Kye usually rose before Gabby, though she habitually started her day before sunup. When she lifted her head from the pillow Wednesday morning, there was a large bouquet of red and white carnations on a nightstand beside the bed. She called into a home intercom for Kye, who immediately came from the kitchen to the bedroom and bounded over to her with a good morning kiss.
"They're beautiful," she said, pointing at the flowers.
"For a beautiful mother. This is a red-letter day for us, Gabrielle. And of course, Archibald."
"I don't think we've talked about names yet, Kye," she smiled, touching her left breast for any last minute signs of swelling. There was none.
"Any spotting?" he asked.
She laughed, and headed for the bathroom. "I haven't had a moment to look yet, but it doesn't feel like it. Give me a moment and I'll make an inspection."
Kye sat back against the bed to wait and heard a toilet flush, then an exclamation of joy. "None, Kye. I think we've done it this time! Carmel must have done the trick."
"Are we free to tell the world?" he inquired.
"Heavens, no! Not just yet. I want to talk with Melanie first. I'm sure she'll ask me to come in for an examination and the obligatory pregnancy test. I guess I could buy a kit at the pharmacy and do it myself, but Melanie is likely to be more thorough. I've got an early morning appointment with Shenna Benjamin at the Holocaust Museum."
"Maybe you shouldn't take your normal jog this morning," Kye offered.
"Are you kidding? If anything, I'm a few days pregnant, not months. And I'd like to celebrate our fortune with the future daddy. Are you in the mood to run?"
The US Holocaust Museum made ample space available for permanent and revolving exhibitions of Holocaust memorabilia, but had miscalculated the growth requirements of the research and curatorial departments. Shenna Benjamin's cubical was hidden in a warren of offices separated by low partitions. She had to borrow a chair from a neighboring cube for Gabby to sit, and then offered her a cup of coffee.
When settled, Shenna opened a folder and refreshed herself with the contents. "We've made progress on the Knishbacker name you asked us to research. All known Jewish family names in Europe have been gradually entered into a massive database. Whatever is known about people bearing these names, where they lived, their ages, children, what ghetto they were evacuated to, or which concentration or death camp – everything, everything is noted. Then we co-match with spelling variations – the most frustrating part of the process. It's taken over fifteen years to enter the data we retrieved from German archives. But new information is constantly being found, so our lists are anything but complete."
Shenna withdrew a computer printout and handed it to Gabby. "You can see that there were Knishbackers in Silesia, Vichy, France, the Koeningsburg area, and the Ukraine. Three members from Vichy, France managed to slip through the Pyrenees to Spain and actually caught a ship to New York. They have relatives in Albany, New York and Salt Lake City. As far as we know, all other Knishbackers perished."
Gabby examined the list and shuffled the papers, scanning the limited information about the Silesian and Koeningsburg Knishbackers. The Ukrainian Knishbackers drew her immediate attention. Rabbi Moishe Lieb Knishbacker, born in the village of Otinaya in 1889 died in a mass shooting of Jews in the Szeparowce Forest shortly after the Wehrmacht swept into Soviet Russia in the summer of 1941. His son, Rabbi Wolf Issador Knishbacher, met his death in the Belzac Death Camp two years later.
"Do we know anything more about these rabbis?" Gabby's curiosity was sharpened.
Shenna turned to her desktop computer and booted up software to retrieve data about individuals. She typed in the name Knishbacker before tapping an index finger against the desk, waiting for the software to retrieve information about members of the Knishbacker families. The village of Otinaya narrowed the search. An electronic notation from a Museum researcher directed Shenna to a second historical summary, which required several extra clicks to access.
"It says here that Rabbi Moishe, the senior, was Rosh Yeshiva, the head of a yeshiva in Kolomya, about twenty-five miles south of Ivano Frankovsk," Shenna read for Gabby's benefit, adding from her own knowledge. "That's probably why the Germans selected him for early execution. To facilitate rounding up scattered Jews, they first eliminated the leadership. The Yeshiva shel-Maalah of Kolomya was renowned for the quality of its scholarship. Jewish communities in Northern Europe generally disdained schools in the Ukraine, but not Rabbi Knishbacher's. My researcher noted that Knishbacher fought constantly with the predominate Hassidim who considered him a fanatic and stern disciplinarian who tyrannized his students."
"What does that mean?" Gabby interrupted.
"No details provided," Shenna replied. "We can ask the research team to look into it."
"That would be helpful. Was Rabbi Knishbacher's son, Rabbi Wolf Issador Knishbacher, also at the Yeshiva shel-Maalah?"
"The report says he was an instructor. But we don't know any more about him."
Gabby eased back into her chair and let her imagination pull together unconnected fragments of information. Shenna Benjamin noticed how she appeared to be distancing herself into an imaginary world of thought.
When Gabby re-emerged, she said, "This is great information. But I need to know more about Rabbi Wolf Issador, who perished in Belzac. Did he have any survivors? And if so, where are they?"
"We'll do our best. Can you tell me why this is important?"
Gabby took papers from her lap and placed them on a desktop and leaned forward, clamping her hands together. "Sergeant Dormeyer's map placed the Torah stolen from Ohav Shalom in the Ukraine, not distant from Kolomya. I'm dealing with a rabbi in Brooklyn who calls himself Olam v'Ed, but his real name is Knishbacher, who runs a school of Talmudic studies that emphasizes the powers of memory over the written text. There are a lot of overlapping coincidences here."
Shenna Benjamin became more animated. "Do you think he had something to do with the theft of your Torah?"
"It seems crazy, doesn't it? Here's a man who, from all I can gather, deeply reveres the Torah. Would an academic genius steal and profane a book he already knows by heart? As a teacher of Torah, he already has access to innumerable copies of the Torah."
"But you're still suspicious, aren't you?"
