by Roger Herst
"All we need is a search warrant to enter Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah in Crown Heights and identify the tattooed code. If we find it, we can seize the stolen property and arrest this Jeremiah Lieb Knishbacher and his thugs.”
Gabby threw a frustrated look at Chuck, who grimaced back. "That's not constructive. Arresting Rabbi Olam v'Ed would injure Sh'erit ha-Pletah and cause a greater rift than already exists between observant and non-observant Jews. If the criminals are willing, and I believe they will cooperate however reluctantly, an indictment is unnecessary."
"I'm sorry," Agent Phearson said impatiently. "The government will not and cannot sit by and let you take the law into your own hands."
"I didn't have to share my conclusions with you. I did it because I thought you would cooperate. I'm sure Rabbi Olam v'Ed would rather return the stolen scrolls than to go back to prison."
Phearson pursued, "And you think he'll roll over and let you examine the Torahs in question? He knows about the tattoos. That's how he targeted Ohav Shalom, Beth Torah, and Adat Israel. Why should he let you uncover evidence to incriminate him and his followers?"
Gabby's lips opened into a conspiratorial smile. "That's where my plan could fail and why I want you guys to back me up. Sh'erit ha-Pletah runs a yeshiva in East Jerusalem. As soon as Olam v'Ed learns that he's under suspicion, he'll remove the Torahs from the country and hide them in Israel. That's were I need your help."
Dellum's beeper sounded like a door chime. She glowered at the LCD screen, punched two buttons and returned to repeat herself. "From what you tell me about this rabbi, he's a very intelligent man. People with brains like him won't give you the opportunity to hang him."
"I disagree," said Gabby, "because I'm counting on him acting in character and being true to his macho convictions. They don't teach women how to read the Torah in Sh'erit ha-Pletah because they have a low opinion of female intellectual capabilities. The Torah text is quite lean. It hasn't any punctuation or chapter titles or verse references. To read it, you must know what vowels are intended and where the verses start and end. That makes finding one's way in the text quite a skill. It isn't in his mentality to believe that I can negotiate through the Torah like a man."
"He knows you're a rabbi, doesn't he?" asked Janna Phearson.
"He refuses to recognize me as a rabbi because I'm a woman and of the Reform persuasion. That's a blindness he'll live to regret because it will make him careless. The Nazi tattoos were all made at exactly the same place in the text. Olam v'Ed will assume that a woman like me doesn't know enough to find them in the text. Moreover, he doesn't know that I know exactly where to search."
"That's as hypothetical as it gets," Dellum added.
"Sh'erit ha-Pletah possess at least seven Holocaust scrolls. Since only three have been reported stolen, Olam v'Ed probably has legitimate possession of four. I want only the three stolen scrolls, which will still leave him four for his own purposes."
Chuck wore his sexual preference as a banner of pride and often let others know about it before they came to suspect. "I'm no fan of the Orthodox," he curled his lips in a mocking manner, "largely because they have a very low opinion of who I am. They allocated me to one of the lowest echelons in hell and nothing would make me happier than to let a few of those pious wimps feel the fists of a gay man. I intend to be nearby in case they get rough with Rabbi Gabby. That's another prejudice they'll pay dearly for. The Orthodox don't understand how gay men have learned to defend themselves. All we're asking is for you guys not to stop an attempt to remove the Torahs from Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
Phearson shook her head in disagreement. "No. I don't believe that for a minute. There's no way you can defend the rabbi against so many."
"You guys work with the local police. If things get rough, let them establish order."
"That won't be necessary," Gabby interceded confidently. "Once I catch him red handed, he'll have to capitulate. From LaGuardia, Chuck will return one Torah to Greensboro and I'll take the other one to Buffalo. The matter will be over within a few hours."
"The answer is no, Rabbi," Phearson said. "You're way over your head. Our agency doesn't work that way. It can't."
"Will you take this to your superiors?" Chuck asked in a voice, unusually conciliatory.
"If you insist, but we must warn you in advance that Assistant Director Marshall Shore operates by the book. I've never seen him vary from established procedures, and letting criminals off the hook just isn't his style. One doesn't spend a career in the FBI because he enjoys releasing felons on the streets."
