Rabbi Gabrielle Commits a Felony

by Roger Herst

  Zuckerman leaned back to converse with an aide seating to his rear, then arched forward to evaluate his colleagues' reaction. Senator Daniel Wellby, Democrat from Minnesota, addressed the chairman. "Senator, I don't mean to be flippant, but this is degenerating into a food fight. We can't do more until we have a full report from the NRC. I'd like to hear their response to Dr. Ganeden's charges. Any of us who have come up through the ranks of public service know what personnel turnover means. The NRC must have a policy regarding the accuracy of the records it keeps. Let's wait to hear from Dr. Karpokian, that is his name, isn't it?"

  "Is there concurrence among the committee?" asked Zuckerman, leaning forward to eye his colleagues. "Well, I guess you have a point there, Senator. Let's move on." He then returned his attention to Gideon. "Dr. Ganeden, we thank you for your presentation this afternoon. Frankly, it's confusing to me and, I suppose, to other senators. I have little doubt we're going to want you back here after we've had an opportunity to consult with the NRC. I'm sure the Commission will be contacting you. And we'll hold you to your pledge of cooperation."

  Gideon rose from the chair, followed by his lawyers. Without exchanging further words, his team marched up the center aisle and immediately disappeared into the corridor beyond.

  Two more presentations were scheduled after Gideon, none of which Melanie or Gabby had interest to hear. After Gideon, about five percent of the spectators shuffled along the rows of chairs to escape. Gabby was prepared to listen longer, but Melanie elbowed her, saying, "Let's see if we can find Gideon. He did well, don't you think?"

  Gabby wasn't sure. She didn't like either the direction or the tone of the inquiry. "Why, yes. They say the best defense is a good offense and Gideon forced the senators to rethink their positions."

  The Sixth Night of Chanukah (CANDLE SIX)

  THE ODYSSEY OF MORDECAI YOELSON

  If marriage was the first surprise in my new life in California, income became the second. I could have found gainful employment in an Orthodox shul in Los Angeles, but felt that work within a congregation would leave too little time for my new wife and studies. I, therefore, took a job working in the library of a liberal rabbinical seminary, once again among the Talmudic books of my childhood. I didn't have much contact with the students there who, I believe, thought I came from an alien world. Occasionally, one would ask for help in finding a particular manuscript and, when I let it be known I might be of help deciphering an arcane text or two, more sought me out, particularly for their classes in Talmud, which were not easy for those who had not learned Hebrew and Aramaic at a young age.

  By that time, the Reform movement had begun admitting women into rabbinical classes. At first I thought the notion rather odd and certainly alien to everything from my past. But I enjoyed the presence of women in the library and I quickly learned that Judaism had far more to gain by their admission to the rabbinate than it had by keeping them out. I remember a first year female student approaching me for help, then inviting me to have lunch with her and talk about my past. We went to the lounge where she offered me half of a sandwich that I could not eat. In those years, I drank a lot of coffee. She looked at the extra-thick lenses I was forced to wear and asked me a peculiar question. "Were the Germans good soldiers, Doctor?"

  I had just finished my doctoral dissertation at UCLA on Nicholas of Damascus, a First Century Greek historian, but had not been formally awarded the degree; still, the students liked to think of me as a learned doctor. "No. They were duffers," I said. "They could have won the war had their officers not been so corrupt. They had discipline, but no brains. Their officers were asking the men to fight the First World War all over again."

  "Are you a military historian?" she pursued.

  "No, not really. But I've learned that two major forces propel history: technology and war. I know nothing about technology and therefore study warfare. By the way, do you know about computers?"

  The scientific community was then developing large mainframe computers, but personal computers had yet to become a reality. "A little," she replied. "Why do you ask?"

  "Because I have a project in which a computer is essential."

  "About your studies in Greek history?"

  "No. About the Dead Sea Scrolls."

  When I was awarded a PhD, the Reform seminary made me an Associate Professor of Rabbinics where I taught rabbinical students the fundamentals of Talmudic thought. After another year in Los Angeles, my wife and two sons and I moved to Cincinnati where I continued teaching as a full professor.

