by Roger Herst
For fear of saying the wrong thing, Gabby said nothing. She hesitated with her hand on the door handle of her Lexus.
"Her name is Claire Davenport and she doesn't live in Washington," he said, as though setting the final piece in a jigsaw puzzle. "I'm telling you that because I appreciate how you protected me in the NRC interview and I know you won't share it with anyone, including Melanie. I want you to know that I love Melanie very much. She's the mother of my children and has been the most loyal and loving wife a man could ever want, particularly an irascible, headstrong fanatic like me. Melanie will always be the woman closest to my heart. Claire fills a small gap. She's a mature woman who will never interfere in my family. I fill a small gap for her, too. In that respect, we're made for each other because both of us understand what it means to function outside the box."
Gabby suddenly found herself in possession of more information than Melanie, more than she really wished. He who possesses confidential information inherits a responsibility. Of course, she could leak Claire Davenport's name to Melanie, but what purpose would that serve? But even more urgent, what would this mean if NRC returned with more questions? She asked herself if subterfuge and infidelity were part of the maturing process for a modern couple?
In momentary confusion, Gabby glanced at her watch to determine how much time she had before her appointments at Ohav Shalom. Lunch on Sycamore Island had taken forty minutes more than she had allocated. "Thanks for being upfront, Gideon. I can't say this thrills me because I know how much Melanie and your daughters adore you. You're a very smart man and I hope you appreciate how extramarital affairs hurt women. I've never heard of a woman who wasn't crushed when her man seeks companionship and sex with another woman. It's the most painful rejection we experience. And in the end, it will be very costly. But you don't need my lecture. Let's talk again when I return from California and I'm not so pressed?"
Gideon registered the remark before acknowledging his willingness to continue later. "When you're not so pressed, Gabby? Isn't that an oxymoron?"
As he began to turn away from her car, she said, "You've put me in an embarrassing position. The NRC asked questions about your married life. I answered to the best of my knowledge. Now I find out, matters are different than I reported. I misled the authorities."
"You only replied to what you knew at the time."
Gabby purposely avoided saying that Melanie had already indicated there was another woman in his life. Instead, she asked, "And what if Merken wants to know more? What am I to say now?"
"You don't have to say anything. The clergy enjoy client confidentiality. If the NRC asks about my private life, you don't have to say a single word."
"Why did you tell me?"
For the first time she could remember, he looked vulnerable and only slightly out of control. "I feel isolated and you won't misuse this information. Having a relationship outside the box is lonely business. One shouldn't have to hide a lover from public view. I feel incomplete and inadequate."
Gabby appreciated that view since she had had a clandestine romance for seven years with Reverend Timothy Matternly. What she felt for Tim had been marvelous, but keeping it secret had been a living nightmare. She could have revealed that relationship to Gideon, but chose to keep it buried, as it had from almost everyone but Kye, who had been very respectful of the relationship when told about it several months after their wedding. At the time, he asked a series of questions and when satisfied he understood the context in which it flourished. He told her that would never make an iota of difference to him. He never brought up the subject again.
Back in her study at Ohav Shalom, she discovered that she was still wearing a Sycamore Island Club nametag the caretaker insisted every visitor was obliged to wear. A great blue heron was printed on the tag, symbol of the club's dedication to promoting ecology along the Potomac River. She placed it in her top drawer as a reminder that perhaps she could entice Kye into applying for membership. A nearby retreat from the hustle and bustle of urban life might prove to be quite enjoyable.
A Catholic bishop and social worker from the Archdiocese were waiting in Gabby's study to talk about ecumenical support for local low-income housing. While listening to their presentation, Gabby's thoughts wandered to Melanie and Gideon, causing a hollow feeling in her stomach. What more could a woman have done to maintain her husband's loyalty? She found herself emotionally defending women in the perennial war with men over sex. Why do males have such trouble understanding this?
Her mood stayed with her throughout the afternoon when she completed the sixth episode of her Chanukah story and posted it on the synagogue's website.
