is going to take patience."

  That evening, before the social worker returned to serve Schreiber dinner and later to bathe him, he pulled himself to his feet and managed to maintain an uneasy balance. A whimsical smile expanded his lips, surrounded by thick, gray whiskers. "But, Gabrielle, we don't have the original fragments. So in the end, does it matter what we do here?"

  The question took her by surprise, but she rallied. "Matter? Why of course it matters. We've already confirmed that there was a fire at Ein Arugot. Our fragments should tell us more."

  "But who will believe you? Won't archeologists at the university question if the fragments from Timothy's computer come from genuine documents? How can you prove it?" "Do you think Tim would have sacrificed his life for counterfeits? Remember, whoever has the originals also believes they're genuine."

  "The people who ransacked your apartment, perhaps?"

  "Yes. Probably the same ones who killed Tim."

  "Then you're also in danger, yes?"

  "They know I don't have what they want. Nobody but you knows I'm here, and there's no reason to broadcast it. Let's say you're now my guardian."

  "But won't you want others to know about these documents?"

  "Of course, someday. How could I withhold this historical record?" she said, putting on her coat and turning to the door.

  Before she left, he said, "Timothy refused to tell me who has the originals. Do you know?"

  "Of course not."

  Since his latest hospital stay, Schreiber's naps had become more frequent, giving Gabby time to work on Tim's code. It was trial and error, mostly error. The smallest keystroke would spell failure, and there was no way of knowing how close or how far she was from assembling the words Schreiber had deciphered into intelligible verses. As the database grew, she felt the goal slipping away because, in the end, if you couldn't make sense of the data, they were worthless.

  There were times when she considered seeking help from a software expert, but that notion had to be resisted. On several occasions, Tim had conceded to her that his primary contribution to Fragments from the Dead Sea Scrolls had been his code not his scholarship, a code she had come to believe would have tested even an experienced and extremely talented software maven. But more importantly, how could she ask a computer expert for help and still keep Rav Schreiber's identity secret?

  A breakthrough occurred unexpectedly. It happened at the end of a long workday when Gabby felt particularly drained. Instead of leaving Schreiber to join Itamar for dinner, she laid her head on the desktop and let herself fall asleep, a habit she had developed as an undergraduate studying in the University of Michigan library. But remembering that she had planned to meet Itamar at his office, she bolted awake, her eyes fixed on the laptop screen. At that moment, it dawned on her that Tim would not have taken a chance that he would forget an essential password. It had to be hidden somewhere. But where?

  The following morning, before Rav Schreiber was ready to tackle more fragments, she found a way into Tim's software, not through the program itself, but via its biography. Now only one password blocked the final entry portal. The program prompts provided a single clue, asking for eight numbers or letters. That looked to her like a proper name, but MATTERNLY had nine letters. She immediately experimented with the obvious: proper names, initials, birthplaces and mother's maiden names. None worked. She was convinced that the password had to be something simple enough for Tim to remember, no matter what. And since he was not particularly good at recalling people's names, she turned her attention to places spelled with eight letters.

  JERUSALEM possessed nine and CHICAGO only seven. NEW BEDFORD, ten. She knew she was grasping for straws, stabbing wildly until it occurred to her that Tim, a New Testament scholar, would naturally gravitate to familiar and easily remembered passages from the Gospels. To pursue this train of thought, a chain-reference Bible with an index to the Scripture's Atlas, proved invaluable. It helped her to see at a glance the number of letters for each geographic location, ruling out immediately GALILEE with seven characters and HEBRON with only six. But NAZARETH possessed the correct number.

  To save time, she punched NAZARETH into the screen prompt and returned to survey the index for additional place names that might work. There were also
eight letters to PILIPPII and TIBERIAS. She was about to replace NAZARETH with PILIPPII when an unsolicited screen popped up, prompting her to move through two supplementary screens. From then on, Tim had programmed into his software explanatory notes, prompting a program to bring together linguistic subjects, predicates, adverbs, adjectives and adverbs in a logical order. Additional screens assembled the results into clusters, according to their subject matter.

