by Roger Herst
"I won't rule anything out, but you can see, my mind is elsewhere."
"Then in Washington for certain. I'll call you. This is much, much bigger than the eighth Congressional District, Raab-bi."
***
Asa, who was notoriously negligent about carrying his cell phone, was unreachable at the Washington Hospital Center. At 8:16 p.m. Gabby left the Greenbrier in her forest-green Volvo prepared for a long night of driving. Interstate 94 through the Allegheny Mountains was dark and sparsely traveled. This, she knew, was Civil War country where Stonewall Jackson beat off McClellen's invaders in 1862, but also where, two years later, Lee's ragged and exhausted Army of Northern Virginia surrendered their rebellion to Grant's Army of the Potomac. At night, it could have been Anywhere, USA. She arrived at her Bethesda home a few minutes past midnight, too late to call Asa, and she climbed into bed knowing that in the morning, the tragedy was certain to dominate the mood of Shabbat worship. Many hard questions about Ohav Shalom's role were certain to arise.
Three years Gabby's junior, Asa Graham Folkman had originally trained to become a concert pianist, but careers seldom follow a lineal plan. In order to pay expenses while trying to make a living from his music, he played the organ at Reform synagogues, sometimes conducting the choirs, or chanting the Orthodox liturgy in a froggy voice never destined for cantorial stardom. Fearful that he couldn't make an honorable living as a musician on the concert stage, he eventually enrolled in the School of Sacred Music at the Hebrew Union College to become a cantor. But his first assignment, working under a rabbi resentful of his inventiveness, convinced him that he would be more effective as a rabbi and switched to the rabbinical program. His first years in the rabbinate were spent overseas as a Navy chaplain ministering to Marines assigned to various peacekeeping duties in the Third World. He never personally witnessed combat, but served with many who did. To fill long hours of boredom in remote locations, he began composing music, sometimes on a guitar and sometimes on a piano; when no instruments were available, he whistled.
Artistic by nature, Asa possessed an entirely different personality than his pompous, sometimes arrogant predecessor, Dov Shellenberg. In contrast, Asa lacked guile or duplicity, something Gabby attributed to his having grown up in a family with four siblings. Few rabbis were as musically accomplished and humanly nurturing. Fortunately, his talent did not intimidate Cantor Reuben Blass who, thrilled to work with someone with a profound appreciation for music, enjoyed a close partnership in the creation of new liturgy. Gossip circulated through the congregation about an amorous relationship between Asa and Gabby, despite their age differential. Both felt the eyes of congregants searching for signs of this intimacy. When congregants asked Gabby about Asa's private life, she would mount an ambiguous, rakish smile and cock her head to let them know that she would not admit the matter for discussion. An extremely private individual, Asa felt no obligation to reveal an ongoing relationship with a plastic surgeon on the medical staff of Georgetown University Hospital.
***
Gabby arrived at Ohav Shalom a few minutes past 8 a.m. to find a note taped to the outside of her office door. The bold handwriting belonged to Harold Farb, Ohav Shalom's Executive Director of twenty years.
GABBY THEY SAID YOU HAD CHECKED OUT OF THE GREENBRIER
YOUR CELL PHONE IS NOT RESPONDING
PLEASE CALL STANLEY MELKIN ASAP. EXTREMELY URGENT!
HAROLD
A founding partner in Cook, Melkin & Serinovick – a well-established legal partnership catering to clients doing business with the federal government – Stanley Melkin, Esq., a studious, over-achieving workaholic with a residual love for Judaism, was completing his second term as President of Congregation Ohav Shalom. Growing up in Battle Creek, Michigan, where the Jewish population was so small it could barely sustain a synagogue and cemetery, he cherished the vitality of Washington's dynamic Jewish community. Unlike many of his ambitious colleagues who horded wealth for a rainy day, Stan continuously donated a large portion of his substantial earnings to the United Jewish Appeal and sustained an unflattering reputation for strong-arming fellow lawyers into following his example. This heavy-handedness cost him several close friends.
When his wife, Dottie, routed Gabby's call to his home office, he said, "Rabbi, sorry I can't be present at services this morning. Got a hearing in court Monday that will keep me at my desk all weekend."
