Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance

by Roger Herst

  Mobely signaled that she was withdrawing by back stepping.

  Gabby regarded Asa grasping a coffee cup so firmly she thought it might crack. "In the garage, you said you thought the rabbinate wasn't the right profession for you. I hope that isn't true. In many ways, you're more suited for it than I am."

  "Where is it written that just because one becomes ordained, he must serve in a congregation?" "It isn't written anywhere. But you're extremely good at what you do. If you leave, it would be a loss to everyone."

  "I feel small and useless." A smile cracked through the firm resolution holding back her natural dimples. "Don't we all, friend? That's the human predicament, especially in times like this. When David Morgenstern told me to take a powder, I felt like a cockroach."

  She planted a hand on his wrist and applied pressure. "There's a taxi stand outside. You look like a survivor in those gruesome photos from the Holocaust. I want you home now, Asa. Your Shabbat has been far too long already."

  "And what are you going to do?" "Go back to the waiting room for awhile, try to keep my head screwed on properly, and see what develops. I promise you, I won't stay long."

  "You shouldn't stay there alone. I know it's tearing your kishkas out."

  She struggled for something light to say and came up with, "Got a date with Anina tonight?"

  He closed his eyes as if trying to recall. He had been known to forget synagogue meetings. For that reason, Gabby insisted he log all appointments in an electronic scheduler. But for the past 36 hours he hadn't looked, much less considered his Saturday night plans. "Anina and I talked about the evening, but I'm sure we didn't make any concrete plans. Couldn't have." The way lines furrowed his forehead, she believed he was having doubts.

  "Jesus!" he puckered his lips. "I promised to call last night, but it completely slipped my mind."

  "Call her now; here, use my mobile." From her combination hand-bag and attaché case, she withdrew a phone.

  "And what are you going to do this evening?" he asked while punching in a number he knew by heart.

  "Household chores. In my current mood, I feel like sitting in front of the boob tube. Something that doesn't tax the brain or add calories."

  "If Anina doesn't disown me for standing her up, you should join us."

  "Thanks, Asa, but that's the last thing I'm going to do. You need to be chaperoned by your boss like the President of the United States needs a mistress in Blair House."

  Anina wasn't home. On her voice mail, he said, "It's Asa here, Sorry, I forgot to call last night. We've had a tragedy at the synagogue. I'm at the Washington Hospital Center now. Going home soon and will try to call in an hour or so. If you've made plans for the evening, I'll understand."

  Near the elevator bank in the lobby, Gabby promised to phone Asa's apartment in the early evening, then returned to the waiting room and a chair near a window overlooking rooftop air conditioning condensers and vents. Her already sullen mood cascaded farther. Replaying in her mind the conversation with Reporter Mobely, she feared she might have inadvertently revealed too much. Hadn't Stan Melkin warned her?

  An unkempt elderly gentleman in wrinkled gray suit and frayed clerical collar poked his head into the room. Tufts of errant white hair escaped from the sides of his head, submerging the temples of his glasses. "I'm Chaplain Kornen. I'm looking for the Morgenstern family," he announced in a deep voice hoarse from years of tobacco use.

  Angus Klein appeared from behind him in the corridor to volunteer, "Yes, Reverend. The girls are in Intensive Care. I think they're going to need all the prayers you can give them."

  "Of course. Yes. Yes," and immediately hobbled from waiting room door on uncertain legs.

  Gabby asked herself why the family would accept a Protestant clergyman over a rabbi. Before answering her own question, she took to her feet and dashed into the corridor on the heels of the chaplain, easily catching him outside the ICU.

  "Excuse me," she said. "I'm Rabbi Lewyn, from Congregation Ohav Shalom. The Morgensterns are members of my congregation."

  The tilt of his head helped bring Gabby into focus through thick spectacles stained yellow by nicotine smoke. "Yes, I know who you are. You've been in the papers. I'm confused. If you're here, why did the family request the hospital chaplain?"

  "They're angry at me. Their girls were burned while lighting ceremonial candles. They believe I'm responsible."