The Fifth Night of Chanukah (CANDLE FIVE)
THE ODYSSEY OF MORDECAI YOELSON
My distant New York relatives, whose names I barely knew, were involved in the garment trade and lived far more modestly than members of the Yoelson clan in Bogotá. Two young men had served in the American army in Europe and another was badly burned on a naval vessel at Okinawa. During the war, the family produced polar jackets for the military in the far-off Alaskan campaign. The annihilation of Jewish life in Europe affected them deeply. Over and over, they would tell me that had their grandparents turned east rather than emigrated to the States, they would probably not be alive. They treated me as an emissary from the dead, as single star left to sparkle in a dark sky. Though they had not become rich as many American Jews during the war, they were generous in providing me with shelter, food, and pocket money.
It was natural for me to take small jobs in local synagogues. From time to time, journalists would interview me for stories of my years in slavery. I provided depositions for the Departments of Defense and Justice, whose representatives assured me that Nazi criminals would be brought to justice. But other than the celebrated Nuremberg Trials, I saw little evidence that American or European governments sought to punish the perpetrators.
A member of my family had a friend who taught Jewish history at Yeshiva University in New York City. When I went to see him about employment, he suggested that I apply to become a student in the rabbinical program. While I was not frightened by the academic requirements, I had doubts that I was suited to function as a congregational rabbi. Nevertheless, I applied to the Admissions Department and learned that the curriculum took five years to complete. That was far more than I wanted to invest, so I asked to take final examinations immediately and be accelerated through the program. At first, the faculty thought this idea a joke, though it didn't strike me as funny. But I was persistent and they agreed to give me a "sample examination," which I passed. Next, I was called into a conference room with four rabbis. They placed tractates of the Talmud before me on a table and proceeded to ask questions about them. Most were portions that I had committed to memory and they saw that I did not have to refer to the actual text. I then sat for a half-dozen more written examinations, followed by another session in which new faculty didn't bother to place any passages before me when they asked questions. It was presumed that I knew what text they were referring to. The result of this process was that the five-year curriculum was cut to a single year, after which I was ordained a Rabbi in Israel. But once ordained, it was very clear I was not emotionally suited to serving a congregation. My new passion was to read Greek and Roman classics, though I had never formally studied either Greek or Latin.
Professor Yechiel Broadman at the Yeshiva University introduced me to his colleague, Dr. Charles Cornwallis, Chairman of the Department of Classics at the University of California in Los Angeles. I traveled five days by bus to Los Angeles to discuss with Dr. Cornwallis what I sought to study. He was dubious because I had no formal training in the classical languages. But when I demonstrated that learning languages had never been difficult for me, he agreed to enroll me in his department as a post graduate student. Since Los Angeles possessed a large Jewish community, I knew I could find part-time employment to support myself. So this newly ordained rabbi left the warmth and security of the Yoe
lson family in New York to complete his westerly migration from Otinaya.
There is a rabbinic adage that says, ein kemach ein Torah, if there is no bread there is no Torah. In order to pursue my studies of the classics, it became necessary to pay my expenses and, let me add, my expenses had grown since I met a woman interested to marry me. When I was a slave to the Nazis, I never dreamed I would ever marry or have children. The Nazis had no intention of letting Jews produce more of the people they sought to extinguish. But God works in mysterious ways and, for reasons I will never know, I was permitted to survive. It seemed fitting and proper that a survivor should have children to help replace those who perished.
For the seventh night, I shall tell you about my new life in California.