"Did you hear about the Morgenstern sisters?" Gabby asked, hoping to see him that morning and discuss what was known.
"Cy Wolfe called me. And that's why I wanted to talk with you immediately. Cy told me the family is in a bad state. David Morgenstern blames you and Asa. That's absolutely unacceptable. No one but a suffering father would dare accuse you guys of responsibility for this tragedy."
"Good to hear you say it, Stan."
A slight pause occurred in which each party waited for the other to speak. Stan filled this hiatus by clearing his throat. "You understand, Rabbi, that I'm a litigator by trade. If I may boast a bit, I understand not only the structure of personal injury lawsuits but the motivations behind them. I believe Ohav is vulnerable. To play safe, it would be wise if you and Asa didn't make any statements about the Morgenstern girls."
The suggestion took her by surprise. "May I ask why?"
"We don't know what's in David's mind. But if he's hurting, and I'm sure he is, it's not beyond the realm of possibility to sue the Temple. There are going to be heavy medical bills. Extraordinary education costs. A suit for damages is not unimaginable. At this point, there's no reason to believe that will happen, but lawyers are cautious by nature. We try to control situations before they become unmanageable. I know people will ask about the Morgensterns. I wouldn't be surprised if the media gets involved. There isn't the slightest doubt in my mind that ambulance-chasing lawyers will point out the possibilities to David. Who knows where that might lead? All I'm saying is, let's not chum the water and attract piranhas. I'm having Harold Farb investigate our insurance coverage for Errors and Omissions."
Gabby hid the full extent of her bewilderment. "Is there really a chance that the synagogue might be sued?"
"Stranger things have happened."
"What should we say if asked?" "Comment on the personal tragedy. Say your heart is with the girls and their family."
"What about mentioning our instruction in holiday rituals, including lighting Chanukah candles?" "Avoid it."
"I'm planning to visit the hospital after services this morning. Asa was there through the entire night."
"I advise against that," Stan shot back. "It can produce nothing good, but could be damaging."
She needed to think about that for a moment before replying, "I'm sorry, but you're infringing upon a rabbinical prerogative. A rabbi cannot avoid the mitzvah of visiting the sick because there is the remote possibility of a lawsuit. As the President of Ohav, are you ordering us not to go?" "Absolutely not," he said. "I am only recommending that you don't. The final decision belongs with you and the congregation must respect your decision."
"Thanks," she said, somehow not believing him. "Unless I receive a thunderbolt from the Almighty, I'm going. I can't speak for Asa."
"Do a cost-risk analysis first, Gabby."
"We're talking about human lives here, Stan, not commodities. Besides, David will be less likely to sue if he sees that his rabbis share his pain."
When the conversation ended, she felt not only alone but vulnerable.
The moment Asa entered the robing room, he enwrapped long arms around her in a hug. Unlike Dov Shellenberg, he was a physical man, not shy about embracing and kissing women of the congregation. While she knew physical touching departed from a code of professionalism, she nevertheless experienced a certain enjoyment in it. With Dov Shellenberg, there was no physical contact and virtually no personal warmth. The thought of warning Asa about touching women had often crossed her mind, but nothing came of it. Like herself, women seemed to like his affections and no complaints h
ad been brought to her attention. Because unpleasant memories of Seth Greer's dalliances lingered about Ohav Shalom, she believed Asa's physicality to be like a prescription drug, potentially dangerous, yet therapeutic.
"It's bad, Gabby," he said to her. "Worse than you might think. I was at the Hospital Center most of the night, but David and Laura refused to see me. I sat in the waiting room hoping they'd change their minds."
"What's the medical situation?"
"Janean is on the critical list. Doctors don't know whether she'll survive. She could leave us any time."
"What about Tybee?"
"Much better. She'll need heavy-duty reconstruction but her life isn't threatened."
"Has anyone mentioned how the fire started?"
"It's still a mystery. Janean is too badly burned to talk and Tybee hasn't said a word yet. A female resident doctor told me that shock sometimes does that to kids. They just stop talking. Speech usually returns later."
