NEW YEAR, NEW WORLD
"The guillotine blade has fallen," were Harold Farb's words as he reached Gabby by phone at 10:30 a.m. on New Year's Day. "I promised Stan not to ruin your holiday, but felt it wrong to delay any longer."
This is not what she wanted to hear, but immediately understood the reference. "Has the Morgenstern family filed suit against us? "In the District Court, the morning of the thirty-first. Stan Melkin phoned on Thursday night to say he received a call from Marc Sutterfeld of Morrison and Grant to alert him, as a courtesy between colleagues, you understand. I’m told lawyers do things like that. They protect their client's interest with ferocious partisanship yet behind the scenes maintain friendly contact. In a city like Washington you never know when you will need a favor or a referral from your collegial adversary. The details you don't want to hear."
"Wrong, Harold. I need to see my attackers before they swarm over me. What's the charge against us?" "Dereliction of duty. Gross negligence leading to bodily harm and death."
"How much?" Figures don't mean anything at this stage. In a personal injury suit, there's little rhyme or reason to the numbers. They're manufactured by thieves in the legal profession to justify fees. Personal injury lawyers usually ask for the equivalent of the national debt, then double it. Figures are pulled from thin air. We all know that the death of a young girl and the injury of another have no price tag."
"Stop beating around the bush. How much?"
"Forty-six million."
The number made her grunt. "If I lost a child and had another injured for life, I'd probably think that a paltry sum. There's no way I can ever afford that kind of bread. I'll probably have to sell myself as a galley slave on the next man-o-war sailing from Baltimore Harbor."
"This isn't your worry. It belongs to our insurance carrier. If we lose, Dominion Mutual is going to have to fork up the mulla."
"Will Dominion Mutual cover the synagogue, too?" "The first ten million. So that should give you a clue about the settlement sum."
"Did you speak with Asa about this before he left for his vacation?" "No, I wanted to talk with you first." "I'm glad he's not here. Trying to contain secrets around Ohav is like plugging a hemorrhaging dike with your toes. It's hopeless. Trust me, I've tried."
"I could call his cell phone, but it can wait."
The way rumors circulate in this city, Asa's likely to get the wrong information. We're all going to have to trust each other and face reality."
She didn't like the sound of that, but then she didn't like the sound of anything relating to the situation. If there is a redeeming feature in this tragedy, she hasn't discovered it.
When Harold rang off, Gabby sat in her kitchen staring out the window onto neighboring rooftops. So this was her New Year's present. Does one tragedy necessarily lead to another? Her gloom was pervaded by a yearning to escape. She had survived one calamity after another, somehow landing on her feet. A premonition haunted her that this time she would not be so lucky.
Her phone rang again, but she did not rush to answer. The caller was patient, waiting for her to relent, which she eventually did.
"Hey, partner," the up-beat voice belonged to Kye Naah. "You promised to read your email. We've worked up a special presentation for you at Politicstoday. I hope you can come see it. No wimpy cocktail parties for us. Come and be part of the new century."
She wasn't in the mood for celebrating, yet the idea of brooding for the remainder of the holiday had even less appeal. Friends had invited her to several New Year's receptions which she had Chuck delicately decline. To explain her feelings, even to old friends with refined sensitivities, was to reveal more than she wanted. Kye's invitation sounded appealing.
"Okay, pal," she responded. "You've got yourself a deal. I'll drive over. As usual, we've got another crisis brewing and I may have to leave."
"Sure you know where we are?" "You said at the New Carrollton Metro. I've got your street address on your brochure from the Greenbrier. In the Girl Scouts they taught me to read a map."
"Come as soon as possible. There's no receptionist, so just wander in and ask anybody for me. I'll be on the lookout for you."
By noon, she had driven Capitol Hill onto the Capital Beltway. The unsightly industrial zone around New Carrollton was cluttered with large delivery vehicles and tractor-trailers parked for the holiday and provided a venue for morose thoughts. On the one hand, she was furious with the Morgensterns. How could reasonable people blame the synagogue and its dedicated rabbis for what was obviously not their fault? But concurrently, she empathized with their pain. Allocating fault was not only human, but, with such an overwhelming tragedy, understandable. She pondered the best way to break the news to Asa. The possibility of returning home to call Kye and beg out of his party crossed her mind. Then place the fateful phone call to Asa. But she also knew how slowly the wheels of Chancery would grind. There was no reason to ruin Asa's holiday in order to wait for the lawyers.
Metro East Business Park, a 700,000 square foot corporate campus, was home to Politicstoday. Kye had selected the location in order to be distant from what he considered the corrupting influences of the capital and yet be near enough to keep close tabs on its pulse. A dedicated advocate for public transport, he wanted his associates to be within walking distance of a Metro station. But since the majority of Politicstoday staff lived in an adjacent office building, proximity to Metro was only a secondary benefit.
When Gabby entered the building, she found Kye's young associates lounging around after a marathon celebration that had begun well before the New Year and had continued through the morning for some fifteen hours. Rock music blasted from an array of hidden speakers. Theatrical lights flashed in multiple colors. Once past the foyer, she observed banks of computer monitors hanging from the ceiling and flickering a potpourri of abstract images. Clusters of young people were gathered under these monitors with a designated individual operating a keyboard.
She corralled a dusty-blond woman in baggy chino pants and a cowboy vest to ask about Kye, expecting her to lift a phone and ask for his whereabouts. But instead she veered left to the first unoccupied keyboard. An instant later Gabby read a message scroll across the screen. "KyeN – visitor at station 23-1. LoraineY."
A few minutes later, Kye emerged from an elevator, both hands extended to Gabby in welcome. "You made it just in time for our linkup with Hawaii – the last outpost before the International Date Line. Like us, all other locals have already passed into the New Year.
In jeans, boots, and a cowboy shirt with patch pockets, Kye blended into this workforce, calling little attention to himself as he guided Gabby from department to department, explaining how his "web community," operated.
"We're not millionaires like employees of Google, at least not yet," Kye said. "Someday perhaps, when we finally divide up the equity. But as of today, we're deep in red ink. Technology is expensive. Fortunately, we have a dedicated group of people working here, motivated largely by their dreams, not their pocketbooks. Nobody can go to the grocery store with stock warrants we've issued. We're forced to economize and share our living expenses. Most of us live in the building next door. No private rooms, just an open space and sleeping bags. Our only luxury is membership in the P.G. Sport Club down the street. We exercise and shower there. You can imagine Prince George's County isn't wild about the idea. Our legal department, such that it is, has managed to evade eviction several times."
A neophyte to the world of technology, Gabby was awed by equipment and the expertise required to operate it. As Kye explained, Politicstoday pushed the election locomotive along an information highway. The frontispiece motto for E M Foster's novel Howard's End adorned the elevator landings on each floor, "Only connect."
"That's what we're about," Kye explained while squiring her through a corridor toward a large bank of servers processing and distributing text, voice and video. An elevator descended to the South Pole, where mammoth air conditioners pumped cool air over the machinery. Gabby was impressed with the energy of technical staff, most of whom had been up more than 24 hours. She couldn't imagine a better place to escape from the brooding atmosphere of the synagogue.
