Rabbi Gabrielle Commits a Felony

by Roger Herst

  "That's what first occurred to us and we're investigating suspect groups. But we're more inclined to think in another direction and this is a sensitive issue. The Bureau doesn't want to offend or embarrass anybody, particularly the victims. But we want to ask you, Rabbi, if in your opinion it is possible that your scroll was stolen by Jews?"

  Gabby did not feel the offense the agents anticipated. "Of course it's a possibility," she replied. "But I must state that it's not a Jewish practice to steal Torahs. I've never heard of a market for 'hot Torahs,' so to speak. There isn't a reputable museum in the world that would knowingly display a stolen Torah. And if the stolen scroll could not be identified, what's the point of stealing it? Besides, we don't sequester our Sefer Torahs from the public. In this synagogue, anybody may read them. And that includes our Bar and Bat Mitzvah candidates. I openly encouraged them to come in after school and practice reading from our Holocaust scroll. It's hard to believe that someone who reveres these sacred works would despoil a Torah by stealing it."

  Dellum was taking notes. Phearson pouted, as if in deep thought.

  Gabby asked, "Can you share with me the names of the synagogues that have lost scrolls?" Gabby filled the momentary void. "With a phone call or two, I could find out if the stolen scrolls were from the war period."

  "We intend to do that ourselves, Rabbi," Dellum said, protective of the Bureau's investigative function, "but I see no reason why we can't give you the names. We'll email them to you. Is there anything more you can tell us?"

  Gabby's mind was racing ahead, but for the time being, she didn't want to share her thoughts. Dellum and Phearson had set a seed that might produce an unexpected harvest. And yet, it might produce absolutely nothing. She needed time to check her premonition.

  As soon as the two agents rose from their chairs with a promise to keep Gabby informed about progress in their investigation, Gabby politely slipped around her desk to escort them to the door. They were shaking hands when the expected happened. In a final goodbye gesture, the pile of magazines and papers suddenly collapsed, scattering its contents to the floor. Phearson and Dellum offered to help clean up the mess, but Gabby decline with a hearty laugh and admonition that they had more important things to do than clean up her mess.

  It only took a few minutes to pick up the papers and re-establish a new pile. Gabby was eager to pursue a hunch that came to her while thinking about multiple thefts of Sefer Torahs. She introduced to the M-Drive of her computer a CD Rom disk containing the Jewish Encyclopedia. Under the entry Holocaust, she hunted for a date that had slipped her mind. It only took a moment to find that Kristalnacht, known later in history as the Night of Broken Glass, in which Nazi Brown Shirts launched a nationwide attack on Jewish property and synagogues throughout Germany, occurred November 9, 1938. In the encyclopedia's index, there was an entry for a Hebrew calendar that listed corresponding Jewish and secular dates from 1920 until 2050. Her finger traced a column for 1938 and learned that Kristalnacht occurred on 18th day of the Hebrew month Heshvan. Next, she looked up the Hebrew date for the November 10th break-in at Ohav Shalom and to her satisfaction authenticated her hunch. The Ohav Shalom break-in also occurred on the 15th day of Heshvan, the anniversary of Kristalnacht.

  Agent Phearson had not given her the exact date of robbery in Buffalo, but had said it happened in the November the previous year, which might also correspond with the anniversary of Kristalnacht. Phearson was more specific about the theft in Greensboro on May 5th. That gave Gabby pause for reflection because an event in the spring would not correspond with Kristalnacht.

  This new fact forced her to revalue her hypothesis. Perhaps dates for the Ohav Shalom break-in and Buffalo robbery were no more than coincidence. If you granted that the thieves had a penchant for the month of November, the odds of any two occurring on the same date in the month were 900 to 1. Still, intuition told her this was more than mere coincidence. She next focused upon the Greensboro theft, considering the Hebrew date in the month of Nissan, for May 5th. A Hebrew calendar provided a measure of satisfaction. The crime in Greensboro crime fell on Yom ha-Shoah, the Jewish community's annual commemoration day for the six million lost in the Holocaust!