  His eyes enlarged with understanding. "Oh, yes, yes, that might explain it. I'm Morris Kornen, retired from the First Congregational. I volunteer on the weekends to give Chaplain Rolley Harris a break. You can imagine, there's no budget for a weekend chaplain, so I do this as a community service."

  "That's a lovely thing to do, Reverend. I'm sure the patients appreciate your services. Before you go in the ICU, you should know that the family is distraught. I'm afraid they've already rejected my offer of prayers. Please tell them I'm still here and would like to help. The children are pupils in my religious school."

  "Under these circumstances, I'm probably unnecessary. I'm afraid my Hebrew is worse than my Latin, which was never good a century ago when I studied in the seminary. But I know the Priestly Benediction in fractured Hebrew. Would that do?"

  She held onto his hand for collegiality. "Yes. Reverend Kornen, that will do just splendidly."

  "If you'll wait here, I'll come back as soon as possible. Maybe I can persuade the parents to have you recite the proper prayers. I don't wish to be an imposter."

  "I'd appreciate that very much."

  The door to the Intensive Care swished open again and this time Laura Morgenstern emerged, a nervous expression framing her mouth. "Are you the chaplain?"

  "Yes." His chin rose in a dignified gesture.

  "Please come quickly, Reverend." As she turned, her eyes fell on Gabby, telegraphing an icy message of disdain.

  Back in the waiting room, an unseen hand shook Gabby from a dreamy detachment. She lifted her eyes to see Morris Kornin's head wagging as though on a spring.

  "No luck, I'm afraid," he reported. "You were right, Rabbi. The parents are in a daze. I thought better of asking them to reconsider your offer. You'll have to forgive me for that. It just wasn't appropriate."

  Gabby took to her feet to be at eye level with him. "I understand and I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

  "I recited the Priestly Benediction in my best Hebrew and I purposely didn't mention Jesus. Under the circumstances, I'm sure He won't take offense."

  "That's very thoughtful, Reverend. Any news about Janean's condition?"

  "Not good. The doctors are noncommittal, but it's hard to think she'll make it through. I've seen a lot of sick patients at this place. If you want my guess, she hasn't got long."

  A limp from Gabby's bruised hip synchronized with his limp as they marched together toward the elevator bank. "I was afraid of that. I suppose in the long run, it doesn't really matter whether our pitiful petitions to God are in Hebrew or English, whether recited by a Jew or Gentile. These events are bigger than our words."

  At the elevator bank, he paused in apparent reflection. "You're probably right about that." He fished his breast pocket for a business card. "Here's my home phone number. I'm emeritus these days. They've got a young firebrand on my old pulpit who thinks his sermons will stir mountains of devotion. It's nice to be young and…," he paused with a glint of mirth before finishing his thought "foolish, isn't it?"

  A chuckle of conspiracy eased through her lips. "Sounds like you know what to do with your retirement, Reverend Kornen. I've often speculated what I'll do when my synagogue shows me the pasture gate."

  He held the elevator open with a mottled hand on the door bumper. "Got any ideas?" "Oh, maybe I'll try my hand at being the president?"

  He grimaced playfully and stepped into the elevator cab.

  Upon walking back to the waiting room, she was struck by her uncensored response. Until recently, she had never envisioned getting involved in politics. Was this spontaneity trigger
ed by the DNC invitation in West Virginia? Though less than 36 hours ago, it seemed like a century before. Time to give it some additional consideration.

  ***

  Anina Norstrom could tell a Jewish joke with a fabulous Yiddish accent, but that was the extent of her Jewish background or, for that matter, interest in Judaism. In her youth, she had managed to avoid synagogues, religious schools, and Jewish community centers, never visited Israel, and could remember attending only one Passover seder. By the same token, she never denied her Jewish ethnicity and took considerable pride in defending her people and their history. Stories from the Holocaust often worked their way into her conversations. Gabby, always interested in the turns of fate bringing unlikely couples together, was amused that Anina's relationship with Asa occurred at an encounter at LaMirabelle Restaurant in Upper Georgetown.