"That's not quite the right word. I just wonder if he is any relation to the Knishbacher rabbis who died in Europe."
That afternoon, Gabby wrote an email to a Dr. Yechiel Stern, Professor of Rabbinics at the Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati.
How would I seek information about Rabbi Moishe Lieb Knishbacher, Director of the prewar Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya, Ukraine, and his son, Rabbi Wolf Issador Knishbacher? Your suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
Shalom. G. Lewyn"
On Thursday, Gabby purchased a drugstore home pregnancy kit based on a monoclonal antibody specific to chorionic gonadotropin, a hormone known to increase when a woman is pregnant. Though an over-the-counter test, it represented an elegant merging of several biomedical discoveries. The chorionic gonadotropin in a plastic tube attached itself to a sample of Gabby's urine. To this mixture, she added an enzyme designed to change color when in contact with a relatively high level of chorionic gonadotropin. To her delight, the color of the urine did not change, an indication that she was indeed pregnant. To check her findings, she made an appointment to see Melanie Ganeden the next morning.
Melanie's schedule was packed, but reacting to Gabby's urgency, she agreed to see her before an early morning clinic. They hugged warmly, then Melanie held Gabby out in front of her as though inspecting a daughter. "You're the kind of patient that if I prescribe a drug, you'll go to the Internet and come back know more about it than I do. So you've already given yourself a test?"
"Yes, but I'm not sure that I did it correctly."
"There are lots of pregnancy tests. If you wish, I'll give you one based on another methodology," she said reading the packaging for the home test that Gabby brought along. "This is a monoclonal antibody test. We'll try something else. For confirmation."
"Do I need another pelvic?"
"A quick one wouldn't hurt. Since I've seen you recently, I'm sure everything is fine, but we'll have a look to be sure. You'll have to provide us with another urine sample."
After a quick examination, in which Melanie found nothing to worry about, she excused herself to see another early morning patient, but asked Gabby to wait for results of the second test. Gabby dressed herself and consulted her palm top organizer to review her own schedule for the day. Twenty minutes later, Melanie returned with a wide smile. "It's positive," she said as she closed the door behind her. "You're going to be a mother, Gabby, and I can't think of anyone more deserving or better suited. Now, I think it's time for a Mazal Tov!"
"I don't know," Gabby rose to accept a kiss of congratulations. "Rabbis usually have brilliant but screwed up kids. I hope Kye and I don't create a neurotic."
"All the rabbis' kids I know have turned out far better than average, though only a few seem to follow their parents into the rabbinate."
"I can't wait to call Kye in California. You wouldn't believe the home we stayed in out there when our baby was conceived."
Melanie's happy face seemed to enlarge with omniscience. "Are you telling me conception didn't happen in the back seat of a car?"
"Too old for that. Now, if you've got just a moment, tell me what's happening on the home front with Gideon and you."
Melanie's smile disappeared and was replaced by a distant expression of fear. She sighed audibly, ripping off her glasses. "I'm not sure, but all my instincts tell me something's going on. I'm now using a vaginal O-ring for local estrogen release, but Gideon isn't interested. I know he's very busy at New Frontiers, but in the past, even when he was busy, we were close. That's no longer true. I don't know who he's sleeping with, but I have a mental image. My guess is she lives out of town."
Gabby held back Claire Davenport's name that Gideon had provided in confidence. What purpose would be served by revealing it anyway?
"He's also invading our savings account. What really frosts me," Melanie's mood became cold, "is that we have a joint bank account, so in a way, I'm financing his love-affair. That's more than a loyal wife should be asked to do, don't you agree?"
"You bet," Gabby said without hesitation. "Why not open your own account and stop feeding a bad habit?"
"I'm thinking about it, but I want to be certain before I jump. This will trigger an argument and I feel guilty about doing that when he's working night and day. I was hoping that things would slow down at New Frontiers so that we could have an honest talk."
"By not confronting him now, you're only postponing a problem. The earlier you do, the better chance you have to solve it. I know how you're feeling, Melanie. Bitterness tends to build over time, and it's hard to reverse once it's gone on too long."
Melanie rubbed her forehead, gently nodding agreement. "Well now," she said, "let's not spoil a happy moment, Gabby. I see a lot of pregnant girls around this office but few who thrill me like you. I know you've got a lot to read, but I'd like you to read a pamphlet about what to expect. You know the rules about alcohol. In the pamphlet there's a list of dangerous drugs to avoid. If you see any other physicians other then myself, let them know immediately that you're pregnant. And I'll want to see you in about a month."
"You will deliver our baby, won't you?" Gabby asked as they were about to depart the examining room.
"I told you that I'm a bit rusty on obstetrics, but I'll certain scrub in with the obstetrician."
"Who do you recommend?"
"Hey, Mommy, that's nine months from now. Let's cross that bridge a few months down the road. Just go out and enjoy yourself. Mazel Tov to Kye. He's one lucky man."
"I know," Gabby said, thinking of what might have happened had Gideon shown interest in her when she had a crush on him.
At Ohav Shalom, Chuck had stuck a yellow Post-it to the door of Gabby's study, indicating there was an important email waiting for her. She booted her computer and routinely called up her email inbox, but never actually got around to reading the messages to answer several telephone calls. She rang Kye before he left the Carmel home for a morning jog at 5:30 am. He was late that morning and was just getting out of bed.
"You always said it would happen in this bed," Kye sounded his wonder when she told him there was no longer any doubt about pregnancy. "You know I haven't given as much thought to parenthood as you, Gabrielle, but I'm absolutely thrilled beyond words. It's going to be the greatest adventure of our lives. I've been thinking about Schopenhauer who wrote that men and women are attracted to each other primarily for reproduction. Maybe it was Nature working inside us and now it's coming to fruition. It's hard to believe that all this wouldn't have happened had you not been jogging in front of me at the Greenbrier in the middle of deer season."