***
Gabby and Melanie Ganeden arrived for the afternoon session of the Senate Committee on Domestic Security to find the Everett Dirksen Hearing room crowded with staff, correspondents and lobbyists. Vacant seats were scarce and they were forced to take places in the last row where they could hear but barely see the speaker's table opposite an elevated senatorial counter. As Gabby and Melanie settled in, Deputy Director of the FBI's Division on Domestic Terrorism, Sigmund Teal, whose bald head peeked just above the audience finished reading a report, unhooked his glasses from his ears and raised his eyes to the Chairman, the irascible, outspoken Arthur Zuckerman. He knew Zuckerman's committee would not like what he had just reported and that he, as a messenger of bad news, would come under attack. But that was the job he had been trained to fill and, deep down, he knew that whatever the senators had to say, nothing was going to change the Bureau's law enforcement routine. He was willing to grant that while the senators probably meant well they had far too much on their minds to concentrate for long on the complexities of fighting terrorism. Despite continuous meddling by Congress, the FBI marched to its own piper because its agents were professional while the senators, in their capacity as overseers, were dabbling amateurs.
As soon as he had adjusted the microphone, Arthur Zuckerman removed the scowl that had resided on his face throughout the presentation and officially thanked Deputy Teal before referring to notes. Though there was general relief to find him resuming the chairman's role, his recent heart surgery had left him looking frail and somewhat vulnerable. Only four of the twelve chairs on the dais were vacant. Large staffs sat behind their senators, continuously fussing with papers. Zuckerman silenced the chatter by sharply striking his mike twice to produce an arresting pop in the sound system.
The chairman smacked his lips in obvious displeasure. "Director Teal, I've had the unpleasant experience of reading your report and I don't mind telling you it sends the willies up this old and decrepit spine. From what you say, this government is furnishing terrorists with the radioactive materials they might someday use to harm our citizens. It's one thing to be attacked by a gunman; it's quite another to provide this gunman with the firearm he will turn on you. It's frightening to think that the federal government, with its vast resources, cannot prevent hazardous materials from slipping into the wrong hands. The sale of Russian and Belarus nuclear know-how to our enemies gives me insomnia, though I recognize there is only so much we can do with our former adversaries. But why we cannot stop the leakage of domestic nuclear materials mystifies me? How do you account for this?"
Director Teal responded with the fluidity of someone who had rehearsed answers to obvious questions. "The nation is constantly producing materials for scientific and medical purposes and these materials tend to accumulate. You've all heard about the half-life of nuclear fuels. Well, I can tell you that unlike bananas their shelf life is long. Private scientists in universities and start-up biotech companies don't generally feel the same urgency about keeping accurate records. We're doing everything in our power to track the flow of these materials, but current budgets of the monitoring agencies are woefully inadequate. To do a better job, we need a lot more people."
Zuckerman laughed aloud, glancing first to his left, then to his right at his senatorial colleagues. "Heard that one before, Gentlemen? Whenever something isn't right, we're expected cough up more money for more salaries. Throw dollars at a problem and it's supposed to vanish."
Senator Homer Twilling, Republican from Idaho, signaled for permission to speak and got it. "Am I correct that NRC is responsible for keeping records on nuclear materials in private industry, but FBI is supposed to prevent these materials from flowing into the hands of criminals?"
"Yes, sir. There is, of course, some overlapping."
"So nuclear materials are going from private industry to the criminals?"
"That's a pathway, Senator," Teal was sharp. " But unlike drugs where the major quantities slip through our nets, we can and do account for more than 96% of the radioactive materials."
"Ninety-six percent!" Zuckerman stretched his repetition out. "And you want me to sleep at night knowing that four percent is available for terrorists and criminals? There aren't enough sleeping pills in the world to cure that kind of insomnia. Doesn't this worry the FBI?"
"You bet it does. The Bureau. in conjunction with local law-enforcement personnel, are undergoing extensive training to spot potential terrorists before they cause trouble. In the past six months, we have reacted to potential radiation attacks in the San Diego, Austin, El Paso, Denver, La Guardia and Savannah airports. We've attached special bomb squads to local airports and equipped them to handle nuclear as well as conventional threats. Some argue that this is an overreaction, but we can't take the chance."
"Tell me about it," Gabby whispered to Melanie. "I got caught in a nasty delay at La Guardia last month because of an abandoned car. The press said nothing about the prevention of nuclear terrorism. It wasn't a happy time for travelers."