  Having convinced herself that the dates of the three crimes were related to prior events, Gabby reordered her thinking. Jews were more likely to tie their misdeeds to the Hebrew calendar than anti-Semites. But if the thefts were committed by Jews and not anti-Semites, one had to come up with a plausible motive. Why would any Jew steal a holy scroll that could be read in just about any synagogue in the world? And if stolen for re-sale, who would pay for a Holocaust scroll that had been purloined? No bookseller or art dealer in his right mind would touch such a thing.

  She let her mind wander with abandonment. Ideas for her sermons usually came when endorphins flooded her brain, and that most often occurred when she had been jogging and slowed to a walk. There was something about this cooling down period from high-energy activity that triggered her most original thinking. Perhaps it would take a good run to clear out the cobwebs in her brain and set her on a productive track. In the meantime, she found in the stack of papers she had collected from the floor copies of what the thieves had left behind. They obviously desired to transmit a message. Several times she reread the verses.

  The earth lies polluted under its inhabitants

  For they have transgressed the laws, violated the statutes,

  Broken the everlasting covenant…

  Its transgression lies heavy upon it,

  And it falls and will not rise again

  Yet will I leave seven thousand in Israel

  Those knees have not bowed down to Baal

  And whose mouths have not kissed Him

  The first verses from Genesis dealt with the wicked pre-flood civilization which God pledge to destroy before Noah's eyes. The second set was not as familiar. Gabby had searched a concordance to learn they came from the Book of Kings, chapter 19, verse 18. Once again, God was speaking of a lost generation, this one specified as the People of Israel. The thieves justified their theft by indicting Ohav Shalom. But why Ohav Shalom? There were many Reform synagogues and several dozen scrolls from the Holocaust collection. What was special about Ohav Shalom and the other synagogues in Buffalo and Greensboro? Questions multiplied in her mind. The fact that she was fairly certain about the association with Kristalnacht meant little. Reason would tell you that clever Gentiles who knew what they were doing might well have timed their thefts to confuse investigators certain to pursue them.

  Chuck did his best to defend Gabby against intrusions, but was instructed not to turn away people who had made appointments and others who could demonstrate urgent need. Knowing that her readers were promised something to read at the end of the afternoon, she was pressed to make the self-imposed five o'clock deadline. In the end, she had bitten off more than she could comfortably chew and had no one to blame but herself. Feeling a loss of control, she decided on taking a run before dinner. Kye was likely to be late and a good jog always enhanced her appetite.

  It was 4:35 in the afternoon when Chuck interrupted Gabby's privacy to announce that Roland Sylerman was on the phone. To her recollection Roland had never initiated a call to her, but she concluded there must be a good reason.

  "I've got some bad news, Rabbi," Roland said after identifying himself. "I've had to put Norma into the hospital. She has been going on alcohol binges for two days now. I couldn't wake her last night and had to call the Rescue Squad. The paramedics took her to Suburban Hospital, where the doctors insisted upon keeping her in the substance abuse clinic for observation. I'm so discouraged. I thought she had all that behind her a few years ago. Alcoholism's ugly head has risen again."

  Sad news like this had a way of cascading Gabby into her own desolation. She knew that as a professional she had to maintain an emotional distance from her congregants, yet that was never easy. Concealing her feelings had been practiced until it had become a state of art. "I'm sorry, very s
orry, Roland. I know you and Norma have had other troubles and don't need any more. Would it be helpful for me to visit Norma in the hospital?"

  "That's why I'm calling. It might do her some good, but I'm not optimistic. For a family with an alcohol problem, we've already done all the right things. We removed the alcohol from the house and Norma went faithfully to AA meetings. I stopped drinking entirely in her presence. Everything was going well, but recently I started to sense that something wasn't right. I smelled tic-tacs and mouthwash on her breath. She stopped drinking her usual quantity of coffee."

  "Why do you think she relapsed?" Gabby asked, though she thought she already knew the answer.