Temperature in the basement was twenty-five degrees cooler than on the ground floor. A swish of cold air circulated from a raised floor. Monitors suspended from the ceiling flashed portions of a New Year's celebration occurring virtually in Honolulu. With Diamond Head Mountain as a background, fireworks illuminated Waikiki Beach while crowds paraded along the sand, scantily clothed. A band of electric guitarists pelted out island-rock. A barefoot representative of Politicstoday was milling among others on the beach. "I feel like I've been up for three days," the representative said. "Got your transmission from the Washington Mall which we shared with affiliates on outlying islands. Our people in Sydney started nearly twenty-four hours ago and are still going strong. They said there were so many boats on the water you could get from the Opera House to North Sydney by jumping from one vessel to another."
At Politicstoday in Washington, volunteers began passing out pineapple and rum cocktails, followed with bacon and poi finger foods.
"We've saved clips from celebrations throughout the world," Kye said, whiling offering her a rum drink at the same time as another associate pressed a paper plate with Hawaiian finger foods under her nose. She sipped the drink, but rejected the food. Orchid leis suddenly appeared. Kye draped one over her head and adjusted it upon her shoulders. "Interested to welcome the New Year in another country?" "I'm curious about Jerusalem," she responded. "You know, there's always the threat that some nut case will arise on the New Year to save the world by proclaiming himself the messiah. As I recall, five such individuals appeared during the millennium celebration."
Kye gently nudged a keyboard operator aside. She remembered that he typed only with his index fingers, yet was surprised how rapidly he moved over the keyboard. "Up there to your left," he pointed with his hand, designating a monitor for footage of the Israeli celebration. The screen opened with a scene of the Western Wall of the ancient Herodian Temple. Hassidim and Orthodox men were reciting their prayers as they did every day of the year.
"Doesn't look like those fellows have gotten into the spirit of the New Year," Kye commented.
"I don't understand those men in funny hats and dark coats. I find it hard to believe that people still dress like that."
"Orthodox and Hassidic Jews revere the past more than the present. When forced to make a choice between tradition and change, they opt for tradition. Their view of the future is the past. Who's to say they're wrong? We have an expression for the diversity of style and opinion in Hebrew. Elu v'elu divray Elohim, which means God reveals himself to different people in different ways and they, consequently, end up as different people, with different points of view."
Kye thought about that for a long minute before responding. "Here, we abandon history as fast as we manufacture it. Maybe that's why I find what you do so refreshing." He placed his hand upon her shoulder for an instant. "That's what I admire about you, Gabby. I expected to find you rigidly doctrinaire. But you don't fit that mold. And that's wonderful because you're going to be elected to the Eighth District. Voters will recognize this trait. My friends tell me you're already a folk hero among gays and lesbians. Blacks look at you as a kind of saint for your accomplishments in Anacostia. And a companion of a friend who loves to hunt says that your name is gold among members of the National Rifle Association. You probably won't get votes from conventional party voters loyal to Toby Ryles, but you'll pick up all the fringe voters."
"I don't think one can get elected by gays, blacks, and gun lovers alone."
"Come with me to our studio. I'll show you how it's done. I never wanted Politicstoday be just another high-tech company churning out money. We're trying to translate this technology into a process to help good people get elected, not just wealthy and powerful people."
She was dubious. "I can't see how you can reach enough voters to win. It might work for those fluent at surfing the net, but the majority of people don't surf. Many older people in my electoral district don't feel comfortable before a computer."
Kye's smile was patient. "We've arranged a little dog and pony show for you in our studio. If you're in the mood, we can run it for you now. If not, it can wait for a better time."
Her curiosity drove her to accept his invitation. In the elevator, crowded with celebrants, he spoke close to her ear. "We start with the Internet, Facebook and Twitter stuff, but immediately branch into conventional radio, television and print media – placards, town meetings, church and synagogue convocations where permitted. Wherever people get together to talk politics, we go. Our database for reaching voters is a massive library of images, speeches, statements, photo-clips. What makes us special is that we're constantly up-dating our material so it's fresh and accurate. If our competition gets the news first, heads roll around this place."
From South Pole, they ascended to the third floor whose corridors threaded though banks of laboratories filled with work benches packed with electronic equipment operated by a bewildering array of dials and buttons. Computer monitors were ubiquitous, all alive with images. Music blasted from an open door as young, unshaven hackers moved in and out to the corridor.
"We may be celebrating New Years, but Politicstoday can't shut down. While we play we work," Kye explained. "Work is really play here and play, true work. Since most of us eat and live in the neighboring building, it's easier to stay put and not leave the campus. By the same token, hours are flexible, as are vacations. Everybody's got an assigned job, but we shy away from titles. Everybody is on a first-name basis, including me."
In front of Studio C, two young women and two men were waiting. After introductions, they escorted Gabby into a cavernous room with a battery of monitors arranged in a semi-circle before a swivel chair. Electronic panels, looking to Gabby like an aircraft's flight deck, were perpendicular to this seat. A heavyset brunette with leathery, sun-tanned skin settled Gabby into the center chair and attached a lapel microphone to the collar of her blouse. "This mic simultaneously translates everything you say into text." She pointed to a monitor high above Gabby's left shoulder. "You can read your own words a they scroll across the monitor."
"I hope it spells better than I think" Gabby quipped.
"But the second mic, attached to it is a regular voice microphone. We can send your voice wherever we want – to cell phones, radio, television, any kind of meeting. It's all digital and moves faster than sound, but of course slower than light."
"What makes this special," Kye added over her shoulder, "is that television is a one-way street, sending out images and sound returning nothing. Here, we're on a highway, with all kinds of traffic coming and going. We can even connect with men in space."
The voice of a technician stationed behind one of the work benches said, "We're ready when you are."
Kye's attention left Gabby as he addressed his associates. "Meet the next congresswoman from the Eighth District of Maryland."
What emerged on double screens in the lower bank of monitors were videos taken of Gabby beside Vice President Arthur Giles at the opening of the Bart Skulkin Tennis Center in Anacostia. Her chin was raised to meet the afternoon sun and there was a winsome smile on her face. Arthur Giles was lauding her role in establishing the center as a part of the city's desperate need for tennis courts to train the next generation of Afro-American tennis stars.
"On monitor E, you'll see a list of local TV stations," Kye said. "Denise, please show Rabbi Lewyn how we can ship this video instantly to any television or radio station." And to Gabby, he continued, "We have agreements with stations to use up-to-the-moment clips as round-the clock filler, which means our material instantly fills the gap in advertising traffic – at a fraction of the retail price. And you'd be surprise how much gap-time stations have, especially during night-time off-hours."
"Now, Dale," he pivoted in the direction of the second director on Gabby's right. "Let's send text to the Washington Post."
Gabby's verbal reaction to seeing herself with the vice-president, "Oh, my God!" scrolled across three screens. "Done," snapped Dale.
"You didn't really send that to the Post, did you?" Gabby countered.
"Absolutely," Dale said, "but it was directed to the obituary page, so it will be disregarded. Don't worry."