  Chanukah will soon be over and I have one last story to tell about the contribution a computer made to deciphering portions of the Dead Sea Scrolls. But while we wait for the final episode, let me leave a question with you. Who could have imagined my fortunes when I was born in Otinaya?

  I certainly could not. The twists and turns of my personal odyssey leave me humbled. Hag Semach.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Carmel home, which Kye's future partner made available to Kye and Gabby, caused them to gasp in wonderment. It was situated on the periphery of Point Lobos State Park, arguably the most majestic collusion between the swirling Pacific Ocean and California's granite coast. The ocean air of her native state always released inside Gabby a feeling of well-being imprinted upon her during childhood. She stood with Kye before a panoramic window to gaze as thunderous waves pounded the shore and rolled onto Monastery Beach, named for a Dominican monastery tucked into a nearby forest of cypress and pine. California wastrels hovered above windswept brush in the foreground, waiting for field-mice to expose themselves. The scent of the salt sea and kelp wafted through an open side door that led to a redwood deck outside.

  "It's breathtaking and wild," she exclaimed to Kye, her arm curled around his waist, holding him close to her side. "Compared to the Pacific, the Atlantic is tame and predictable. You can almost feel Asia harkening from across this vastness."

  "Like a Siren wailing in the night. Sometimes I think I can hear my Korean ancestors calling to me," he said. "Both our pasts are rooted here on the Pacific."

  Their eyes bonded for a moment in acknowledgement.

  "When are you planning to see your father in L.A.?" he asked. "We're talking about Wednesday and Thursday. But now that I've seen this place, it's going to be hard to tear myself away. It's been such a hard season at Ohav Shalom that I'd be happy just to sit here with you for the entire week."

  "Remember, I'm supposed to be in Monterey on business," Kye reminded, his eyes narrowing as they did when he attended to business. "My new partners and I have meetings scheduled every day at the Hilton Hotel. We've got about twenty staff members lodging there and for me to miss meetings would send the wrong signal. Why not invite your father and Mickey here for a few days? Wait 'til you see all the guest rooms of this house."

  She thought about that for a long while, happy for the suggestion, but ruling it out as impractical. "It's difficult for Dad to travel these days. Mickey protects him like a doddering grandmother. I'd invite them, but I'm sure she'll nix any travel. It will be easier for me to fly down to see them. I want to have plenty of time to spend with you. You and your new partners may have important business to conduct, but none is more important that the business between us. I can't imagine a more breathtaking venue."

  From the windows, they moved onto the redwood deck and together breathed in sea air, listening to waves in the background. White and gray gulls and forked-tailed terns darted through the wind currents along the cliff. She snuggled affectionately against him, fusing her body into the folds of his. They were so enamored by the view that inspection of the rest of the home came almost as an afterthought.

  Bedrooms had been stacked above the living and dining rooms to share the Pacific view. In the master bedroom, a king-size bed was situated to permit its users to sit up and look through a plate-glass window at the ocean. To the south was a stone fireplace, equipped with a pile of evenly chopped wood for the inclement weather known to frequent th
is coast. Gabby could not suppress a childish giggle of delight. She had stayed in many elegant hotel rooms, but none with such a commanding intimacy with nature.

  After a quick tour of the bathroom, equipped with every imaginable luxury, she followed Kye back into the bedroom and placed a hand on his neck, drawing him toward her. "Now, Kye. Let's not wait. It's so perfect here. Let's make a child right now. I feel inside that I'm as ripe as I'll ever be. And we'll never find a more beautiful place."

  He kissed her and glanced down at his wristwatch. "I promised to be back at the Hilton. They're waiting for my input to make important decisions."

  She kissed him with three short pecks on the cheek and then placed her lips on his. "I'm waiting for your input, too, Kye. And this is far more important than Images. The website can wait. Our baby can't."