She pushed back from him. "Are you all right?"
He looked like someone who had spent a sleepless night in a hospital waiting room. A shaving razor had made perfunctory swipes over his face, bypassing several patches of whiskers. His comb had failed to arrest a rebellious colic. He shook his head, sighing, "I don't understand this, Gabby. I just don't understand it."
She closed the distance to him again and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I don't understand either. We'll talk after the service."
"I'm returning to the hospital this afternoon."
"That's not necessary, Asa. It looks as though you need some industrial strength rest. This is my responsibility now."
"I was the one who taught the girls. You've got enough tzoris without this."
"Stan Melkin and I spoke this morning. He thinks there could be legal ramifications."
"What kind?" he asked in a voice filled with suspicion.
"A personal injury suit against the synagogue. It hasn't happened and most likely won't. I doubt David Morgenstern would want something like this. But you know how cautious Stan is."
She sidestepped to regard his expression. His very light brown, almost blond hair receded beyond a strong brow and penetrating dark eyes. He possessed heavy whiskers but had never tried to look more rabbinical by growing a beard. That, she attributed to his days in the Marine Corps.
"All the more reason for me to visit the girls this afternoon."
"I'm afraid I'm going to pull rank on you, friend. I'm told that David is angry."
"I can handle him," Asa's tone strengthened with determination. "It's not necessary for you to run interference for me. Let David punch me if he wants. I probably deserve it."
"You definitely don't deserve it. The fact that you were the primary contact with the girls is absolutely incidental. I would have done exactly what you did. The rabbis of this congregation are a team. You were on the court last night. It's time for a replacement. If my premonition is correct, we'll need our combined strength for this one."
"If we're a team, let's go to the hospital together."
She was about to deny his request when choral voices from the sanctuary permeated the robing room. Cantor Reuben Blass' full tenor voice opened the service with Psalm 113.
Soon after the introductory hymns, Asa introduced a special prayer for the recovery of the Morgenstern girls, then tried to refocus his attention on the Bat-Mitzvah of Miranda Goldsmith. Though no mention was made of a long night at the Washington Hospital Center and the Greenbrier Hotel, the congregation understood that both rabbis were physically and mentally drained. Cantor Blass, steady as always, filled noticeable gaps in the liturgy with musical interludes.
After Shabbat worship, Reuben, Asa, and Gabby moved toward the robing room to shed their clerical gowns. Gabby's secretary, Chuck Browner, was waiting for them in the alcove.
She greeted him with a Shabbat kiss on the cheek, a tad more intimate than the multitude of kisses she shared with other congregants and friends. "You're not supposed to be working on the weekend."
"Right – except when there's a fire. I heard a report about the Morgenstern girls on NPR radio. The station identified you as the family's rabbi. With your visibility around town, I reckoned it wouldn't be long before the press sets an ambush and I wasn't wrong. A couple of communication trucks are parked outside the shul right now. Vultures are already circling the wagon train."
"I don't want to talk with the media," she almost barked her displeasure.
He extended his arms in front and pointed his palms and fingers upward in a theatrical gesture imitating a policeman. "Consider this august institution protected by a cordon sanitaire. No one gets inside without either a black eye or a broken camera… or both."
She grinned at him in the playful manner they often shared. "You'd resort to violence in this holy place of worship?"
"Absolutely not. Wouldn't think of it. But I would haul the intruders onto the sidewalk first, then show 'em what a Jewish fegallah can do."
"I didn't know you were a professional bouncer."
"I employ the element of surprise. Nobody expects to be pummeled by a gay. If you hadn't noticed, we're on the warpath these days. I spend a lot of time in the gym making myself more beautiful than the average flabby on the street."
Friends and family congratulating Miranda Goldsmith on her Bat Mitzvah filled the high-vaulted marble-lined sanctuary foyer. As Gabby and Asa circulated, many hands reached out to shake theirs with Shabbat greetings. Most congregants learned of the Morgenstern tragedy from opening remarks and prayers offered by Asa. The moment services ended, people wanted to talk about it. The Goldsmith family nachas awkwardly intruded upon this solemnity and Gabby had to remind herself that joys and sorrow are often mixed together. As she moved toward the Goldsmith family to extend a mazel tov, she hid her gloom, thinking it wrong for one family's sadness to undermine another's joy. She took personal pleasure in having developed a talent for acting. This morning she was going to need it.