"It's unbelievable, Kye. A total mystery. Start thinking of names for our child. How are things going out there?"
The California coast was blanketed in a thick morning fog, hiding the noisy surf beyond from the bedroom window. Kye stood at the bedside and stretched. "A bit better than I would have anticipated, but my partners are pressing me about living in California. I don't want to put pressure on you, Gabrielle, but I can't put them off much longer. When you step up to the plate, once in a while you have to take a swing. The offer on this house isn't open ended. I've learned that a Silicon Valley executive has offered a royal ransom for this house. Besides, if you decided it's not for us, I've got to rent an apartment nearby."
"I hear you, Love," Gabby said. "This is going to be one of the most difficult decisions in my life for our family. Yes, we can now talk about our family. So the decision has gotten more complicated."
"I have a bottle of Schramsberg champagne ready to drink over our child," Kye said.
"Hey, I'm not supposed to have alcohol, but it's early and a taste won't hurt. Suddenly, I've got to be thinking about things like this. When are you coming home?"
"As soon as I can," Kye said. "We've got lot's to talk about over this champagne."
To share the good news, Gabby called her sister, Terry, in Cleveland, who almost screamed with delight. She pledged to come to Washington to help with the baby and revealed that she had been saving for this exciting event box-loads of baby clothes outgrown by her own three children. Next, Gabby called her father in Los Angeles, forgetting that he and Mickey Charles were taking a week's vacation in Cabo San Lucas. She left a voice mail stating the good news.
The email Chuck recommended to Gabby's attention was from Professor of Rabbinics, Yechiel Sandermaker in Cincinnati:
Always glad to hear from you, Gabby. You're rabbinical career is easy to
follow because all I have to do is read the newspapers. You asked me about Moishe Lieb Knishbacher, Director of the prewar Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya. I've looked at several cross-referenced genealogies and concluded
Knishbacher's son, Wolf Issador, was being groomed to become Rosh Yeshiva when transported to Belzac, where he perished in the autumn of 1944. From references I have found, he also had a prodigious memory, but unlike his father, never got an opportunity to test it as the director of a yeshiva. I learned that he had a son and a daughter, but all records of this boy and girl have been lost. Below, I've listed several sources mentioning Wolfe Knishbacher and his children. I'm curious to learn why you're interest in Knishbacher. Hope this is helpful.
Shalom, Yechiel Stern.
Gabby thought about replying, but there wasn't time to explain her interest in detail. She had amassed enough information to sculpt the skeleton of her theory about Sh'erit ha-Pletah and its involvement with her lost Torah. But there were still holes in her theory that needed to be plugged. At lunchtime, she put a call into Carey Sylerman, knowing that during the day she would be busy in classes with Sh'erit ha-Pletah neophytes.
The return call arrived just before 6 p.m, when the synagogue staff had gone for the day and Gabby answered her own phone.
"I'm coming next Sunday," Carey blurted into the phone before Gabby had a chance to ask about teaching.
"I'm glad," Gabby said, "but I don't want to put extra pressure upon you. This must be your own decision, not mine."
"I know. And I'm taking the consequences of it. They're angry at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Many members won't talk to me. I haven't spoken to Baruch in days. Rabbi Olam v'Ed wrote a memo, emphasizing that I'm on probation and could be dropped from the society at any moment."
"Teaching a class in Washington isn't worth ruining one's happiness, Carey," Gabby warned. "That's the last thing I wish for you."
"It's not about happiness, Rabbi Gabby. It's about personal integrity. They can't tell me when and where I can go and they certainly can't keep me from seeing my parents."
Gabby feared saying more than was necessary and veered the conversation into another direction. "Help me refresh my memory, Carey. Didn't you tell me once that when you first went to Sh'erit ha-Pletah they asked you about your Bat Mitzvah?"
"Yes."
"What did you tell them?"
"That I read parasaha v' yikra."
"Did they ask you from what scroll you read?"
"I can't remember if they asked me or I volunteered. But I know we spoke about it because they asked how Ohav Shalom had originally become the owner of a Torah from the Holocaust."
"Do you recall if you mentioned that our Torah had been tattooed?"
"Yes, because I remember they said that would make a Torah Pasulah, a defective Torah, one totally unfit for study. I remember them saying that anybody who knowingly read this Torah was committing an averah, a grave transgression. I didn't think that was right because I never considered myself a sinner for studying my parasha from it and I didn't think you would have me or other kids do something prohibited by Jewish law. They then said some pretty nasty things about a synagogue that let the Bar Mitzvah boys study from it."
"And what about the Bat Mitzvah girls?"
"We don't let women do that at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. They ignored altogether the fact that I had been bat-mitzvahed.
"Did you reply to that?"
"No," Carey sounded chocked. "I wanted to become a member of Sh'erit ha-Pletah and feared creating an argument."
"I have another question that might be difficult to answer. Are you aware of other girls in Sh'erit ha-Pletah from Buffalo, New York?"
She had to run that one through her mind for a few seconds. "No. I can't think of anyone."
"How about from Greensboro, North Carolina?"
Again there was silence. "Yes. I think Micah Lawrence is from North Carolina. I'm not a hundred percent certain, but I think she once mentioned Greensboro. Why do you ask?"
"Just a hunch, Carey. I promise to tell you very soon. And by the way, I have some wonderful news to share."
"I could use some these days," Carey responded.
"I'm pregnant. I'm finally going to become the mother you wanted me to be."
"Well, well, Mazel Tov, Rabbi Lewyn. That's wonderful news, indeed."