  Unlike Anina, Asa was not dining at the restaurant but rather filling in as a pianist for a professional musician who played there Tuesday through Saturday evenings. Possessing a remarkable talent for translating to the keyboard just about anything his inner ear could hear, Asa was improvising at the time. That loquacious and partially pixilated diners barely listened to him served his purpose because he enjoyed reworking material of established composers and the scrutiny of true music lovers made him uncomfortable. His improvisation was commendable when playing show tunes, though recasting notes from Beethoven and Mozart bordered on the irreverent. Still, he feared the wrath of true music lovers far less than discovery by members of Ohav Shalom who were certain to take a dim view of their associate rabbi working after-hours in smoky, alcoholic taverns and restaurants.

  At LaMirabelle, Anina was celebrating the birthday of Franklin Terkenoff, her partner in the surgical practice of Norstrom & Terkenoff, P.C. She was returning from the ladies room and paused to place a $5 bill into a glass most piano players leave for tips. But the fact that Asa didn't provide a glass impressed her. Standing behind his right shoulder, she studied his deft fingers. After a few introductory questions, she learned he was not a professional. A piano-playing rabbi who toyed with syncopated rhythms and convoluted harmonies caught her fancy.

  Anina phoned him at Ohav Shalom the following Thursday afternoon to offer two symphony tickets she could not use, then – after considering the prospect of a date with Asa – resolved her scheduling conflict and called back to say that her own plans had changed and she would like him to accompany her to the Kennedy Center. The National Symphony Orchestra played Bach and Debussy, two composers Asa felt readily lent themselves to his own brand of re-composition. On the way home that evening, they stopped at the Stagedoor Bar for a drink where he learned about her practice in plastic surgery. While Franklin Terkenoff and she both boarded in reconstructive surgery for the treatment of trauma victims, a good portion of their practice was dedicated to the lucrative trade of refashioning noses, eyes, chins, breasts and other parts of the human anatomy that displease their possessors. Franklin admitted patients to George Washington University and Sibley Hospitals, while she worked the trauma units of Washington Hospital Center and Georgetown University Hospital.

  Two busy professionals had trouble finding time for dating, so their relationship evolved slowly. Once they began sleeping together normal tensions arose, and several that weren't normal. Anina saw herself as a highly trained craftswoman operating a lucrative business and expected handsome compensation from her wealthy patients. In contrast, Asa exhibited little interested in money or the luxuries it could buy, seemingly content to live within his modest rabbinical salary and his music. That such different personalities should be attracted Gabby attributed to Nature's mysterious mating scheme that had something to do with the distribution of different kinds of genes.

  When Anina finally reached Asa on the phone at his Chevy Chase apartment, he was sitting on the living room sofa staring in distraction at the television set he hadn't bothered to turn on. He let the phone ring four times before listlessly answering.

  "We had a date," she reprimanded with no effort to disguise her annoyance.

  "I'm sorry. It's been a nightmare at Ohav Shalom. I didn't get any sleep last night."

  "You could have called."

  "What can I say? I screwed up. It's been twenty-four hours in Dante's Inferno."

  "It's still thoughtless."

  "Two of our kids from the synagogue were burned in a fire. One is likely to die. The other will be permanently maimed. I taught both of them in the religious school. It's been on the evening news."

  This caused her to scale back her assault. "Sorry to hear about it. I've been in the OR all day. Franklin took his kids away for the weekend, so I've got to operate on his vanity patients at Sibley Hospital. Let's go out for something to eat. I feel like Tex-Mex food. How about Rio Grande?"

  "I didn't sleep last night."

  "I'm beat, too. Been on my feet all day. Had to lose an hour waiting for the stupid Sibley staff to prepare an OR. I know you like Tex-Mex food."

  "Too depressed to eat."

  "Then I'll pick up some Chinese and bring it over. I know how to perk you up. I'll wear something diaphanous."

  "The way I'm feeling, I wouldn't be much fun. All I want is sleep."

  "You know how to hurt a girl. Here I throw my body at you and you want to sleep. I turned down several invitations to be with you this evening, Asa. I should get some appreciation for that."

  "I didn't mean to be rude."