  "Norma is having a much harder time with Carey than me. You know it's funny, Rabbi. I don't want my daughter to move to Israel and, if the truth be known, I'm not jumping up and down about her marrying a super-Orthodox boy. I'm ashamed to say that I haven't even met him. You'd think that a father had the right, at least, to meet his future son-in-law, but Carey hasn't brought him home and she hasn't invited us to Brooklyn. Still, I tell myself that isn't the worst thing in the world. We'll just have to fly to Israel. And maybe, I say to myself, being Orthodox isn't so terrible. And Israel is a wonderful country. If I were a younger man, maybe I'd decide to make aliyah. After I took a long walk one night and cried some pretty silly tears, I concluded that the important thing was to stay close to Carey and do whatever I can to make her happy. But for Norma, it's different. She sees Carey's decision as a ticket to ruin and interprets it as a personal stab at us. What's happened eats at her kishkas. That's probably why she's gone back to drink."

  "You know that Carey and I are in touch," Gabby said. "She's a wonderful kid who's trying to teach me a little about her group, Sh'erit ha-Pletah. I must say, I'm somewhat confused by their doctrines, but perhaps I just don't know enough."

  "Carey hardly calls. I call her from the office, but she's seldom around and I must leave messages on her voicemail. You know, you can't say everything you want to on a phone machine that's shared by other girls."

  "Does she answer you?"

  There was a painful silence at the other end, then Roland almost wept into the mouthpiece. "No. I'm afraid she doesn't, Rabbi. If only she would talk with Norma and me, then maybe things could be different. I shudder to think what will happen when she moves away and communication becomes that much more difficult."

  "That hasn't happened yet, Roland. Let' s focus on what we can do to help Norma. When you speak with her, tell her I'll come by just as soon as I can, though I must warn you, she's probably disappointed in me. I think she expected that when I visited Carey in Crown Heights, I would perform a miracle. The truth is, I didn't talk with your daughter about her life decisions because I don't think kids listen to the logic of others. Carey and I respect each other's points of view, different as they are. I'm certain of only one thing about her – that she'll return my phone calls. Does she know that her mother is in the hospital?"

  "Yes, I've left her two messages."

  "And she hasn't responded to the urgency?"

  Roland was slow to answer. "No. Nothing. I can't imagine a child so cold to her mother's suffering. Is that what this jerk, Rabbi Olam v'Ed, is teaching her?"

  "I doubt it," Gabby answered. "But then I don't understand his mentality. His practitioners are coming from a different place. Let's talk again after I've visited with Norma."

  "I'd like that, Rabbi. I've run out of alternatives and a practical man like me must have alternatives. The doctors are working with Norma's illness. But this goes much deeper into matters that only someone with your background and training can understand."

  After the talk with Roland Sylerman, Gabby returned to make final changes to her story before making an audio reading, then dispatching the audio and text together into cyberspace.

  "Go for it," Chuck encouraged her to send it as he stood in the office doorway to say goodnight at 5:30, a half hour late. "I will log on this evening and read what you've written. I'd love to meet your Mordecai Yoelson."

  She pressed the Upload Key, committing the story to Ohav Shalom's web page. How many people would take the time to log on and read it, she had no idea. Yet the thought crossed her mind that all episodes could be collected together and published in hard copy for later distribution. Only time would tell if there was sufficient reader interest to warrant it.

  The First Night of Chanukah (CANDLE ONE)

  THE ODYSSEY OF MORDECAI YOELSON

  It is an ironic fact of my survival during the war that I never worried about death. Each day, I worked with fellow slaves, managed to get just enough food to stay alive, say my prayers silently, and read my English and French bibles. My eyes, which were never good before the war, deteriorated dramatically during my enslavement, perhaps due to malnutrition and poor light for reading at night. Once again "Adolph" came to my rescue and found me a pair of discarded glasses that allowed me to read the pages, though they were insufficient to properly correct my eyesight. I mention him because while being my slave-master, he nevertheless bestowed upon me small favors. When I think about Adolph today, my feelings are mixed with both contempt and gratitude. How is it possible to feel kindly toward someone who steals your liberty? And how is it possible to hate someone who helps you? In all my years subsequently, I have never resolved this ambivalence. One must conclude that war brought many strange and incomprehensible things. Those of us who have lived through this calamity have no choice but to accept paradoxes for which there are no consistent answers.