Rabbi Cici Landau reported how her psychotherapist, Dr. Sylvan Denardo, recommended that, until she had ample time to work through the depression suffered by her miscarriage, she work only part time. While that didn't surprise Gabby, she privately believed Cici's depression the consequences of pent up anger. Cici was one of those women who harbored significant grievances with her absentee husband, but was too timid to confront him, directing her anger at less threatening targets. She returned to the synagogue, blaming Gabby for creating a climate of stress, which ultimately led to the miscarriage. There was nothing for Gabby to do but re-state the facts and keep quiet.
Among the duties that Cici did not wish to resume was the Sunday afternoon class on Orthodox Practices. That worked to Gabby's advantage since she was happy to have Carey home on the weekends with her folks. Though Sunday afternoons were usually her only free time on the weekend, Gabby made a point of being in the synagogue when Carey taught her class, looking better kept and less frumpy than in previous weeks. She had washed her hair and tied it into a neat bun behind her head and, to Gabby's surprise, added a tinge of artificial color to her cheeks.
"I'm so happy about you being pregnant," Carey said the moment she pulled out of a warm hug.
Gabby laughed in her girlish manner. "Well, now, according to your people at Sh'erit ha-Pletah, I'm finally fulfilling my duty to be fruitful and multiply. Can I drive you to the airport after class?"
Carey's cheeks widened and her eyes glistened. "I had hoped you'd ask me. When I'm here, I don't really look forward to going back. There's a comfort level from one's childhood. Know what I mean?"
"Of course, there is," Gabby sounded her sympathy. "I feel it all the time. I think that only changes when you have your own children, then the draw of our childhood home is no longer as strong. Or at least that's what my girlfriends tell me. I'll know soon enough. On the way to the airport I have something rather startling to tell you."
"How about now?" she asked.
"No. I don't want to divert your attention. Go to your class and be the fabulous instructor I hear you are."
Because she didn't feel a need to monitor the class, Gabby shuffled papers at her desk and gave up, deciding upon a walk while waiting for Carey. When she returned to the library, she found a cluster of students engaged in animate conversation with their teacher, a sign of good rapport. The after-class discussion consumed more than thirty minutes, another sign of a healthy learning environment.
On the George Washington Parkway, driving toward Reagan National Airport, Gabby looked across the seat to Carey, who eyed her with anticipation. "Neu?"
"I don't think the FBI or police have made any progress finding out who stole Ohav's Torah and tied me up. But I have."
"Can they arrest the thieves?"
"No, and I'm not going to recommend they do. It's an in-house, family matter that's better off settled between members of the family. No need involve the law. I'm interested in getting my Torah back, not seeing the thieves in prison."
"Can you tell me who has it?" Carey pursued.
"Rabbi Olam v'Ed or his haverim, disciples."
The warmth in Carey's face faded and she seemed to contract into herself. "I don't believe it. Why would he steal your Torah? That's against the law!"
"Breaking the law never stopped him in the past. You said he had spent time in jail for extortion or something like that."
"But that was a long time ago. A Torah is the last thing he needs. We have plenty at Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"But Ohav Shalom's Torah is very special, Carey. It comes from a region in the Ukraine where his grandfather and father lived and taught Torah. His grandfather was Moishe Lieb Knishbacher, Rosh Yeshiva of the Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya. His son, Wolf Issador, was Rabbi Olam v'Ed's father. The Torahs stolen from Buffalo and Greensboro were also from the same region, near Kolomya. The way Sh'erit ha-Pletah trains students to memorize large tracts of Talmud mirrors the methods stressed in yeshivas run by Olam v'Ed's grandfather and father. The memory of texts separates the men out from the boys."
Carey looked skeptical. "That's great sleuthing, Rabbi, but it doesn't tie your stolen Sefer Torah to Sh'erit ha-Pletah. You haven't told me why."
"Do you remember what they said when you told them you studied your Bat Mitzvah parasha from a Holocaust Torah?"
She had to rummage through her mind for a moment to remember. "That any Torah tattooed by the Nazis was a Torah Pasulah, a defective Torah, unfit for study. They said that Ohav Shalom should never have permitted me to read from it."
Brake lights ahead signaled to Gabby that the traffic was slowing. She braked, then glanced at her watch to judge how much time they had before reaching the airport. "Right. Now tell me, my little yeshiva student, what would happen if you revered a certain Torah and found that someone else was desecrating it? Suppose it really offended you because you believed that particular Sefer Torah to be sacred."
"But if the Holocaust Torah is pasul, defective, nobody at Sh'erit ha-Pletah can use it either," Carey sounded triumphant.
"You can't study from it, but you can use it. In fact, my guess is that this Sefer Torah is used every evening at the end of Maariv, when they dance in the shul. You told me that the processional Torahs are not stored in the Holy Ark, but in a chamber reserved for members of Z'chut Avot. They can't actually study from defective Torahs, such as the tattooed Torahs from Ohav Shalom, Buffalo, and Greensboro, but they can dance with them. Rabbi Olam v'Ed uses them for inspiration, not learning. As members of Z'chut Avot hold the sacred books of their predecessors, the merit of their fathers transfers. Rabbi Olam v'Ed, alias Jeremiah Lieb Knishbacher, survived the Holocaust to perpetuate their memories in America and Israel. He knew exactly what he wanted when he took Torahs from Reform congregations in Washington, Buffalo, and Greensboro. In his mind, we defiled these tattooed scrolls and were not worthy of them. They rightly belonged to their descendents of the Yeshiva shel-Maalah in Kolomya. You can guess who that is."
From the George Washington Parkway, an entrance to the airport swerved off to the right. Gabby knew that the traffic would bunch up as she approached the departure zone and that her time with Carey was coming to an end. Carey sat silently, peering at the cars jockeying for lanes before them.
"It sounds crazy," she finally said in a voice choked with feeling. "Yes, we have dedicated members, but they wouldn't do something as terrible as steal Torahs."
"People do strange things when convinced they are working for God."