Senator Stanley Lee from Hawaii and Senator Maxwell Brody from North Dakota scowled disapproval while leaning back to aids whispering into their ears. Senator Brody yielded his questions to his colleague from Hawaii who asked, "Mr. Teal, can you clarify your earlier statement regarding inventories of radioactive materials that Nuclear Regulatory Commission can't account for?"
"No, sir. I cannot speak for the Commission. Our job at the Bureau is to track the stuff once it's reported missing. I'm sure Dr. Karpokian from the Commission, who I know is scheduled to speak before this body, can outline the inventory system. I know Dr. Ganeden from New Frontiers, Inc will also address this problem from the view of the private sector."
"Thank you, Mr. Teal," Senator Zuckerman replied. "I'm sure the FBI is doing what it can, but it appears to me we've lost control over these materials. And sooner or later we'll rue the day we didn't pay closer attention to the problem. Need I remind everyone that in the security business complacency is Enemy Number One."
Gideon Ganeden, dressed in a dark 3-button suit with a freshly starched white shirt, slipped into the speaker's seat with a corporate lawyer on his left and another on his right. His full head of dark blond hair stood out among the balding heads of those at the speaker's table. As soon as introduced by Senator Zuckerman, he opened a folder and proceeded to read a short statement in which he described New Foundations, Inc and how it used electron beams and Cobalt to irradiate food products. The fact that New Foundations disagreed with the Nuclear Regulatory Commission over the amount of Cobalt inventoried at New Foundations in Germantown, Maryland, he attributed to the government's poor record keeping. From personal experience working at the Department of Agriculture earlier in his career, he knew how government agencies suffered from a constant turnover of personnel because they were constantly being raided by private industries eager for their skills and connections. Personnel turnover caused inefficiency, particularly when it came to the management of data.
During Questions and Answers, Senator Zuckerman screwed up his forehead dramatically and let his glasses slip down over a thick, asymmetrical nose to lift his eyes to Gideon, "I must have missed something in your presentation, Dr. Ganeden, because if I heard correctly, you attribute
the discrepancy in records to shoddy record keeping. If true, that's a lot of shoddiness."
If Gideon felt pressure from the inquiry, he showed nothing. His words echoed with compelling Israeli self-assurance, almost without a Hebrew accent. "I do, sir."
"The documentary evidence against your position is strong. You know that, don't you?" asked the Senator.
"Yes, sir. But the records are just wrong."
"And you're under oath so there are serious consequences for misrepresentation."
"I've seen most of the documents. On some of them, dates are missing. On others, there are no signatures or signatures that are indecipherable. On several forms, the inspector left critical spaces blank. In contrast, the records supplied by New Frontiers are complete in all details, from sign-off signatures to the exact dates. It is difficult for me to understand why anyone would wish to believe inspectors who no longer work at the NRC. If there were grounds for concern, how come they weren't raised in years past when they are alleged to have occurred?"
Senator Zuckerman's grunt of skepticism was amplified by the mic only inches from his lips. By glaring at Gideon, he let the spectators know that he was seriously pondering what to say next. "So, Doctor, that's your story and you're going to stick with it?"
Gideon turned to the lawyer on his left and exchanged a few whispered words, then returned to the microphone. "Sir, we at New Frontiers understand that the NRC is under continuous criticism for not outlawing the irradiation of food products. We are a struggling, young industry. It's no secret that many don't agree with us, even some respectable scientists. A good number of politicians would like us to fail financially and just disappear. It takes an act of political courage to support our efforts, and we see few who believe in the benefits of our process. Most people understand only that they they're fearful of radiation. Ninety-eight percent of educated Americans can't give a satisfactory definition of the word. This assault upon us by the NRC, based as it is on such sloppy records, appears dubious, to say the least. We suggest that the Commission review its own procedures. To this end, New Frontiers will pledge its cooperation and full resources."