Chuck mulled over the name Shore and asked, "Is he Jewish by chance?"
"I don't know," Phearson answered, "that's never come up. But come to think of it, I don't believe he works on Rosh Hashonah, or however you pronounce it."
Friday morning, Chuck brought to Gabby a Fed Express letter from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He read her mail to prioritize it and already knew the contents. While handing it across her desk, he said, "Well, it looks as though we must go to Plan B, if there is any Plan B for our operation in Crown Heights. The FBI has less imagination than a garden slug.
Her eyes fell over the letter to read:
Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn
Congregation Ohav Shalom
Washington D.C. 20004
As per your request, we have brought the matter of Sh'erit ha-Pletah to the attention of Assistant Director Marshall Shore, who reacted entirely as we predicted. He stressed that allowing you to confront potential criminals without the protection of federal agents could be dangerous, particularly if these religious people feel threatened. The government has a great deal of experience dealing with communities that harbor strong convictions about religious matters, such as the stolen Torahs. They often act irrationally.
We are now contemplating a new course of action to ensure that the stolen property is returned. It is not our purpose to embarrass any particular community, but the law must be followed. As of this moment, Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah in Brooklyn is being watched to be certain that stolen property is not removed from the premises.
Your help in this investigation has been invaluable and we thank you in advance for your cooperation in bringing this matter to a proper conclusion.
Sincerely,
Janna Phearson, Investigator
"Have you a Plan B, Rabbi Gabby?" Chuck hung back, waiting for her reaction.
She looked over her reading glasses at him. "No. I rather fancied Plan A. What are you doing tomorrow afternoon, friend?"
"Oh no," he almost wailed, his head shaking negatively. "You have that weird look when you're planning mischief."
"I think you need a short trip to Brooklyn, tomorrow afternoon. As soon as the sun goes down on Shabbos, they have a Havdalah service at Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah. That's when they bring out all seven Torahs from the special chamber of Z'hut Avot. The way I figure, there is no better opportunity to catch Rabbi Olam v'Ed with the stolen goods. But I'll need your help."
"You read the letter, Rabbi Gabby. The FBI won't cooperate."
"So we proceed without alone. It will take a bit of bluffing on my part, but I reckon those Orthodox guys must be pretty gullible."
"What will you say to Phearson and Dellum?"
"They're federal agents, aren't they? What government employees work on the weekend when not specifically on duty. If all goes well, we'll take possession of the Torahs tomorrow night and return them to their owners before Monday morning when Phearson and Dellum show up for work on Pennsylvania Avenue."
"What happens if Rabbi Olam v'Ed and his minions get rough?"
"That's one reason why I want you to go along. Maybe it's time to for you to settle an old feud between the Orthodox and gays."
According to Gabby, Senator Arthur Zuckerman must have considered his life in the twilight hours and, as the crude expression goes, gotten religion. He unexpectedly showed up alone for Friday evening services, without his usual entourage of aids and sycophants. Gabby notice
d him midway among the pews, neither glad-handing nor particularly responsive to fellow congregants who recognized him. With the look of a man in devout prayer, he sat slouched down in his seat, seldom lifting his eyes, and appearing to devour the text in his Siddur, Sabbath prayer book.
Using the weekly Haftorah as a point of departure for her Sabbath message, Gabby spoke about one of her favorite family themes, noting how children don't listen to their parents, but imitate them. She illustrated with an incident that occurred on one of her many jogs along the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal the previous spring. Unlike the majority of birds and mammals, both male and female geese share the upbringing of their young goslings. Gabby noticed that when the parents swam one before the other, their offspring lined up in a column behind them. But when the parents swam abreast of each other, their baby goslings imitated their parents and naturally spread out, swimming side by side.
Immediately after the service, Gabby moved to the foyer to receive worshipers before they rushed home for Sabbath dinners. Senator Zuckerman, who rarely waited for anyone, waited patiently in line behind others who had gotten there earlier. When his turn came, he looked through tired eyes at Gabby. "I always enjoy your sermons, Rabbi. I think I would have done things differently with my daughter had I known you in those early days. But alas, I'm afraid I wasn't much of a father. It's an occupational hazard, if you know what I mean. I trust you got my message to Gideon Ganeden."