  Anina let herself into Asa's apartment to discover him sitting at his 7-foot Baldwin piano, improvising in a minor key and unaware of her presence. Reading from musical scores was second-nature to him, but, all things being equal, he preferred to let his fingers compose the notes. Some called it "playing by ear," but the terminology failed to satisfy him. In a strict sense he didn't hear what he played. His fingers seemed to know by instinct where to go on the keyboard. One harmony resolved into another. A rhythm demanded a reflex response with little need to involve the brain. Melodies, almost magnetically, attracted harmonies. When tired, depressed or just killing time he could play for hours, letting his mood, not his mind, choose the notes.

  Anina lingered in the vestibule, envious of his talent. While growing up in Phoenix, she had taken piano lessons for four years and never managed to play anything that wasn't written. When she stopped practicing, her fingers lost their keyboard dexterity, leaving her envious of those who stuck with it.

  After a minute, she tiptoed into the kitchen to put down a grocery sack filled with the distinctive squared cartons from a Chinese restaurant. Dirge-like notes filled the apartment. Eventually, she entered the living room behind him and dropped her hands over his shoulders. His fingers remained on the keyboard while he cocked his head to acknowledge her presence. "Hi… sorry." "Your music sounds like the world just fell in," she said.

  "It did. Gabby is still at the Hospital Center."

  Though indifferent to religious observance, she admired Gabrielle Lewyn for her success in what was once a private rabbinical club reserved for men. "I'm sure she is very helpful there."

  "No. The family rejected our help. We were thrown out of the ICU like drunks turfed from a bawdy saloon. Gabby's probably still in the waiting room, twiddling her fingers. I shouldn't have left her but couldn't sit there any longer."

  "Franklin and I have done several reconstructions at the Burn Center."

  His fingers caressed the keys softly. "They say Tybee Morgenstern is going to need a lot of reconstruction on her face and torso. Have you done that?"

  "Of course. During my residence at Denver General the police would bring in stabbed and gunshot victims. The Highway Patrol helicoptered in burn victims from carnage on the roads. After ER docs stabilized them, we had to rebuild faces and appendages. Most of our patients were losers to begin with."

  Asa's fingers pressed harder on the keys, drowning out the cold detachment in Anina he didn't want to acknowledge.

  She spoke over his music. "Sounds like you're feeling sorry for your
self. I sure hope that isn't the case."

  "It's humiliating. Gabby and I went there to help but there isn't much we had to offered, especially when the Morgenstern family is so angry at me."

  "They don't blame you for what happened, do they?"

  “I think so. We haven't talked directly. The aunt and uncle snarled like Doberman pinschers. They said some pretty nasty things."

  "If I were trying to help someone and they rejected my offer, I'd walk away. Who needs people like that? The trick is to stay focused on good people. Leave the scum in the dust."

  Asa increased volume on the Baldwin.

  "What do you say about some food? Got chicken lo mein and the vegetarian egg rolls you like. I know there's beer in the fridge."

  He shook his head. "I'm too depressed."

  "Pardon me for being a Jewish mother, but I don't recall reading that starvation is the treatment of choice for depression. I won't tell you that food is important for the spirits because I don't think it is. But I can tell you that I'm so hungry I could eat stir-fried cocker-spaniel and would appreciate some company."

  He withdrew still further into himself without replying.

  "Asa, I learned this lesson in college and it's probably the soundest I know. Don't try to be reasonable with unreasonable people. You go to the zoo, right? And you stand in front of the chimpanzee cage, right? You select what looks like the most intelligent ape and explain to him the fundamentals of arithmetic: two and two equals four; four plus four equals eight. This intelligent-looking chimp doesn't seem to absorb incontestable facts, but instead becomes restive and spits through the cage. Bull's-eye. His spittle lands right in your eye. Now comes the hardest question. Who's the fool? The chimp? Or you?"

  He stopped playing, resting his hands on the keyboard in exasperation.

  "So?" She repeated. "Who's the fool?"

  "I made a career mistake. I'm not up to this job," he blurted suddenly. "Gabby's different. She's made of steel. But that isn't me. I need to re-train for something else. All those years at rabbinical school. What a waste!"