  Even in the brick factory, we slaves knew the war was coming to an end because we saw large formations of Allied bombers flying overhead. At the beginning of the conflict, many planes flew over but only stragglers returned to their home bases in England. But in early 1944, the formations flying west were as large as those flying east. Luftwaffe aircraft no longer flew over southern Germany. Rations were reduced for our guards and we could hear Germans arguing with each other. One warm morning in August of that year, Adolph told us there would be no work for the day and that we should return to the barracks and under threat of being shot not venture out. That evening, the workers overheard rumors that the director and his family, along with the guards, had vacated the factory. No one wanted to risk going outside to investigate. The Ukrainian prisoners talked about returning home. Since they had no idea how to travel the only means was on foot. They did not include me in their plans because I was a Jew. There were rumors that no Jews remained in the Ukraine and they assumed that I had no family left in Otinaya. By the time the Ukrainians agreed upon a plan, it was clear the Germans had vanished and that we were free to leave. Two days later, I left the factory on foot, headed west toward the French Frontiers.

  I reckoned that for all my hard labor, Germany owed me whatever food I could steal for the journey. At that time, Germans were nearly starving themselves, but they were disciplined and would not steal from each other. Germany was teaming with refugees fleeing west from the Soviet army that had surrounded Berlin. Blending into these moving masses of humanity was not difficult. It took me nine days to reach France and another four to arrive on the outskirts of Paris. The French language I had learned from reading the Bible paid dividends. French peasants possessed a bit more food than the defeated Germans and they were prepared to help destitute refugees. Farmers fed me and let me sleep in their barns with the few head of cattle the Germans had not expropriated. September weather was mild.

  The Allies set up soup kitchens to feed homeless refugees in Paris. There were no shelters, but if you were prepared to wait in line, you wouldn't starve. I went daily to the headquarters of the Joint Distribution Committee near St. Lazare Station for news from the Ukraine and what I learned was even bleaker than I had imagined. It was rumored in Paris that almost all Jewish communities in the East had been eradicated; their populations exterminated in camps dedicated to the grim business of death. Staff at the JDC promised to help make contact with my relatives who had left the Ukrain
e before the war and settled in Bogotá, Colombia. Telegrams were sent on my behalf to the Allied Refugee Commission and JDC in Rio.

  While waiting in Paris, I saw a small glimmer of sunlight in my life. A small cluster of refugee Jews invited me to pray with them. We had no siddurim, prayer books, but who needed them? A few survivors like myself started discussing Torah. What a joy that was for me. For almost the entire war, I conducted Torah classes inside my mind and never spoke a single word of it to any other human being. But once again Torah was on my lips and I knew, in part, why I had survived while so many others perished. The image of Ezekiel was in my mind. As the prophet announced that the bones of exile in Babylonia would come alive with new flesh, so I Mordecai Yoelson would once again study the sacred books.

  But in this newfound optimism, I made a bad mistake and lowered my guard. The Allies, I learned to my regret, were also my enemies. Tomorrow evening. I'll tell you more about that.

  ***

  On her way home driving through Cleveland Park, Gabby resolved to make a courtesy stop at Cici's home, only a short detour from her normal route. The house that Gabby had seldom visited was a gabled Tutor with a neglected front yard and plastic toys scattered over the walkway. Cici's mother, Ethel Green, from Nashville, who had come to help with the children for the duration of Cici's pregnancy, answered the doorbell. Teddy, 8, was on her heels and annoyed by the attention she was showing to the caller. Shelly, 6, joined Mrs. Green as she led Gabby through a playfield of abandoned toys toward Cici's bedroom. Ethel Green had never met her daughter's senior rabbi and wanted to stay in the bedroom to chat. But the boys were insistent that their grandmother should not be diverted from the game they were playing.