"Of course," she said.
"I hope he takes me seriously. There could be some unpleasant consequences. For both of us."
"I'm afraid I don't know enough to comment upon that, Senator. Would you have a few minutes for me after we say blessings of the bread and wine?"
He glanced down at his wristwatch. "Yes. You've made time in your demanding schedule when I needed you. I think a little reciprocity is in order on the Sabbath."
"We can go to my office. This won't take but a few minutes."
After Cantor Blass blessed the bread and congregants were chatting, Gabby stole the Senator's arm and squired him into the corridor toward the administrative center and her office. There, she related what she had learned about Sh'erit ha-Pletah and the intransigence of the FBI. Yes, she understood the legal issues, but as a Jewish leader, her job was to promote Jewish unity and that didn't involve publicly embarrassing or perhaps destroying Rabbi Olam v'Ed or his clan of the faithful. Besides, one of Ohav Shalom's daughters was an initiate in this community and her happiness was at stake.
Zuckerman had learned to be a good listener, rapidly understanding the scope of the problem and why Gabby was so concerned. When she concluded, he asked, "Are you certain this Rabbi Olam v'Ed… or whatever his real name is, will cooperate and return the Torahs he pinched?"
"No. But I don't believe he has many alternatives. The Nazis did us a certain favor by tattooing the scrolls they expropriated. They gave us the tools to nail the thieves, red handed."
Zuckerman brought a fist to his lips and blew breath through it. "I could call FBI Director Simon Crane directly, but he could turn me down cold and that would be counter-productive. He'd be suspicious of an Ohio Democrat interested in a New York case. I've got a better idea. Let me speak with Senator Spencer of New York. She's a Democrat and has, I'm told, strong support in the Orthodox communities there. If she calls Simon Crane you'll more likely to get a favorable response."
"I'd appreciate that," Gabby replied, as the Senator rose from the sofa where he was seated.
"How much time have we?" he said at the door, using the papal we.
"Until sundown tomorrow, when Rabbi Olam v'Ed and company bring the Torahs out of the Chamber of Z'chut Avot."
"Can you wait a week?"
"I can, but too many people now know and by that time, the FBI will follow its own course of action."
He grunted from deep inside. "Well then, I must get a hold of Vivian Spencer by phone in the next twenty-four hours."
The concluding prayers of Sabbath always drew a large congregation at Beth Sh’erit ha-Pletah, since worshippers enjoyed the festive mood of the Havdalah Service, along with the emotional pageantry of seven Torahs emerging from the sacred Chamber of Merit. Worshippers returned refreshed from their homes were they had been resting in honor of the Sabbath. The idea of a little exercise dancing with the Torah scrolls was welcome since muscles needed stretching to work off heavy Sabbath meals.
Carey Sylerman appeared worried and nervous. She confided in Gabby that Baruch was conspicuously avoiding her. Nothing could be kept secret in Sh'erit ha-Pletah's closely-knit society where gossip flourished. She was learning that members of the clan were less interested in her as an individual than as a wife of a star student. Once her status with Baruch Teitelbaum was in question, fellow initiates transferred their attentions to others. This left her not only distressed but isolated. Even her roommate avoided conversation.
When Gabby and Carey emerged from Carey's apartment house a little past four, Chuck was waiting in a Dodge sport utility vehicle they had rented at LaGuardia Airport. Since the sun had still not set this afternoon, it was still too early for an observant Jew to ride. Chuck followed as Gabby and Carey walked toward the direction of Beth Sh’erit ha-Pletah. As soon as he found a parking space from which to observe the wide steps and main entrance to the shul, he handed Gabby a walkie-talkie borrowed from Doc Veracruz, Ohav Shalom's building engineer.
To Carey, Gabby said, "Please walk ahead because I want to test this thing with Chuck and I don't want any suggestion that you violated Shabbos. I promise you, I won't use it until after sundown, if it becomes necessary at all."