Kye added, "Of course no campaign can be entirely run from a studio, even a state-of-the-art place such as this. But most of the running around, wasted time waiting for others to assemble, the high costs of traveling to the voters can be circumvented. Now look what we can do with the interactive features of our program. I'm going down to the canteen on the ground floor. I've asked some of my people to rendezvous with me there. We'll pretend we're at a political meeting and fire some easy questions at you. Then we'll project your responses, both voice and text, around the building. We'll place a moving background behind you to remind us in the canteen that you're a woman of wide talents and civic interests, always on the move."
"You'll embarrass me if you ask questions I can't answer," Gabby responded.
The moment Kye disappeared, monitors before her bristled with additional clips. Shots of her at the Fitzgerald Tennis Center where she and Lydia Browner won the Celebrity-Amateur Tournament two years before. Next followed Gabby at the celebrated Zentner trial she had so long tried to erase from her memory. This reminded her that trouble with the Morgenstern family promised to put her back into the courtroom, a place she never wanted to visit again.
On the screen directly in front, Kye was surrounded by his friends. A female associate in workman's overalls asked, "Rabbi, we'd like to ask you how you feel about gun control, now that you've had first-hand experience."
Gabby liked to think in sports metaphors and took a swing at the ball as it passed over the plate. "Yes, it's true I've had personal experience that I'd prefer never occurred. But since it did, I've learned about the complexities of gun control. Guns are part and parcel of our society and I don't see a possibility of eliminating them altogether. An old and dear friend who knew just about everything important to know about firearms believed that most anti-gun advocates hardly know gun-enthusiasts. Their opinions are formed with little or no personal experience. Before my friend was shot dead in a District of Columbia park, he wanted states to license gun ownership as we license car ownership and force gun users to undergo many hours of safety training. Since his death, I've concluded he was right. There's no purpose in prohibitive gun laws that can't be enforced, like what occurred during Prohibition with alcohol. The solution is to empower those who want to protect gun ownership. Let's let the National Rifle Association take responsibility for educating and re-educating it gun owners. Wherever feasible, unlicensed weapons should be confiscated and their owners heavily fined. That won't take all guns off the streets, nor will it guarantee that criminals won't get access to them. But it will provide law enforcement with tools to confiscate guns in the hands of irresponsible and ignorant users. That should make the streets safer. Exactly how safe? That I don't know, but I do know they will be safer."
Behind Gabby, a volley of clapping erupted. Observers in Studio C apparently liked what they heard.
"Look, Rabbi," Dale said. The text of her statement scrolled across Monitor E-6, ready for delivery to the media."One click and we've dispatched it. Can't guarantee anybody will pick it up, but we'll attach pictures of you at the Izaak Walton Rifle Range. Picture and story won't cost a penny for reporters, photographers or editors. This material will be automatically archived for instant retrieval and can be shipped in seconds anywhere we choose. If the NRA will lend us their email list, we'll broadcast your thoughts of the members in Maryland. That should create more voters for you."
Politicstoday staff from production, accounts, and public relations began posing questions for Gabby. She had only to respond by typing back a few words. As a result of this give-and-take, she was able to answer a score of hypothetical queries within minutes.
Soon after the dog-and-pony show demonstration, Kye rendezvoused with Gabby in the canteen. No executive dining room for staff and no tables for the company's managers. Even after partying for the better part of a full day, the staffers buzzed with excitement. They were poised on the cutting edge of technology and knew it. For brief moments, she experienced their enthusiasm as she seriously considered surrendering herself to Kye Naah's electronic campaign. Politicstoday made election sound easy. Of course, she maintained her reservations. But they were less compelling once she had seen the potential of an electronic campaign.
Driving back to her Bethesda condo later that evening, her resolve waned. She pegged Kye as a clever super salesman, pitching his company's wares. Political power had little appeal. Still, it was hard not to accept that Kye's innovation might indeed be a slayer of icons. At least one thing was clear. The thought of running for Congress was no longer mashuganah. Partially mad, but not utterly!
The following afternoon, Gabby received a call from Sanibel Island, Florida. "I just heard the rosy news from Stan Melkin," Asa's tenor voice cracked with emotion. "Since when are rabbis supposed to be sued for being rabbinical? I can't pay what the Morgensterns are asking. And as a matter of fact, I can't even pay a lawyer to help me not pay."
Gabby was annoyed at Stan for having spoiled Asa's holiday, but given his sense of congregational leadership, she was not surprised. "First of all, Asa," she mustered a response, "Stop thinking about yourself. We're a team. Get it through you cranium that I have no sympathy for your private woes. They're our woes, jointly felt and jointly suffered. Secondly, this is why the shul carries errors and omission insurance. Our joint problem has just become Dominion Mutual's problem. When push comes to shove, it's Dominion that going to pay the piper, not us. And more importantly, we haven't lost our case. We're not responsible for what happened. That's our story and we're going to stick to it. Meanwhile, we'll let Dominion Mutual and the Morgenstern lawyers go at each other's jugulars. We must stay out of the mayhem and continue to work for our congregants. Let's talk face to face. You're returning tomorrow afternoon, aren't you?"
"Sooner if I can get a flight."
"That's not necessary. Or fair to Anina. She deserves to complete her days in the sun as much as you. Nothing will happen immediately. Come back on schedule. I'll talk with you at your pad Thursday evening. No Anina; no piano. Just me and you and what's left over from that jug of Gallo red I noticed in your kitchen. Will that work for you?"
"You probably know that sometimes I do gigs in local nightclubs."
"I've heard rumors."
"I'm sure some of our members wouldn't approve."
"That wouldn't surprise me. But what you do with your own time is not their business. A golfer has a right to golf; a fisherman, to fish. And a piano player like you, to play wherever and whenever he wants."
"A musician friend had a death in his family and left town. He asked me to cover for him Thursday evening in a Georgetown bar, a place call Saloon Can Do. I'm not in the mood to play, but there's no way I can fink out on him in the eleventh hour. Ever hear of this Saloon Can Do?"
"No, but I'm not current on night clubs. I'd like to hear you play. We can talk during the break. We're in this together, pal. Partners all the way from the unfortunate beginning to the bitter end."
"I won't drag you down, Gabby."
"Impossible because we're not going down. That's my promise to you, Asa. I'll see you about ten-o'clock Thursday at Saloon Can Do. I'll get the address from MapQuest."
"Some clubs are pretty seedy. You might not want to be seen in them. I can't vouch for it. Let me call you after I arrive."
"You know me. When I have something in my bonnet, I'm not about to seek a postponement. How seedy could this place be? Besides, I fancy the name. Can Do? Yes we can and will do it together, pal."
***
Chuck Browner acted as Gabby's gatekeeper and screened her calls, often leaving editorial comments. Before leaving the synagogue Thursday evening, he reported that Stacy Donatello, Lyle Carberri's secretary, phoned to say that she was sending a messenger with a set of Democratic Party statements. A lot of reading, but essential for a candidate to know.
Chuck also left his remarks. "Hey, what's this all about? I thought you had vowed to stay out of the Washington sewers. Do I sniff a case of Potomac fever?"
Additionally, there was a message from Stan Melkin. He was preparing for the monthly board meeting and acknowledged that the lawsuit took priority over other issues. The second item of business would be Gabby's sabbatical. Combining the lawsuit with her sabbatical was not to her liking, but then at least she was on the agenda.