  In the moment he required to answer, she had her pelvis against his, undulating in a way she knew would arouse him. Flat against him, she could feel the initial stirring. Her hands slipped under his shirt and up along his spine, gently massaging a tender spot known to make him tingle. From there, her fingers dropped under his belt into the lower back. Her sensibility transferred to him. The hardness between his legs fit between hers.

  "Where?" he whispered, his voice transformed.

  She kept her breasts firmly against his chest. "In the bed, silly."

  They had to separate to remove a flowered bedspread and oversized pillows. Lavender sheets were an added luxury unknown to them.

  Gabby opened a sliding window to let in sound from the waves, then returned to Kye who sat on the bed, waiting. As with most married couples, they had developed their own routine. He knew where exactly to find the snap holding her bra and she knew how to unfasten the buttons on his jeans. They took turns removing articles of clothing from each other, pausing at intervals to embrace and re-establish contact with their fingers. They started in a sitting position, but moved to their feet to step out of their underclothes. While standing, their bodies merged into one, moving in a vertical motion as they caressed. Then, as their arousal increased, they returned to the bed, savoring each stage of their ascent.

  "When is the phone going to ring?" he whispered in his whimsical manner.

  "Only Chuck knows the number and he won't call unless it's an emergency. Besides, he knows everything about us, including my menstrual cycle. He once said he could read the physical and emotional tea leaves. I decided to call his bluff and give me specific dates. Damned if he wasn't bulls eye on target. And he knows we're trying to have children, so he probably knows exactly what we're doing this very moment."

  Gabby was not shy about sharing her feminine parts with Kye, nor was she inhibited about exploring his masculinity. Because their timing was different, they had worked out a sequence in which he held back. By signs and gasps, she revealed her arousal and, when the time was right, he would allow himself to lift toward conclusion. They were about to repeat what had worked so well in the past when he noticed an acceleration in Gabby's breathing, a signal she was prematurely in the final assent. And what surprised him was that he was lifting simultaneously along the same crescendo, ahead of his normal response. He had gone beyond a point of no-return and feared preceding her, something that had never happened before.

  For a woman as structured and disciplined as she was, Gabby was uninhibited. She knew that many women were embarrassed by moaning pleasure at this moment, but let herself go with a moan from deep within. Her breathing and wailing merged until her pelvis reached its summit of excitement and exploded in a fiery finale.

  Kye was pumping hard, climbing the final stages toward discharge. Only a fraction of a second after she climaxed, he felt warm fluid gushing through his pelvic circuitry and passing into her.

  When he slowed his pumping, she whispered "You've never done that exactly with me, Kye. It must be a good sign. This has to be a baby, Love."

  He remained insider her, talking close to her ear. "This was good, wasn't it?"

  "The best. We've done it. I feel it inside me."

  "Careful, Gabrielle. Nothing is for certain. I don't want you to be disappointed again."

  Outside on the seashore, a set of six powerful waves crashed down on the beach. Gulls cawed gustily over the prospect of the waves disgorging sea creatures onto the sandy beach for lunch.

  "This is not the same thing," Gabby responded to his caution. "Somebody was telling us something. Here in this place. With you. It was perfect. I know this sounds like the movies, but I'm a Los Angeles girl. I live in romantic spaces. We're going to be parents, Kye. This was it!"

  After repeating the need to be realistic. Kye took a shower before his appointments at the Hilton. While toweling himself off, he glanced out into the bedroom to see Gabby on the bed, still naked, but fumbling with a camera she often carted around but seldom used. To see her sitting serenely, without a phone to her ear or a file of papers in her hand, was a novelty. Usually, she was rushing from one function to another, with hardly a moment of private time. When he eventually emerged from the bathroom, she had slipped into a U-Michigan Athletic Dept T-shirt and shorts, but remained barefoot.

  "I want to take some pictures of this moment for our child," she said. "I'm going to make a baby-book which must start on the day of conception."

  "Now hold on," Kye responded. "Don't you think you're jumping the gun? You can't be sure of anything at the moment."

  "Okay, if it doesn't work this time, I'll just throw out the pictures and begin the book in another place at another time."