As soon as Carey was out of range, Chuck flipped on the battery-operated walkie-talkie that emitted a healthy static noise of an unused frequency. Gabby tuned a dial to establish the same frequency on her unit, then tried a test exchange that worked well when the two units were in close proximity. What would happen once Gabby entered the confines of Beth Sh’erit ha-Pletah was another matter.
"If you must enter," Gabby kept an eye on Carey who waited by the side entrance to the women's gallery, the atzeret nashim, "wear your yarmulke. And most importantly, don't let anyone intimidate you. That's a favorite trick of these guys who enjoy making others feel inferior. Remember, they're the felons, not us."
"What if you can't get off a clear message? When do I play the Lone Ranger and gallop in to save the damsel from distress?"
"Two quick beeps on the walkie-talkie will be my signal."
"Likewise, if there's trouble out here on the street, I'll beep you twice, a signal you should beat it immediately and we go to Plan C."
"There isn't a Plan C," she explained, allowing her anxiety to invade her tone. "I'll leave my overcoat with you since we might have to make a fast getaway."
The women's gallery will filled to capacity as Gabby and Carey paused on the landing, looking for seats together. They stood in unison as men below entered the Amidah portion of the Maariv liturgy. Voices from the sanctuary floor rose in volume and speed as the pious vied with each other to be heard by God. The women mumbled the same words in subdued voices.
For protection, Gabby fingered the compact walkie-talkie hidden in the breast pocket of her suit jacket. When the congregation below signaled they were finished with this Amidah by sitting down, a single voice rose in repetition. It was a well-trained cantor's voice with a falsetto wail that irritated Gabby. It always annoyed her when Jews wailed. They were not in misery and had no honest business to affect that frame of emotion.
It was then that Gabby realized what she had overlooked during her initial visit to Beth Sh’erit ha-Pletah. While it was the custom of Orthodox men in other shuls to read their prayers from prayer books, the men of Sh'erit ha-Pletah recited them without a text. Given their ability to memorize large tracts of Talmud, this didn't seem particularly challenging. After all, they prayed much the same prayers three times each day, seven days per week.
Gabby's watch told her that outside the sun was beginning
to set and the Sabbath about to terminate. This was confirmed when men left their stations and began milling about the shul, exchanging words and occasionally a handshake. On an elevated pulpit, almost centered in the sanctuary, several men were preparing the instruments of Havdalah, the service separating the sacred day of Sabbath from ordinary days of the week. They displayed a silver box filled with spices, usually cloves and nutmeg, a multicolored taper of seven wicks entwined together in what looked to Gabby like a DNA sequence, and finally, an elaborate silver goblet for wine. From this moment, recitations in the previous liturgy turned decidedly musical. Singing replaced chanting and the men's feet began tapping the floor. Their bodies swayed in preparation for the rhythms to come.
As the chanting rose in volume, the heavyset, buxom women beside Gabby rose to express themselves in movement, confined as they were in the crowded balcony. The cacophony of voices eclipsed Gabby's name that erupted quite suddenly from the walkie-talkie in her jacket pocket. "Rabbi Gabby, Rabbi Gabby, do you read me?" came Chuck's voice. She coiled into herself to muffle additional sound emanating from her chest.
While women undulated in place, this was a good time to step onto the landing and communicate with Chuck. Halfway down, Gabby pressed the TALK button and said, "Yes, Chuck, I read you."
"Good. We have company out on the street. They just drove up in black vans, looking as conspicuous as yellow poppies in a green field."
"Who?" Gabby felt her heart suddenly pumping fast. There was nothing in Plan B about company.
"Janna Phearson, Claudia Dellum, and about fifteen fellow agents. I spotted them first and tried to hide, but thought better of it. When I approached Phearson's vehicle, she was pretty uppity and let me know she was more than peeved about you going inside Beth Sh’erit ha-Pletah alone. She wants to know exactly where you are."
"If I told her I'm in the azaret nashim, she wouldn't understand."
"I asked if she was planning to enter the building and she said she had orders to do no more than back you up. How did that happen?"