***
When her phone rang a few minutes before nine that evening, Asa'a voice was immediately identifiable, though there was loud rock music in the background. He was shouting into the receiver.
"How are you feeling?" she raised her voice as though projecting to a large audience.
"Lousy. I know this is the death knell to my career."
"It's not ending. Careers have their ups and downs. I know that in the seminary they never taught you that the sun always shines."
"Chuck had you pegged from the beginning, Gabby. When I started at Ohav, he told me you were an incorrigible idealist and that you were too saintly to dwell in a world of shleppers like us. At the time, I told him that angels don't live long, fulfilling lives. It's time for you to come down to Planet Earth and get real. Getting sued isn't and never was a team sport. If you insist on clinging to my shirttails, the lawyers will chop us both up piecemeal and we'll get flushed away individually. And that's just stupid. I'm the kapporrah. What's the purpose of destroying two careers when one will suffice? It wouldn't surprise me if the board is already building a protective wall between us."
"That's exactly what I must talk to you about this evening."
"Don't come here, Gabby."
"We'll talk during your break."
"This isn't some fancy club for rich gentlemen and their paramours. It's a strip joint. They advertise it as an upscale bar but the women on stage are buck naked, without even a Kleenex between their legs. Had I known, I wouldn't have accepted the gig."
"Do you watch your fingers?"
He laughed for the first time. "Hell no! I can play this stuff with my eyes closed. I'm just a red-blooded male with dexterous hands."
"Good," she interrupted. "I hope that's exactly who you will remain. We women complain about over-sexed males, but we wouldn't be happy travelers if you guys lost interest in us."
"Nothing but the entire female anatomy in all its raw splendor."
"That's okay, friend," Gabby released an artificial giggle. "I've seen a lot of naked women in my time. It doesn't embarrass me, if that's what you're thinking."
"We have enough trouble with the congregation. I'm already toast. If anybody sees you in this place, they might be writing your epitaph with mine."
"When Michelangelo, Reuben, Picasso paint nudes, we admire their work as masterpieces. We stare long and hard at Rodin and Henry Moore representations of the human form. So long as it's on canvas or molded in stone or bronze it's art. Why is what's alive and animate considered unseemly; and what is lifeless and dead, beautiful. Heaven forbid we see a few genitals, responsible for producing God's greatest wonder, little babies."
"The clientele isn't looking for beauty, Gabby. They're a bunch of horny men, joined by a few ogling, jealous lesbians. Sex is on their minds, not beauty."
"Remember the Agadah tale? If men didn't find the female anatomy arousing, there wouldn't be children to populate the world. Trust me, Asa, I can handle it. I'll concentrate on your music. By the way, what do you play?"
"Background stuff. Jazz and a bit of rock. In the local parlance, it's called bump and grind. Do everybody a favor and don't come. We'll talk tomorrow."
"I'm coming, Asa. The one thing I'm not is a prig."
She didn't know exactly what to expect of Saloon Can Do, but her imagination was active. The façade looked like a demure, understated restaurant. A double door and vestibule, manned by a thin bouncer, who Gabby felt might blow over in a brisk wind, welcomed her with a friendly smile. A $20.00 cover charge entitled her to a black-light stamp on the back of her hand. Piano music, which she immediately recognized as Asa's, was accompanied by electronic drums and bass fiddle, wafting through the L-shaped corridor into a crowded room with a low ceiling, purposely darkened to emphasize three brightly lit stages along the far wall. She had never heard Asa play such rhythms, still there was a special touch identifying him. Staccato drum taps from a Broadway musical reminded her of the rhythms she had heard Asa beating out in Ohav Shalom's hallways.
On runways connected to the stages, three dancers, an Afro-American, Asian and Caucasian blond, kept beat with Asa's rhythm. She had expected to find voluptuous, busty women salaciously stripping clothing. But the dancers were not in stages of disrobement. They wore nothing but high-heeled stilettos. The Asian, a petite, perfectly proportion girl in her early twenties, sported a large lotus flower tattoo on the lower back, extending over her left buttock. The taller Caucasian wore a string of gold bracelets halfway along her forearm and rings that flashed in the spotlight.
Gabby's eyes adjusted to the darkness. Around her, men sat at tables bordering the stages, with scantily dressed cocktail waitresses passing among them. Asa, in a white shirt, red suspenders, and red necktie but no jacket, was seated behind an electronic piano on a raised platform, with additional keyboards to his left and right. She searched for a seat near him but all appeared filled, so she sat beside a runway where the beam of a roving spotlight caught her shoulder. No sooner had she taken her seat when the Asian dancer gyrated just above her eye level and lifted her leg to expose her pelvis. Gabby recoiled slightly, wondering if she could ever become comfortable publicly revealing such intimacy. She was impressed that none of the dancers appeared self-conscious. Simultaneously, well-mannered male spectators appeared to study the bodies before them with detached boredom. To those on stage, they occasionally offered friendly encouragement and dropped dollar bills on the platform to show their appreciation.
Copying the beer-drinking men beside her, she ordered a Samuel Adams from a cocktail waitress who was only slightly more clothes than the dancers. To her left sat two lesbians in animated conversation. Until then, it never occurred to her that some women might be as interested in the feminine anatomy as men. Their presence was ironically comforting. Her mind was so occupied with questions that she lost track of time. It was only when Asa's piano stopped for a break that her musing ceased.
He was turning off the current on several electronic instruments when Gabby stepped forward to praise his playing.
A lungful of air escaped through his teeth as he greeted her, "I see you made it. If you're not embarrassed by being here, I certainly am. I mean, what will the goyim think of two rabbis in a strip joint like this?"
"I could care less what the goyim think. Fact is, I felt a little abashed at first, but you get used to nudity. The female body is a pretty neat piece of architecture, if you ask me."
"There was no way I could have gotten out of this."
"Were I a male like you, I'm not sure I would want to. Is there a place where we can talk?"
He looked around for a quiet corner but found nothing. "How about a walk outside? I've got fifteen minutes before I'm supposed to be ready for a new crop of dancers."
Outdoor air was a relief from stuffy bar atmosphere, and street noise a relief from the amplified music. They headed immediately along Wisconsin Avenue and turned into the nearest residential street.
"This is the happiest I've seen you in some time, Asa," Gabby said. "Since the accident, you've been moping around like an injured puppy. But behind the keyboard, you seem so contained within yourself. So much at ease and so natural."
As though he had been waiting for a moment to talk for a long while, he blurted, "I'm not running away from Janean's death and Tybee's injury. But I can't handle them any longer in my rabbinic role. My faith, which was pretty thin before the accident, is now shattered. A rabbi without faith is like a tone-deaf musician without a beat. No sense pretending any longer."
She was wounded by this declaration, but rallied with a question that sounded silly the moment uttered. "What will you do, Asa?" "Anything's better than what I'm pretending to do now. Hell, I can always make a living on the strip circuit; and probably make more money than my current salary. And what's far more important, at least in dark, sleazy joints like this, I get some appreciation."
She reached under his arm to draw him close. "You didn't go through all those years of training to throw in the towel now. And you're too goddam good a rabbi to be leaving the profession to jokers who haven't one-tenth of your talent. To lose someone as capable as you would be a tragedy for the Jewish community and I'm going to do everything in my power to see you continue serving as my colleague, that is until you succeed me."