  "Are you planning to take pictures every time we make love?"

  "No, I am not because I know this was it."

  "How can you know such microscopic things?"

  "Because," and here she paused, "well, because I just know. Sometimes you know things that aren't scientific facts, but you feel them. I've never felt like this before. I want our child to know the exact setting. When you were in the shower, I took pictures of the view and this room. Now I want to get the bed and a picture of you, just as you are on the day you sired our baby. Then, I want you to take a picture of me, exactly as I am now – happy, really happy, Kye."

  He appeared nonplussed and said what he immediately regretted. "Are you planning to take pictures of us screwing?"

  "No, that isn't necessary. Our son or daughter doesn't need to see or experience how wonderful our sex is. That's between us. Someday, he or she will have a different experience, maybe better or maybe worse. But I want to record the exact time and place we brought him or her into the world. It's divine, Kye, the only really divine thing people can do. We just created a world, a small world, but a world nevertheless."

  He stepped toward her for a hug but stopped. Gabby's eyes were glassy with tears. "Are you all right?" he asked tenderly.

  "Yes, of course," she said.

  "But you're crying."

  "Tears of joy, Kye. I can't remember feeling so happy."

  His lips gently touched her eye and absorbed the salty moisture. "I must go now, Gabrielle. The meetings started fifteen minutes ago and I've got a good half-hour's drive to the Hilton. Remember the plan. We're all having dinner together on the Pier in Monterey. Meet us there at seven. Keys to the rental car are sitting on my suitcase downstairs. My new partners are dying to meet you."

  "I'll be there," she smiled, wiping the last of her tears with the back of her hand, then kissing Kye. "Now for a couple of quick pictures. Stand over there by the side of the bed."

  He complained, but conceded to several poses and took the camera and placed Gabby on the other side of the bed where the mid-morning light accentuated her features. When she was satisfied they had taken enough to ensure a good result, he said, "Please, Love, don't get your hopes up too high. If not this morning, then tonight, or tomorrow, or the next day, or next month."

  Her smile was condescending. Why couldn't he share in her certitude?

  After Kye's departure, Gabby showered and took a walk along a pathway leading down from the r
ocks to the beach. An odor of decaying kelp was in the wind. Hungry terns darted above the waves searching for a school of fish. Beyond them, two large gray pelicans soared lazily seventy feet above the water periodically tucked their wings into their bodies and dove headlong into the water for a midday snack. Before turning back to the house, she uttered a scheckianu blessing, gratitude for having been allowed to reach this happy moment.

  Gabby's telephone call to Rabbi Judah Gould caught up with him at his Washington D.C. hotel. "I didn't expect to hear from you," he sounded surprised.

  "I want to be certain that you feel comfortable and to help with any problems that might arise. Are there any?"

  "No. So far my job has been easy. Becky Sanders asked me to discuss the Gemora in her adult education class on Sunday morning. Another woman from Brooklyn called about a class on Orthodox thought."

  "Carey Sylerman."

  "Yes, that’s her name."

  "She's filling in for Rabbi Landau. Carey's one of our Bat Mitzvah girls who's planning to get married into a very religious sect call Sh'erit ha-Pletah. You can imagine that her parents are not happy campers. But at least I've got her to come and spend time with them when she comes home to teach for us."

  "Got the picture. Something like that happened once when I was in a junior post in Charleston, South Carolina. I'll keep my eye out for her."

  Gabby's call to Chuck Browner found him at Ohav Shalom fielding innumerable requests to talk with the rabbi, a job he had mastered with the aplomb of a White House appointment secretary. "While the cat is out, the mice will play," he joked. "Only I feel like I'm up at the tennis net, volleying. As soon as the ball comes over the net, I swat it back into the other fellow's court. I try putting the burden upon others to call back when you return. Your appointment book is already filled for January and we're working on February. By the way, I took the initiative and sent Carey Sylerman a Shuttle ticket to return here on Saturday evening. A couple of her students stopped by and said that she's a dynamite teacher."