  Rav Schreiber woke from a nap to share her elation. Both felt as if everything they had done together had led to this moment. Gabby was so exhilarated, she lost track of time, forgetting that she had promised to call Itamar about dinner. In order to see the first assemblage, she spoke with Schreiber about staying through that evening and returning home later. But the rabbi encouraged her to leave and return refreshed in the morning. Their work could wait a few short hours longer.

  Knowing that he was right, she phoned Itamar with profuse apologies for not calling earlier.

  He failed to conceal his exasperation, saying, "At this hour, it's too late for dinner."

  "Tim's software is working," she interrupted him. "I'm sorry I forgot to call, but suddenly I broke through the barrier. I'm now getting text that are readable."

  "You're what?" he exclaimed, his shortness succumbing to his astonishment.

  "Yes, Iti. There's nothing readable yet. But it's certain to come soon. I just got carried away."

  "I'd say this calls for a celebration. I'll meet you wherever you want for a drink. We'll find something to eat later."

  During the next three weeks, the process of entering phrases and words into Tim's software accelerated at a frantic pace. Single letters proved easy to enter, but unrewarding because to place them into a word required an element of faith, not scholarship. As they came close to assembling the early data, Gabby asked Schreiber if he had a sense of where their work was headed.

  "Of course," he said, exuding his characteristic confidence. He mumbled, as if a whisper would maintain the secrecy of their enterprise. "Christians won't like this. They already blame Jews for killing Christos; now they'll hate us for murdering him a second time. They don't like us working on documents they think belong to them."

  The suggestion caught her off-guard, sounding almost blasphemous. "Qumran was on the outskirts of Jewish territory in the first century. The yeshiva at Ein Arugot was definitely in eastern Judea. There's a good chance that all the students there were Jews. How can Christians take umbrage when this was unquestionably a discovery involving our ancestors?"

  "Have you considered that one name on our list may coincide with an important person?"

  "Who's that?"

  "The name of Yahonatan. It might refer to John, the one who was known to baptize."

  She had thought about the association between Yahonatan and John the Baptist, but dismissed the idea. John was known as a baptizer and that required water. But the school at Ein Arugot was in the wilderness where water was scarce. It wasn't customary for Schreiber to speculate on matters affecting Christianity. Yet he had put an intriguing idea back on the table.

  ***

  Just when Schreiber and Gabby were making excellent progress, the rabbi suffered a third stroke, this time damaging his ability to speak. He could hear everything, but had difficulty expressing his thoughts. The social worker wanted to move him back to Sha-arey Zedek Hospital, but his physicians thought there was nothing to be gained by removing him from his home and beloved books. They assigned a nurse who served three additional patients in the neighborhood to monitor his general condition and administer a battery of medications.

  Gabby's fear that Schreiber would never recover sufficiently to resume their collaboration spurred her impatience to assemble the incomplete database he and Tim had created. Early the next morning, when he had yet to wake up for the day, she implemented techniques learned when the rabbi had last been in the hospital. "The smoke test," she repeatedly muttered while Tim's software sorted and merged Schreiber's input to date. Next came the question how much luck would it require duplicating Tim's success with Fragments from the Dead Sea Scrolls.

  What emerged in the first assemblages appeared to be little more than gibberish, a long and disconnected string of orphan words. Disappointment got the best of her, nurturing dark thoughts of defeat. But upon repeated analysis the output showed that the software, while not producing miracles, had at least fulfilled a portion of her expectations. After further study, she realized that critical merging decisions had yet to be made. It took four additional days to learn what they were and then experiment with possible solutions. At each step, she explained what she was doing to Rav Schreiber who nodded his head vertically when he agreed, and from side to side when he didn't.

  Then, late in the afternoon on the fourth day, when her fingers seemed to take over from their exhausted master, the first partial phrase appeared on the monitor, followed an instant later by a partial verse. She printed what seemed to be nine unconnected verses and placed the paper before Rav Schreiber, who read with intense concentration. He waved his left hand, imitating the motion of writing, a signal that he wanted a pen to edit the printout.