Carey brushed off the previous insight without a response. "Baruch has a photographic memory. I see him reading a verse or paragraph, then reciting it b'aal peh, from memory, only a few minutes later, as though he were imprinting it on his brain. How do you know that Rabbi Olam v'Ed's grandfather and father trained students with memories like this?"
"Nothing is lost to Jewish scholarship. I didn't know myself, but I knew who to ask for confirmation."
Carey looked dubious as she exited from the passenger seat onto the curb and an instant later, looked back into the car to thank Gabby for the ride.
A car waiting behind Gabby tooted impatiently for her to vacate the precious curb space. In her side-view mirror, she could see the uniform of a traffic policeman trying to clear a temporary bottle up of cars by blowing his shrill whistle. It would only be a minute before he'd start working on her. "What would it take to convince you, Carey?" Gabby shot a last moment question as she was leaning forward to glance through the open passenger window.
"There can only be one tattoo number 3325 T609."
"Can we get into the chamber of Z'chut Avot for a look?"
The policeman was only a car behind Gabby, furiously waving his hands for drivers to dispatch their passengers and free the congestion.
"The chamber is always locked. Only senior rabbis and selected students like Baruch are permitted to enter."
"This isn't a Senate caucus, Lady," the policeman, a heavyset man with smooth, creamy brown skin, barked. "Let's move it out, NOW."
Gabby set the gear shift into Drive, but didn't apply any pressure on the accelerator pedal. "Can Baruch get us in there?"
"I doubt it. He plays by all the rules; besides, women are never allowed in."
The policeman hauled a large ticket book from his back pocket and ceremoniously flipped over copies of previous citations. "If I get past the license number, Lady," he growled, "there's no reversing this ticket. And don't try any teary eyes at me either. This is your last chance."
"Okay, officer," Gabby replied to him and said to Carey, "Think about it. We need to confirm that number somehow."
Gabby trusted Chuck Browner's judgment when it came to non-rabbinical matters, specifically when she felt her own impulsiveness required gentle restraint. He had bailed her out of many situations reserved only for risk-takers. And when it came to her plan for recapturing the Ohav Shalom Torah stolen, there was no question the risk was high.
FBI headquarters on Pennsylvania Avenue is an imposing building designed to convey the impression of power and stability. An intricate array of security checks prevented Gabby and Chuck from wandering through the marble floored corridors without official escort. Guards at each station cleared their passage by phoning ahead until they found themselves on the fifth floor outside a suite of offices for the Hate Crimes Division. From an undisclosed location, an armed escort joined Gabby and Chuck, leading through a warren of partitions to a windowless conference room and no pictures on the walls. Agents Janna Phearson and Claudia Dellum showed up ten minutes late without an apology for keeping them waiting.
After the re-introduction of Chuck Browner, whom the women had met at Ohav Shalom, and a short exchange of introductory banter, Gabby re-launched a complaint already started on the phone with Agent Phearson. "As far as I can determine, the FBI has contributed little to this investigation other than identifying two synagogues that were robbed. If Ohav Shalom and the others choose not to press charges against the perpetrators, I don't see why the government should insist."
Claudia Dellum, whom Gabby had previously identified as a dedicated jogger, looked even gaunter than in the past. She said, "Because, Rabbi, we have a responsibility to discourage hate crimes and we can't do that by dismissing evidence when one has been committed, no matter who unearthed it. In this case, three separate robberies have been committed, in addition to your willful abduction."
Before answering, Gabby glanced at Chuck, who appeared distracted by buzzing ballast in the fluorescent ceiling lights. "If my plan works, I think I can return the Torahs to their rightful owners. As we guessed from the outset, this was not your run-of-mill bombing of a minority church. The thieves are not anti-Semites, but fellow Jews who had a reason for what they did. I regard this as a family matter, and by that I mean within the Jewish community. You can understand why a small minority doesn't wash its dirty laundry in public. And while I'd like nothing better than to tie the perpetrators in a chair until they pee in their pants, I'm not happy about sending fellow Jews to prison."
"That's very noble of you, Rabbi, but if everybody felt as you, we'd have to exchange our criminal code for anarchy," said Dellums.
"That's if you see only one side of the picture," Gabby had begun to understand that the FBI would offer more resistance than she anticipated. "The fact that Ohav Shalom, Beth Torah, and Adat Israel congregations became the possessors of these historic Torahs was actually little more than accidents of history. You might say that we were standing in line when they were distributed in 1951, well before my time in this community. We never paid a cent for them. They were bestowed upon us by the largess of British philanthropists who thought it would be a good idea to set the seed of Jewish regeneration outside Europe. So I can understand how others who were never invited to apply might feel left out. I don't condone what the thieves did, but I can appreciate their logic. In an objective debate, I can imagine arguing that these sacred books don't belong to any single congregation like Ohav Shalom, but to the surviving Jewish community and that includes Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"That's very generous of you," offered Janna Phearson, who brushed her short dusty blond hair back over her ears, fluffing the locks with her fingers like a comb. "You must understand that this case is larger than a family squabble. The intruders to Ohav Shalom assaulted you. They violated your First Amendment rights in pursuit of their crime."
"I don't deny that, but despite a very uncomfortable night wrestling with an exploding bladder, I have no long term disabilities. The nightmare has past me now and, for the sake of peace in my Jewish house, I'm not asking for retribution. In a strange and personal way, that night has allowed me to associate intimately with suffering from the Holocaust. My grandmother and grandfather perished in that inferno. Here," she said, pointing to the hexagonal watch on her wrist. “This belonged to my grandmother and was passed on to my mother. I rarely look at it without thinking about the lives ruined. Jews in Europe suffered a lot more than I did sitting tied up in a chair for a night."
"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 noticed 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?"