"Tell that to Janean and Tyebee's parents who would like to put me in the stocks and throw darts."
"They're mother and father to catastrophe. Instead of accepting their role for what happened, they're targeting us. Had they been home on time to celebrate Shabbat with their girls rather than going to a bar for TGIF drinks, this wouldn't have occurred. Dispassionate minds would never attribute blame the way they have. The vast majority of our members at Ohav don't believe we're guilty of malpractice or anything that resembles it. The worst crime they can charge us with is being over-zealous in training their kids. Doesn't Anina see it that way?"
He glanced at his watch, nervous about the passage of time. "She's obsessed with repairing crooked noses and removing waxy eyelids. What does this tragedy mean to her?" "If I had a boyfriend like you, it would mean a helluva lot to me."
"Anina tries to be supportive but doesn't really understand what I do. Her mind works with finite problems and textbook solutions. For every malady, there's protocol to fix it. She doesn't understand people who aren't like her."
"Right and left lobe brain problems. Maybe that's what makes you guys look like such a good couple." With her arm she gently turned Asa in reverse, retracing their route along the sidewalk. The sight of Wisconsin Avenue ahead signaled the end of their private time and compelled her to introduce what was foremost on her mind. "I need your help, Asa. I know this isn't the best time to ask, but we can't always choose our timing. I want to run for Congress and to do that, I need you."
He halted his forward motion abruptly to study her in the pale illumination of mercury-vapor street lamps. "The noise inside must have scrambled my brain. Did I hear you right?"
"You know I've been active with the Democratic National Committee. I've been approached to run for Congress against Toby Ryles in the Eighth District. Don't try convincing me the idea is ludicrous. I already know that. There are a hundred reasons why I shouldn't even consider this. I've weighed them all. And in the end, something compels me to do this foolhardy, ridiculous, ill-advised and preposterous thing. I must try, Asa."
"You manage to knock my socks off every day, Gabby. Just when I think I've got your number, you reverse field and startle me. We walk down one sidewalk and you tell me to reconsider my decision about leaving the rabbinate. We turn and march up the same damn sidewalk and you reveal that now you want to parachute from the pulpit. So how foolish am I?"
"It's not you who is foolish, but me. This is a one-time opportunity that's bigger than Gabby Lewyn. It's a chance to reform the electoral process. The truth is, I'm not eager to be a congresswoman, but I do want to run for office. From a material point of view I have pretty much what I need and the perks have little appeal. As for the celebrity, I can testify that it isn't what it's cracked up to be. Process is everything. I believe I can actually make a change in an electoral system that's badly broken. And to do this, I need your help."
"You've got my vote. Where's the ballot box?" he said while resuming their motion toward Saloon Can Do.
"It's not the vote I need. I must have someone to cover me on the pulpit during the campaign. There's no way on God's earth I can campaign between now and November and ride the bucking bronco at Ohav at the same time. I'd like to hold on at Ohav through Pesach, then have you take over from April through November. The board owes me a full year of sabbatical. I'm cashing in my chips."
He issued a mocking hoot. "What happens when you win, Congressman Lewyn?"
"I won't. Not against Toby Ryles. But I'm going to run harder and faster than anyone you've ever seen."
"And what makes you think the board will let you go during the lawsuit? For a politically savvy woman, you haven't a clue. I'm toast. The board would love for me to disappear. I might get a sweet severance check to go quietly."
She was now fast-walking, almost trotting to keep up. "That's not true, Asa. You've done a remarkable job and have many, many supporters. And as for the sabbatical, I'm overdue now for two years. It's written in black and white. Stan Melkin and half the board are lawyers and know how to read a contract."
"You always land on your feet. So what happens when you win?"
"I told you – not a chance. But if Rabono shel ha-Olam shines his light on me, then you stay on at Ohav as Numero Uno. When I lose, we re-define the junior-senior relationship. I don't have that worked out yet. I invite you to put your needs on the table and I'll seriously entertain them. I promise you'll end up with far more than you have now. You've got me over a barrel and can blackmail me for whatever you want. Somehow, I'm not worried you will. I've never seen you take advantage of anyone."
They were at the intersection with Wisconsin Boulevard when he said, "What about the lawsuit? How can you run for office with a major suit hanging over your head?"
"The way I see it, I have two alternatives. I can let the suit consume me or get on with my life. Let others do the worrying. This is Dominion Mutual's problem. Let the lawyers handle it. They get paid handsomely. You and I don't."
"Running Ohav is a challenge without the suit."
"I didn't ask you because I thought you weren't up to it, Asa. I wouldn't propose this unless I had total confidence in your abilities. I know you're having doubts about your career, but this will provide an opportunity to test your feelings. Give it a chance and come to an informed conclusion. Doubts are indulgences of the leisure class. I guarantee you will be so busy there won't be time to entertain many doubts."
He didn't look the least bit convinced.
"I need to make it worthwhile you financially. This is what I'm prepared to do. During the months in which you do my job, I'll swap salaries with you. You get paid my salary, which is pretty cushy these days, and I'll take yours. That should put many additional shekels in your pocket."
They arrived outside Saloon Can Do, a location that made both uneasy. It was one thing to take their chances about being seen inside with naked women on stage, yet another to risk higher odds of being recognized by passersby.
"A lot to think about," he said, nervous about getting back to his piano. "Are you coming inside?"
She lifted her chin to regard the overhead neon spelling out CAN DO. The thin bouncer opened the door a crack and peered out into the street. "No, I think I've seen enough female privates for one night. I'll leave that pleasure for you boys. Can we talk more tomorrow? I don't want to rush, but the DNC is putting pressure on me."
"Sounds as if you've already decided. You still need to get the board's approval, which I'm prepared to bet you won't."
She crumpled her shoulders like a schoolgirl, twenty years her junior. "When I signed on be become Seth Greer's assistant, I told them it would be a roller-coaster ride. So I have disappointed anyone?"
"Chuck tells me that has always been the way with you. He says he's exhausted trying to pick up the pieces." He lips curled in gesture of disbelief as he shook his head, ready to re-enter Can Do. "Get approval from the board, and then come back to me."
Dimples that sank deep into the cheeks punctuated her smile. While defiant and mischievous it was a gesture had seen before – her signal of determination.
***
Stan Melkin believed that a board of directors should decide only matters of principal, not details of daily synagogue operations, and he molded his presidency accordingly. When controversy arose, as it often did, he appointed representative speakers to air conflicting points of view, and only after all appropriate arguments were made, called for a decisive vote. No postponements. No indecisiveness. No festering feuds. While some board members criticized his autocratic style, most commended his efficiency.
"He's better than anarchy," a supporter commented, and appointed out that however severe the differences of opinion, Ohav Shalom had never experienced a wholesale schism. A few disgruntled members dropped their membership, but none threatened to siphon off others by establishing a competitive shul.
The question of Gabby's sabbatical had been postponed from October through January in favor of more pressing concerns – l'emergency du jour, as Stan was fond of referring to these firefights. He convened the February meeting an hour early to address this question. Following that, Disney Productions, was scheduled to make a presentation about a re-enactment of the Passover epic and proposed television collaboration with Ohav Shalom.