Later, in the Meyeroff Social Hall at a reception in honor of Miranda, Asa introduced family members to Hebrew blessings over wine and challah. Gabby noticed how he was encircled by admirers, mostly pubescent girls. The humor that usually peppered his conversation was gone and his high-pitched giggle silent.
Chuck Browner, who possessed an instinct for Gabby's needs, stepped alongside to assist her escape. In the corridor outside her study, a blond woman with a slender figure above the waist and mushrooming hips below, blocked their path. Her face was vaguely familiar from the evening television news. Her features were symmetrical and appealing, perfect for presentation on screen. "Rabbi Lewyn," she shuffled forward, forcing Gabby to stop. "I'm Sibyl Tempkin from WTTL and would like to ask you a few questions about the Morgenstern girls."
Gabby threw a look of exasperation in Chuck's direction before providing a canned response. "Sorry, Ms. Tempkin. This is the Sabbath and I don't give interviews on the Lord's holy day. “Sibyl Tempkin – for whom Sunday, not Saturday, had always been the Lord's day – rallied. "Without sounding disrespectful, I fail to understand how answering questions violates anything. Particularly if you can tell us how God could permit a tragedy like what happened to the Morgenstern children."
From the opposite end of the corridor, a two-man TV camera crew trotted forward to assist their newscaster. "My God," Chuck exclaimed, stepping forward to block them. "Through a small fissure enters a troop of street rats! The fortress has been breached! Sound the alarm! All hands to battle stations! All hands to battle stations!"
"They say that Chanukah candles started the fire that burned the Morgenstern girls. Is that true, Rabbi?" Sybil Tempkin appeared unaffected by Gabby's dismissal.
What patience Gabby possessed failed. "How should I know? I wasn't there. The papers know more than me. Ask the Fire Department."
As a cameramen positioned himself to begin shooting, Chuck angled around the newswoman. "Please don't," he said while planting a wide palm before the lens of a shoulder-held camera. "It's
extremely rude to take pictures without permission. Particularly when you barged into this synagogue without invitation. We're asking you to leave immediately."
When the lead cameraman tried to reposition his lens, Chuck took an aggressive step forward. "Apparently, what I said didn't shame you. This is a religious sanctuary and you're trespassing. If and when the rabbi wants to talk with you, she will. Now if you don't want this extremely reasonable model of deportment to become a snarling pit bull, stop right now." He pointed down the corridor for the camera team to retreat. "By the way, please refresh my memory about your station?"
"WTTL," the woman said.
"Good, we'll know in the future which channel to avoid."
Gabby scooted around the cameraman who, sufficiently chastised, did not realign his viewfinder. Chuck followed.
When a safe distance away, she tugged at his arm, "Thanks for the rescue. You have a great sense of timing."
He snuggled closer. "Been working for you for more than ten years now, Rabbi Gabby. You have a penchant for getting into trouble and the press thrives on it. Besides, if I'm not wrong, you'll be making a visit to the Hospital Center this afternoon. I've got wheels. You'll need company. This won't be a joyous occasion."
"Thanks, but it isn't necessary. Asa wants to go with me."
"I'm happy to accompany you both."
"It's the weekend. We have a full-blown rabbinical emergency on our hands. No need for you to get buried by this tragedy. By the way, how do you find Asa?"
"They say rabbis must have thick skins but his is like tissue paper. I don't think he'll last in this job. To me, he looks like a seagull dragging a broken wing."
She considered that for a long moment before whispering, "Asa will do just fine. One isn't born with thick skin. It must be cultivated. Mark this one down to education."
"Thick skin grows all right, but only on the proper skeleton. Asa's an artist, not a pugilist."
"And me?" she asked.
"Most people are soft inside and tough on the outside. You're the opposite. On the outside you're a pussycat, but inside you're a tiger. I don't know anyone tougher than you. A lady of iron in a soft fleece jacket."