Gabby thought of Senator Zuckerman and his pledge to contact Senator Vivian Spencer of New York. Apparently, somebody got through to make the FBI change its mind. "Arthur Zuckerman must have arranged this for me," she reported.
"Good, I'm glad that pompous windbag did something other than promote his re-election. You should know that federal agents are monitoring all the exits to ensure that nobody leaves the premises with or without our Torah."
"Splendid. And you say they have no plans to enter?"
"That's what I was told. Claudia Dellum said that the ball is in your court for one hour from now. After that, they'll presume foul play and enter, armed with a search warrant from a local judge."
"Let's hope I don't drop the ball. At least I know there's backup if I get in trouble."
While the Havdalah taper burned, seven individual flames combining into a single pyre, the door at the rear of the shul opened, triggering a wave of anticipation among the students. Spontaneously, men broke into dancing, their arms entwined into each other’s for balance as their feet shot into the air. A familiar Hassidic tune issued from their lips. Heads bobbed as their feet smacked down on the floor in a repetitious, contagious rhythm.
Gabby used this is as a signal to leave the women and hustle down the stairs to the entrance, from which she immediately turned the street corner and headed for the granite stairs, reserved for the exclusive use of men, leading to the ornate entry of Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah. In the brief moments on the pavement, she could have searched for Chuck or paused to identify the black vans transporting federal agents, but timing was critical. Instead, she jogged up the stairs and headed straight for the sanctuary. By the time she stood at the rear, seven men in dark frock coats and broad-brimmed hats were carrying seven Torahs, each dressed in a white silken cover with a single silver breast plate, into the assembly of dancing bodies.
She paused only long enough to note how the Torahs passed from hand to hand, each dancer seizing a scroll, cuddling it close to his chest and twirling with it like two lovers on a Latin dance floor. Other students were waiting to duplicate the ritual as marathon runners ready to receive a baton. The revelers were so engrossed that none noticed Gabby, dodging between them toward the central pulpit. To her surprise, no one blocked her pathway until she ascended the three steps, turned and raised her chin into the air.
The first to recognized that this male domain had been breached stopped dancing, raised his arms toward Heaven and released a piercing howl. For several moments, his shriek was lost in the din until a fellow student in his late twenties ran to the bimah, pulpit, to remove her physically. But he was not prepared for the slap he received across his nose. His eyes flooded with moisture and he staggered back to receive sympathy from comrades who had also stopped singing and dancing to stand in wonderment. It took several more seconds for the revelers to deal with their alarm. In their wildest dreams, no one had anticipated a woman violating the sanctity of their shul. It had never happened! Gabby's voice filled the silence.
"I am Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn from Congregation Ohav Shalom in Washington, D.C," she trumpeted in the loudest voice she could muster. Aware that only a few heard her, she repeated her name, this time before many who were so stunned they failed to understand and her name seemed to hang in limbo. "I have come to take back the Sefer Torah your people illegally removed from my synagogue. And while I am here, I shall also take possession of the Sefrei Torahs you stole from Congregations Beth Torah in Buffalo and Adat Israel in Greensboro, North Carolina."
A contemptuous hissing rose. Not only had a woman breached their rules, but now made slanderous accusations. Men raised their fists in defiance, while their faces reddened with a mixture of distain and defiance.
A tall, bearded man in a dark blue frock coat weaved through the cordon of bodies toward the bimah, a pathway immediately opening for him. "YOU, YOU WILL DO NOTHING OF THE KIND, YOUNG LADY." He possessed a bellowing voice of authority.
"It is not YOUNG LADY. My name is Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn and before I leave this place of distinguished students, you will address me by my appropriate title as I will address you, RABBI JEREMIAH LIEB KNISHBACHER, son of the RABBI WOLF ISSADOR KNISHBACKER, grandson of the revered RABBI MOISHE LIEB KNISHBACKER FROM THE YESHIVA SHEL-MAALAH OF KOLOMYA."
A rumble in the assembly precipitated sharp shrieks from the women's balcony in the rear.
"I am Rabbi Olam v'Ed," the man said as he planted a heavy foot on to the steps leading up the bimah. "And you have no business in dis sacred place. I command you to go before we remove you by force."
Gabby shot back, matching his strength of voice, "Your name is on the elevator license in this building and it isn't Olam v'Ed." She set a forefinger into motion, pointing it at the man who stood only a few feet from her. "I accuse you and your lieutenants of engaging in forced entry and theft of sacred religious property. And that, Rabbi, is not only punishable by imprisonment, but in violation of federal hate crime laws."
"We 'ave taken nothing that doesn't belong to us. You 'ave only a minute to leave or, by the will of haShem, we shall remove you."
Many voices rose in support. To Gabby's disappointment, not a peep crackled down from the women's gallery. "I don't believe you'll do that, Rabbi Olam v'Ed." She slipped from her jacket pocket the walkie-talkie and pressed the button opening the airwaves. Electronic static filled the silence. "Outside are agents of the FBI. One word from me will bring them into the building to make arrests and seize the stolen Sefrei-Torah."
"Go!" he trumpeted, flipping his hand as though whisking away a fly.
Gabby spoke into the radio. "Chuck, are you there?"
"Of course, Rabbi Gabby," his response was immediate.
She turned up the volume to its highest capacity. "Tell me exactly how many vans of FBI agents are currently positioned outside Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"Four plus a sedan. Brooklyn police are now cruising the area and I've seen some talking with the federal agents."
She noticed Rabbi Olam v'Ed swabbing his lips with a heavy tongue and his eyes were no longer glowering. He stepped backward to consult with another scholar whose gray beard with trimmed close to the skin. Others joined in private conversation.
"We will not permit you to remove any Toirah from this shul," Olam v'Ed declared.
"Have you an alternative, except to go back to jail and serve as a second time offender? How many recruits will you have when the community learns that you have duplicated the shame of the Nazis by stealing Sefrei Torah from Jews who cherish them."