Board members were silently studying a summary document when Gabby entered the conference room and assumed her customary seat to the president's right. After surveying those seated around the rectangular table, Stan Melkin glanced at his watch to start precisely on the moment.
The vestige of a head cold was in his nose. "I don't believe anyone would gainsay that Rabbi Lewyn deserves a rest from her grueling pace. Eleven years of service to this congregation should not be taken lightly. Her workweek isn't five days like most folks, but seven. Even the Sabbath, if I'm not being irreverent, is a workday for her. We all know that she is supposed to take off Tuesdays, but that is de jure, not de facto. Something always intrudes into her private time."
"Hear, hear," Helen Blutton-Fine, British born but married to an American think-tank executive, utilized a British phrase for her enthusiasm and lightly clapped her palms. "I for one don't understand how our rabbis keep going day by day. It's positively exhausting to watch them. But by the same token, I cannot conceive of running this place without Rabbi Lewyn. Particularly, with an expensive lawsuit hanging over our heads."
"Her sabbatical couldn't have come at a more inopportune time," Morris Stein, a pudgy, good-humored restaurant owner who was adept at dealing with personnel issues, intoned. Morris was a newcomer to the synagogue leadership, working his way up the ladder by serving on several under-appreciated committees before finally being recognized by the governing board. A charitable man, who couldn't imagine anything more worthy than contributing to Jewish causes, was considered Stan Melkin's right-hand man and a possible successor. He addressed Gabby directly, "Given the Morgenstern lawsuit, do you think it possible to postpone your sabbatical once again, at least until we see our way clear?"
She had anticipated this and said, "Morris, that's what I was asked to do when Rabbi Greer unexpectedly resigned. And when the question arose again the following year, matters were in such turmoil that everybody thought it advisable I didn't exercise my right and the sabbatical got postponed again. I recognize that these are trying times but there's always an emergency in this shul. We never seem to clear the docket. I'm not planning to follow the example of many rabbis and study in Israel. I'm going to stay in town, so that if required by the lawsuit, I can and will make myself available. Asa Folkman is quite capable of handling daily operations. We've talked about bringing on a young intern or new seminary graduate to supplement his rabbinical services. Since so many people want to serve in the nation's capital, finding the right fill-in shouldn't be difficult."
Stan addressed Gabby directly. "We've had considerable discussion about Rabbi Folkman's qualifications and we're not as sanguine as you."
She had hoped nobody would take this position, but was not entirely surprised. Her tone left no ambiguity. "I work with Asa Folkman on a daily basis and can testify to his professionalism and skill. I have complete confidence in him."
"He doesn't seem to have his heart in the job," Helen Blutton-Fine asserted. "There are rumors that he plays piano in some pretty seedy nightclubs. I'm sure you know about this, don't you, Rabbi?" "Yes, of course. The congregation is the beneficiary of his talent. Many of his liturgical compositions have been incorporated into our services. Cantor Blass is working on making a CD of his work. That he sometimes plays piano at night is well known. He has a right to spend his free evenings however he chooses."
"Is this a vocation or avocation?" Blutton-Fine asked.
"Asa's first loyalty is with the congregation."
Cynthia Messinger, chairperson of the religious school committee, interjected, "These days he seems withdrawn and sullen. We can understand a certain moodiness when facing this suit, but that's not what this congregation needs in these stressful times. We all feel blue and we need our leaders to pick up us. His depression could be contagious."
Gabby canted her head in her direction. "He naturally feels a measure of responsibility for what's happened and feels somewhat isolated by widespread criticism. What he needs are people who believe in him. Perhaps I'm revealing more than I should but he doesn't feel much support. The rabbinate is a lonely business, at the best of times. He's been deeply moved by Janean's death and Tybee's injuries. You wouldn't want a rabbi who wasn't."
Cynthia added, "More care in instructing the Morgenstern girls would have spared Ohav this misfortune."
Gabby could not let this remark go without rebuttal. "I sincerely hope your view is not widely held, Cynthia. I don't regard Asa as negligent in any fashion. I would have done exactly what he did. He had absolutely no reason to believe that Janean and Tybee would light Chanukah candles without their parent's supervision. The girls indicated that they wanted to learn how to conduct the ceremonies in order to teach their mother and father. Moreover, their parents encouraged us to instruct their kids. Their faults as parents should not become an indictment of Rabbi Folkman. I have already said how much I respect and admire him. He deserves your confidence."
There was silence around the table. No heads were nodding, yet no one openly challenged.
Stan, always keen to a legal settlement and a self-proclaimed peacemaker, addressed Gabby. "Could you tell us why, under these extraordinary circumstances, you feel unable to postpone your sabbatical a little longer?"
"Two reasons, Stan. First, the suit may take many months, perhaps years. Lawyers on this board are not going to tell me that Chancery moves with alacrity. I'm told that courts of law purposely create slownesss to promote settlements. Secondly, what you're suggesting is a third postponement. I've already made plans for this time. If I agree a third time, I'm setting myself up for a fourth, fifth, and sixth postponement. It's already become a habit."
Still in his soft, conciliatory tone, Stan pursued. "We don't have the foggiest idea what those plans are, Rabbi."
To share her idea about running for Congress was certain to open a very big can of very long and slimy worms. But how long could she expect to keep this board in the dark? Experience had taught her not to wait until members learned about such things in the rumor mill. Sweeping her glance around the table, she returned to regard Stan. "My plan is to take off after Pesach so I can run for the United States Congress in Maryland's Eighth District. I've been approached by the Democratic National Committee to campaign against Republican Toby Ryles. I know this is a bombshell and I must assure you there isn't a remote chance I'll win. As you all know, Toby is firmly entrenched and well-liked, a personal friend of some who sit at this very table. But because she's a Republican in a very blue district, she hasn't been an effective legislator. Not one piece of legislation bears her name. Her own party believes she's too liberal to trust and the Democratic hierarchy avoids her because she's a Republican. I want to give this a whirl. By November, it will be all over and I will resume full responsibilities on the pulpit."
Board members glowered at each other in disbelief. They knew Gabby to possess sufficient community recognition to become elected. And there was no doubt about her gravitas. Yet thinking of her in any role other than their rabbi had never been entertained. Suddenly, there were questions about what would happen if she were elected.
"I haven't crossed that bridge, largely because I'm not optimistic," she stated.
Stan was caught in a position he detested, being unprepared. To deflect attention from Gabby's bombshell, he reminded everyone that the Disney folks were waiting to make a presentation. But that didn't stop Nora DelGrotto from asking, "Why run if you don't think you can win?"
"Because I want to help clean up the electoral process," Gabby replied.
Eyebrows rose. Her idealism had never been questioned, largely because it always seemed to be tempered by a healthy dose of realism. Without this pragmatism she would never have survived at Ohav Shalom. But in this matter, she appeared to have slipped. As denizens of the nation's capital, they understood the political process. Elected officials who refuse to play according to rules of the congressional club have nothing to show their constituents in the next election. It's play by the rules or lose your seat. The same thought pattern coursed through Ohav Shalom's board. How could Gabby possible think that by running for Congress she might change anything?