  Gabby returned twenty minutes later to find the rabbi asleep, but the paper marked with a series of progressive numbers. When she restructured the verse according to the sequence he offered, the words took on meaning. Slowly, scraps of parchment from Cave XII blossomed into a fresh view of life in the first century. Her hypothesis that the proper names founded in the fragments represented a roster of students was now confirmed by what appeared to be a curriculum of study! And to accompany this material, the following day’s text provided a code of conduct, along with a description of the daily routine at the Ein Arugot school.

  When Rav Schreiber awoke, he appeared unmoved by the magnitude of his scholarship. He had become accustomed to the idea of a yeshiva operating near the Dead Sea, and the fact that additional fragments confirmed this added little to his sense of achievement. Knowing Schreiber's time was short, she looked upon every hour she could keep him focused as a gift. A steady stream of readable documents encouraged her to contemplate a press release to share with the world a preliminary taste of Tim's discovery.

  Itamar was more circumspect, cautioning her to control her enthusiasm. Since the Antiquities Authority had not lost hope of retrieving the original fragments, its personnel did not want to deal with the press or the academic community. Itamar had seen dozens of scholars rush to publish the results of their research, only to learn later that their initial judgments were unwarranted. Academicians who dashed into print usually regretted their impatience. "Remember, Gabby," he said, "that while we may think your texts have profound implications, others will question their authenticity. People will always criticize scholars who work from unverified copies."

  "Tim wouldn't have been fooled by fakes," she repeated a tired mantra.

  "You knew him personally. Your critics might never have heard of him, much less read his book."

  She half-growled with sarcasm, "So, what do you suggest I do with this stuff? Bury it?"

  "Not at all. First, I recommend you finish what you've started. Refine it as best you can. In the meantime, my agency will keep searching for the originals. Look at it this way: It will take years for the academic world to tool up. At this point, you're light years ahead of everybody. What more of a head start do you need?"

  "It could be years before the originals turn up," she said, an edge still in her voice.

  "Okay, Gabrielle, then how about this? We have a committee of scholars who receive lucrative fees to consult with my agency. I've handpicked experts I can trust, who are also personal friends and will do just about anything I ask, including keeping absolute secrecy. Let me select four or five to share your preliminary results with. Let's give each of them a different set of fragments and then bring them to the Authority to hear their reactions. This could save you heartache later."

  Gabby wasn't convinced, but when the conversation ended, sh
e agreed to consider the proposal. Clearly, it wasn't her first choice. But in the end, she saw no practical alternative. A cautious approach to a potentially explosive subject seemed prudent. The only immediate danger was that, despite Itamar's assurances to the contrary, one or more of these scholars would leak her material to the press. But sooner or later, she knew, even that was inevitable. There was no way to keep a discovery of this magnitude secret for long.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  You could feel the anticipation in the conference room of the Antiquities Authority building on Rehov Davidson, within walking distance of the Israel Museum. Five of Itamar's colleagues had positioned themselves around a rectangular table, avoiding sustained conversations. By the time Gabby and Itamar arrived, the consultants had gotten over their surprise at discovering who else had been invited.

  In attendance were: Professor Thomas Dillingham, a Christian American holding the Guggenheim chair of archeology at the Hebrew University; Dr. Pincus Avraham, professor of ancient history at Tel Aviv University; Dr. Sarah Eisenhart, executive curator at the Israel Museum and a trustee of the Shrine of the Book; Rabbi Dr. Menachim Barak, professor of rabbinics at the Nelson Glueck School of Archeology at the Hebrew Union College; and Dr Daniel Stern, professor of ancient history and philosophy, Bar Elan University in Tel Aviv.

  Dr. Shmuel Navid, scientific director at the Antiquities Authority, formally greeted his colleagues in English because he knew Thomas Dillingham had not yet become fluent in Hebrew. Being a retiring man who disliked making speeches, he quickly turned the meeting over to Itamar, who surveyed those before him, including each individually, in his opening remarks.

  "You'll have to admit," he said, smiling to create a sense of camaraderie he anticipated might soon vanish, "that the texts presented to you by Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn, are extraordinary. You'll note from the memo she wrote about how these documents were found and assembled that the Antiquities Authority faces a great challenge. To be frank, we're uncertain how to proceed. That's why Shmuel and I have convened this meeting. We're seeking your advice. Rabbi Lewyn has agreed to answer your questions."