"Reform Jews defile d'Toirah!" he bellowed angrily. "D'scrolls from our brethren in Europe are sacred. Vhat do you know about them? We have ties dat you do not. Disbelievers 'ave no entitlement to books dat belonged to our families." Gabby knew the question of entitlement to be her greatest vulnerability, yet she held firm. "Holocaust Torahs were distributed to congregations by a committee of survivors. We have made them available to the entire Jewish community. Our students study from them. Your people are welcome to read from them, too."
More hissing erupted, followed by hooting.
"Toirrot Pasulot, defective Torahs, are unfit fur study."
"Then why do you dance with them?" Gabby jabbed, as though with a rapier.
"Unsuitable for study, but not for joy and respect."
More of the rabbinical counselors circled Olam v'Ed, whispering advice. He broke off with Gabby a second time for more discussion before returning. "Our Toirahs belong to us. You cannot identify what you claim was stolen."
Gabby glanced at her watch, as much for dramatic effect as to calculate how much time she had before federal agents would enter the premises. "Whether you like it or not, in thirty-three minutes, FBI officers will enter Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah and you must deal with them, not me. If you return the three stolen Torahs now, I will not press charges and the FBI will not instigate indictments. Congregations Beth Torah and Adat Israel will follow my lead. Despite what you think of Reform Jews, we do not wish to prevent our observant brethren from studying Torah. A public scandal will harm all Jews, both observant and unobservant."
The proposition elicited additional discussion between Rabbi Olam v'Ed and his advisors. Eventually, he cut them off by pointing at Gabby. "Without positive identification, neither you nor the FBI have evidence against Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
"But I can, and I will," Gabby barked with utter determination.
The faithful emitted scornful remarks. Anybody who studied Torah knew all Torahs were identical. Only a student of calligraphy might distinguish the handwriting and pagination of a particular scribe.
Olam v'Ed's lips curled into a victorious smile. "Then, young lady, I shall geeve you vone chance to identify the Torah you claim wast taken from Vashington. We have sixteen Sefrei Torahs at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Which of them do you vant to inspect?"
"My name, once again, is not young lady but Rabbi Lewyn. Before I leave, you will recognize that fact, whether you like it or not. Do it now, or wait until you see me in court as a witness for the prosecution."
"Nobody has a case against Sh'erit ha-Pletah without identification."
"I'm not interested in the Torahs you study. Let me look at the seven you dance with. One is mine and two others belong to Beth Torah in Buffalo and Adat Israel in Greensboro. I will need a place to open them."
The rabbi waved with his heavy hand for his disciples to step back and make room to arrange tables. A troop of students pulled together scattered study tables around the bimah, coupling them in order to provide room to unroll the scrolls.
Rabbi Olam v'Ed whispered to those nearby. They knew that each scroll was rolled to different books of the Mosaic law and that only an expert would know how to navigate through verses without punctuation and pagination. Clearly, that was not a woman's skill, even for one who claimed to be a Reform rabbi! One Sefer Torah was placed on each table. No one moved to help Gabby, who quickly calculated how little time she had before the FBI arrived.
The room, only minutes before filled with singing and dancing, was suddenly silent.
"Come, Rabbi," Gabby said to Olam v'Ed. "Let your students say a barucha while I open each Torah."
He knew this was proper and nodded for his younger students to step forward and recite a blessing as Gabby unrolled the first scroll. A glance at the disproportionate amount of parchment rolled on the left stick told her she was reading from Deuteronomy, the last book of the five Books of Moses. That meant rolling the scroll back through Numbers to the beginning of Leviticus, where she wanted to be. It is far easier for two people to roll the scrolls than one, but no one from Sh'erit ha-Pletah was given permission to assist. When she came to a relatively rare space in the text, followed by the enlarged script of Vayikra, she stopped.
The second scroll was rolled to the narrative of Jacob and his brethren, found in Genesis. To move forward to Leviticus required a smaller move through the remainder of Genesis and the entire book of Exodus. Once again, she stopped at the space and the word Vayikra. The third scroll was also in Deuteronomy and the fourth, only a few chapters into Leviticus. The fifth and sixth to Numbers and the seventh to Deuteronomy. When she lifted her torso and stood erect, a sharp pain from bending over shot through her lower back. A grimace of pain flashed briefly over her lips, but disappeared when she turned to find that Olam v'Ed had slipped through the curious onlookers surrounding her.
"Rabbi Gabby," a familiar voice bristled through the walkie talkie in her breast pocket. "Are you all right? Let me know, please. Our friends are getting nervous. They have guns in their vans."
She pressed the button to communicate and said, "No, Chuck. We're making progress here. So far, they haven't laid a finger on me, though I had to slap one fellow pretty hard. That's probably the closest he's ever gotten to a woman other than his mother or sisters. It might ruin him for life."
"Keep me posted, will you?"
"If I have time. Over."
"So vhat is yawr choice?" Olam v'Ed said, his Yiddish accent more conspicuous now.
She glanced over the seven scrolls, each opened to the beginning of Leviticus. Through the narrow space left before each scroll, she walked cautiously, regarding each carefully, rejecting the first, second, third, then pausing to examine the fourth more closely. Her fingers touched the rim of the parchment, just above the word Vayikra. To make sure she had made the right decision, she stepped quickly in front of the fifth, sixth and seventh scrolls, stopping to study the parchment on the sixth. She tested the touch with her fingers before sauntering back to the fourth Torah, and turning to meet Rabbi Olam v'Ed's eyes in which she recognized redness.