Devorah Chattrel, an energetic, over-weight mother of four and a devoted member of the synagogue's sisterhood, raised her hand for permission to speak and said, "Rabbi Lewyn, we really need you here. Please wait for another election."
"And become a Republican," quipped Morris Stein. Nobody laughed.
Cynthia Messinger returned to the conversation. "Toby Ryles is a good friend of the Jewish community. Very pro-Israel. It doesn't seem right to reward her loyalty by fielding a candidate against her. You don't really believe you can beat such a popular lawmaker, do you?"
"Yes, it's possible," resounded Gabby. "But I must also be realistic. Though I can't disclose how I intend to accomplish an upset, I can tell you that my campaign will be unique in style and form. That's why I can't postpone. It's now or never."
Chuck Browner, who usually remained nearby during a board meeting in case Gabby needed secretarial help, cracked the conference room door to signal that representative from Disney Productions had been waiting for over a half-hour. They would need ten minutes in the boardroom to set up their presentation equipment.
Stan said, "Can't keep Walt Disney and Mickey Mouse waiting any longer. Gabby, we'll put our heads together and make a decision very soon."
Disappointed that no resolution had been made, she snapped, "And when might that be, Stan?"
Irritated, he growled back, "Sorry, Rabbi, but we can't afford to gamble with the future of this institution. This is a complicated matter, especially when we learn it might affect not only six months, but possibly a lot more. It's no simple matter when a congregation's senior rabbi declares she wants to run for an elected office. Our members will have a lot to say on the matter."
Gabby said, "I've worked for this sabbatical. I would hope the congregation will honor its commitment."
"I'm afraid I’m not in a position to judge that. We're facing a very dangerous lawsuit. Like jackrabbits before an approaching plow, loyal members may flee the congregation. We can't expect them to be delighted to see their rabbi on the campaign trail. But for the moment we must decide on the Passover re-enactment. Let's take a break now and reconvene in fifteen minutes. At that time, Rabbi, I'll ask you to make the appropriate introductions."
Unlike most synagogue meetings in which participants banter amiably during a break, cold board members filed into the corridor and headed for the restrooms in cold silence. Eyes refused to meet Gabby's as she weaved through a cluster of Disney employees waiting to enter the boardroom and set up their video equipment. Chuck Browner was chatting with the guests. The agenda had affected her bladder and Gabby needed to visit the ladies room.
When the meeting reconvened, she introduced the subject of a community wide festival of Pesach in April – the 15th day of the Hebrew month of Nisan. Because contemporary Seders in the home and synagogues mirror an ancient feast that occurred on the night the Hebrews fled from Egypt, some 3,200 years before, the Washington Board of Rabbis, in conjunction with other communal organizations, agreed to co-sponsor an educational program on Pesach. Disney Productions was interested to recast the historical epic because Passover was the oldest continuous festival in the western world. The Disney people planned to combine the historic and contemporary slavery-to-freedom celebrations in a three-hour television extravaganza. The historic re-enactment was planned for a location in Egypt's Sinai Desert where professional actors and seven hundred movie extras would recreate the Children of Israel departing from Egypt. To couple this epic with the modern recitation of the Haggadah, Disney proposed to go live with a contemporary seder at Ohav Shalom.
Orthodox rabbis wanted nothing to do with what they labeled a commercial exploitation. Conservative rabbis were equally unmoved by the commercialism. Disney had nowhere to turn but to the liberal Jewish establishment. Ohav Shalom became an obvious choice.
Not all of Ohav's board members were enthusiastic. Five folded their arms across their chess in a provocative show-me position, listening to a brief introduction by the Disney team. Lights dimmed and images flashed across a pull-down screen. The opening of From Slavery to Freedom showed a film crew working where the historic exodus was purported to have taken place. A trailer referred to a biblical scholar working with camera crews to authenticate the sequence.
"Who's playing Moses?” Helen Bluttan-Fine asked from her positron at the conference table.
Karla Foo, a Chinese-American director in her late-thirties answered with modest surprise, "Nobody. Our experts tell us that Moses isn't mentioned in the Passover story."
"What?" Miriam Stone-Heflin sounded her skepticism. "How can you tell the exodus story without Moses?"
"It's an anomaly," interrupted Gabby. "In the Book of Exodus, Moses plays a dominant role. But surprisingly, his name isn't found in the Passover Haggadah. Rabbinic scholars have a host of explanations for this omission, but Disney is right in not introducing Moses into their narrative. We don’t' need another Charleston Heston."
The intro to From Slavery to Freedom opened with a shot of swollen fingers kneading clay into a brick mold. Each time the slave-worker lifted the wooden form, dry clay inside cracked and he was forced to renew the tedious process. Pharaoh's taskmasters spitefully withheld from the Hebrew the necessary binding straw. The clay was brittle and difficult to mold. The camera widened horizontally to encompass a field of brick makers working under a blistering desert sun. You could hear the crack of whips in the distance, yet could not see the results of this cruelty. The script did not highlight physical degradation. Instead, the subject was treated obliquely by focusing on a small story inside a big one. Not thousands of toiling slaves under the whip, but one set of hands struggling with a single brick mold. The crack of a whip getting closer compelled the struggling slave to work faster with little result. Without straw to bind his brick, he would soon experience excruciating pain.
"We hope to merge this sequence with your modern seder," Karla Foo explained. "Or perhaps do a double-image shot with you, Rabbi Lewyn, reading the biblical description of this event at the seder table. We've included details on your Exhibit F."
Treatment of the ten plagues wrought upon the Egyptians for their refusal to let Hebrews pass peacefully over the frontier into the Desert of Sinai could be tricky. To show Egyptians suffering might produce a hostile reaction. Again, the director showed her craft by focusing on a single Egyptian, not a large number of sufferers. When depicting the plague of locusts, a viewer witnessed a single insect creeping over the eyes of a sleeping Egyptian infant. Infestations of frogs did not clog the streets of Ramses City. Rather, a single greenish-brown creature jumped from the stone pavers onto a windowsill of an Egyptian home and hopped through the opening into the darkness beyond. A merchant scratched at a bleeding skin wound to depict the plague of boils.
"We'd like to show a modern celebrant dipping his or her fingers into a wine glass and spotting the plate,” Director Foo explained. To illustrate her point, she directed a technician to overlay the video with footage of a contemporary seder in which children were dropping wine not onto plates but onto a tablecloth and causing a mess. This elicited sympathetic laughter from the board members, many of whom had grandchildren equally determined to soil a family tablecloth.
Karla Foo said, "While this is still in the conceptual phase, we're thinking of having a celebrity news anchorman or woman emcee the entire program. We're considering filming him or her on location at Abu Simbel in Egypt, before the statue of Pharaoh Ramses II, and later at the Temple of Amon at Karnak. This will tie the past to the present.
When light illuminated the room, conversation erupted. Everyone had a different slant on what had been presented. Because the producers were guests, board members agreed to withhold their opinions until after the Disney folks had departed.
By a quarter to eleven, the board was exhausted. Stan Melkin knew how difficult it was to convene this group of exceedingly busy people and, despite the late hour, insisted upon coming to a conclusion before they adjourned. After some grumbling, members conceded that postponement was impractical. The nay-sayers began with an assault upon Disney's popularization of American culture in which human relationship were trivialized. Myth became history. Should not Passover be immune from such commercialism?