With her finger she pointed to the fourth scroll. "On the obverse side of this text you will find the number 3325-T609, the code number tattooed by Nazi archivists and removed from the region near Kolomya where your father and your grandfather performed their wonders. I have testimony from a young woman in St. Louis that this was the number on the Sefer Torah she studied for her Bat Mitzvah. Whether you approve of studying from this scroll or of Bat Mitzvah for Jewish women is irrelevant. I need only make the case that the code on the other side of this scroll matches the code remembered by my Bat Mitzvah in St. Louis."
Sweat emerged on Olam v'Ed's brow. He started pulling at his beard nervously. "If dat code is not there, zen vaht?"
"Then you can have a hearty laugh at my expense."
"How do you know dat number is not vone of d'other scrolls?" he asked.
Gabby gambled with her answer, but decided to play it straight. "I was told by another Bat Mitzvah that when she studied her parasha, she marked beginning of V'yikra with a paper clip. The indentation in the parchment is still there. Look for yourself."
"Take it!" Rabbi Olam v'Ed bellowed in full, furious voice. "And be gone with you."
"No, Rabbi. Not until I also have Torah number 3324-J397 that belongs to Congregation Beth Torah in Buffalo. For that I must turn over each Sefer Torah and examine the tattoos. I have no number for the Torah from Greensboro and will make a random selection. That leaves you with four scrolls. Let the Z'chut Avot emanate from four. You did not take covers or silver breast plates. We do not wish to remove these from Sh'erit ha-Pletah."
The identification and removal of three Torahs occurred in icy silence. Two of Olam v'Ed's disciples led him to a chair beside the bimah, his orderly world in collapse. After she had found the Buffalo Torah and selected a sister for Greensboro, she radioed Chuck to bring plastic containers into the shul for transporting their valuable documents.
Though she had achieved her goal, Gabby returned for a final confrontation with the august founder of Sh'erit ha-Pletah. Rabbi Olam v'Ed was still sitting, disconsolate among his students, dry and in silence after Chuck had left the building. "I will do everything in my power to see that this unfortunate episode ends here," she said before looking down at her watch. "In two minutes, the FBI is scheduled to make arrests, unless I declare my intention not to press charges."
"Vat was our bargain," Olam v'Ed came alive. "That was what you said," he repeated himself in alarm.
"I did, Rabbi, but I said something else you have eventually forgotten."
He looked frightened for the first time.
"You must address me as Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn."
His mouth opened in defiance to exhibit strong teeth, but closed again. His eyes shot up toward the Women's Balcony at the rear. "Go please, Rabbi Lewyn," he said in a low voice, barely heard by any but the disciples nearby. "Let us be finished with dis business."
She nodded in agreement. "It is finished, Rabbi Jeremiah Lieb Knishbacher, ben Wolf Issador Knishbacher, ben Moishe Lieb Knishbacher. You are welcome to come to Congregation Ohav Shalom and dance with your grandfather's Torah at any time. We will honor and respect it, as we respect your lineage and your history." She began to break off from him before a new thought occurred to her. "Or better yet, Rabbi Olam v'Ed, come and listen to one of our young people read from this scroll. For us, it isn't pasul, defective."
On the street outside Beth Sh'erit ha-Pletah, FBI agents Phearson and Dellum expressed unenthusiastic congratulations for taking possession of the three Torahs, then used cell phones to tell their superiors in Washington. From the FBI's point of view, little had been accomplished. Any arrest made would have shown up on the Hate Crime Division's record. But as things turned out, neither the Department nor its agents could claim a success. And someone was bound to be critical of the cost for the investigation. One by one, the black vans pulled away from the curb and merged into traffic.
Chuck gently packed the three Torahs into his rented Dodge van and waited for Gabby. She quickly debriefed Claudia Dellum who wrote copiously in her notebook.
In the van headed to LaGuardia, Gabby suddenly changed the subject by asking, "I did ask you to bring a toothbrush, didn't I?"
Chuck had just turned onto Astoria Boulevard. "If you did, I don't recall," he said.
"Well, we're going to stay at the airport tonight to bring this sad affair to a conclusion tomorrow morning. I'd like you to catch a plane first thing in the morning to Greensboro and return a Torah to Adat Israel. I'll call the rabbi from our hotel to give her a heads-up. And I'll fly to Buffalo with Beth Torah's scroll. The sooner they're returned, the easier it will be to keep what happened under wraps. Frankly, I'm worried. Too many people already know. Somebody is likely to talk with the press and when they do, you know whose neck will be under the guillotine blade."
Chuck didn't look pleased, but heavy traffic building near the airport temporarily distracted him. "What hotel?" he asked.
"There's a Shearaton nearby."
"Have they a restaurant because I'm famished? I want you to tell me over a good bottle of wine exactly what that sonovabitch Olam v'Ed looked like when you called his bluff."
"If you promise not to say a word, I'll tell you a secret."
"Have I ever abused your trust, moi, discretion personified?"
"I now believe that back in the 1950s when the Holocaust Torahs were distributed, errors were made. The commission failed to consider historic sensitivities. I'm not saying Ohav Shalom hasn't made good use of its Torah. Only that the right of ownership is suspect."
The bright red marquee of the Sheraton Hotel, LaGuardia, attracted Chuck, who made a last minute turn toward it. "There you go again, Rabbi Gabby, making excuses for scoundrels. No matter that Olam v'Ed and his henchmen forced you to endure a miserable night tied up and stole your Torah. You have to find reasons that they weren't the skunks everybody knows they are."
"Not Carey Sylerman."
"There isn't a chance in hell she'll last at Sh'erit ha-Pletah. You delude yourself by thinking she will."
Mention of Carey caused Gabby to wonder what arrangements Carey would make for teaching the Sunday afternoon class. Perhaps she assumed she would be flying to Washington with Chuck and herself and staying with her folks. Or would she take an early morning Shuttle, giving her plenty of time to make the class? In any case, Gabby expected to fly home to Washington just as soon as she had delivered the Torah.