Candice Levy, a matronly deacon of Jewish communal affairs, said to Gabby, "There's no Mickey Mouse stamp on what we have just seen. Isn't it considered a mitzvah to teach Gentiles about Passover?" "Absolutely," Gabby was unequivocal. "Because it is purported that Jesus was celebrating Passover at the Last Supper many Christians hold Seders in their churches. I was startled to read that in absolute numbers, these days more Christians attend Seders than Jews."
Stan followed up, "Then, Rabbi, it is your view that we should be within the spirit of the holiday to share our seder with others on television?"
It was late and Stan obviously wished to press for a decision.
"Yes."
Lucien Belinky, semi-retried from the area's premier podiatry practice in which he had scaled corns from the most influential toes in Washington, glanced above the rims of thick spectacles. "Is it wise for Ohav to take a public posture with the Morgenstern suit hanging over our shoulder? It will draw unwanted attention to our plight."
Gabby returned to the conversation, "How does the lawsuit bear on Pesach?" "Not on Pesach, but there's a lot of sympathy for the Morgensterns, as well there should be. That causes hostility toward the synagogue and its rabbis. I heard through the grape vine that Dominion Mutual is prepared for trial."
"I had hoped to avoid that discussion tonight," Stan Melkin interrupted. "It's complicated and we have not had a chance to consult with our rabbis about new developments." "But it is germane," said Lucien Belinky. "If Dominion settles, then it would be acceptable to bring in the camera crews. But if not, I personally wouldn't recommend it."
Gabby was alerted to discussions occurring behind her back.
Stan glared at Lucien Belinky to communicate his disapproval. "It's too late to talk about the Morgensterns. We can and must let it go for another time."
"Why not now," Candice Levy asked. "If Lucien is correct, it might bear upon our decision about Pesach."
"No. Absolutely not. Or prepare to spend the night here," barked Stan.
Having worked the entire day with barely a moment of relief, Gabby was feeling weary, straining her patience." May I ask why it is not the right time?"
"Because we're talking about delicate personnel matters." "If Asa Folkman and my jobs are on the line here, Stan, please let us know."
The president was visibly disturbed and snapped, "You weren't personally involved with the Morgenstern girls."
"Are you thinking Asa was?
"He had immediate contact with the girls. You did not."
A raw upheaval occurred in Gabby's stomach. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. I'm astonished."
Normally subdued and timid, Nora DelGrotto said, "We all know that Rabbi Folkman has a different focus these days."
"We've already been through that station, Nora. He does his work professionally and extremely well. How he spends his private time is his own business. The fact that he's an excellent musician is to his credit and the benefit of this congregation."
"That's just the point, Rabbi," Nora pursued. "There's no reason for Ohav to shoulder more burden than necessary. We have a chance to distance ourselves from this unfortunate affair. Everybody acknowledges it was an accident. And we feel it is only fair to compensate the Morgensterns for their loss. We can't afford to give the impression we're unsympathetic to their suffering. We're supposed to be one big family."
"Do family members sue one another?" Gabby was caustic.
"Excuse me," Stan interjected. "I said this was not the right time to debate."
"It is the single most important issue facing this congregation," growled Lucien Belinky. "The urgency will not bear postponement. We're stuck in mud unless we resolve the matter of Rabbi Folkman."
"I'm sorry, Lucien," the president matched his adversary's urgent tone. "I’m invoking the privilege of my office. Our meeting is closed. The only open question before us is whether to sponsor the Disney re-enactment and I suggest that, since this is a religious question, we defer to the views of Rabbi Lewyn. I'm perfectly willing to go along with her judgment and I hope you are, too."
Stan paused to look for a rebuttal but there was none. And to Gabby he said, "Then, Rabbi, the show is on your stage and that's not meant to be a pun. Please let me know in twenty-four hours."
"Thanks, Stan, twenty-four hours will do just fine." She already knew her answer, but given the churlish mood of the board members, she determined a cooling down period would be helpful.
***
Two days later, a Federal Express package arrived from Cook, Melkin & Serinovick, Stan Melkin's firm, containing two separate letters. The first was addressed to Gabby and written on Stan's legal stationery. She assumed it was sent by FedEx in order to obtain a signature of receipt.
Dear Gabby,
I am delighted to learn that you wish to proceed with the Disney production From Slavery to Freedom. This is just the kind of thing Ohav is obliged to do for community relations. It will be a grand educational achievement.
Now, please let me address the bombshell you dropped into our laps regarding you intention to oppose Toby Ryles in the Eighth District. First, let me emphasize the fundamental principle of this democracy that any citizen may seek public office and represent his/her constituency. However, there is a strong consensus that Toby Ryles has been a good and loyal friend of the Jewish community and a long-time supporter of Israel, even in a time when that support was grudgingly withheld by other Republicans in Congress.
While we affirm your right to run, we must point out that a race against Toby will offend many who regard this as an act of betrayal toward one who has served our interests for many years.
Gabby, I fear our congregants will interpret your campaigning adversely, perhaps damaging the enormous good will you have engendered through your years of service. Within the week, I will be communicating with the membership explaining matters dealing with the Morgenstern tragedy and your proposed sabbatical.
On a very personal note, I cannot think of a more able individual to help govern this ungovernable nation. I would be very disappointed to see you leave our pulpit. Though I suspect most of your congregants will not vote for you in order to keep you at Ohav Shalom, I pledge my personal vote.
Your plans make this sabbatical a bit more complicated. I shall do my best to resolve it as soon as possible.
Best personal wishes,
Stan
The second document was a letter from Marc Sutterfeld from Morrison and Grant to F. Nelson McKesson, representing Dominion Mutual, of his intention to depose Rabbi Asa Folkman at the earliest convenient time. The request, Gabby knew, was a routine civil action. Normally, she would be amused by legal machinations, but not when they were directed against her colleague.
She placed a call to Shirley Delinsky about the process of depositions.
"Do you know Marc Sutterfeld?" Gabby asked.
"Yes. We often meet a bar association meetings. Once we defended different parties in the same lawsuit."
"I hope he's a gentleman."
"Don't count on it. Marc is an advocate. Normally, lawyers, especially Jewish ones, have a soft spot for rabbis. But I'd be surprise if Marc doesn't play the role of a pit bull terrier."
"Besides the lawyers from Dominion Mutual, is someone from the synagogue going to be there to assist Asa?"
"I'm sure Stan will. Perhaps Marvin or me. We can't prevent our client from telling what he knows. Nor can we counter hostile questions. There's a fundamental law about being deposed. You can't win; you can only lose. Asa must understand that this isn't a forum to make a claim or prove a point. It's only fact-finding. So if Asa says the wrong thing, it could come back to bite him and us."
"Will he be coached?"
"I would hope so. Counsel for Dominion Mutual must have something in mind."
"I'd like to be there." Gabby replied.
"If Marc agrees, but I don't think he will. My suspicion is that he'll want to depose you later and would like to use your testimony to punch holes in Rabbi Folkman's."
"Asa has no intention to dissemble."
"I would expect nothing less."