him. He can be a lovable slob."
An empathetic smile expanded on Chuck's
cheeks. There was usually a good reason why she asked him something
like this. "So what are you cooking up now, Rabbi Gabby?"
"Oh, nothing special. It's just a matter of
curiosity."
"Your nose is growing like Pinocchio."
Her fingers rose instinctively to feel along
the bridge. "Is it?" she sounded her embarrassment.
***
The first thing Gabby noticed when she
dropped by Asa's study at 10:45 a.m. was that the menorah was gone.
He was reading Midrash haGadol , a
compilation of Hebrew folk tales written to explain the biblical
passages read weekly in medieval synagogues. Such folktales were
obviously a distraction from other matters on his mind. He barely
acknowledged her presence until she asked, "You okay? I'm worried
about you, Asa."
His eyes rose from the large tome lying flat
before him, Talmudic style, and landed upon her, but dropped again
to the text while his lips remain sealed. "Asa. Talk to me, please.
We're both in this together. Don't wall me out. I know you're
hurting. I came to ask if you think we should attend Janean's
funeral this afternoon."
His words barely broke a whisper. "I want to,
but my guess is David Morgenstern will throw us out."
She stepped closer to his desk, then moved
around it to place a hand on his shoulder and said. "I once had a
dear friend in California. A wonderful man who was sick for many
years. When he finally died, his wife and kids buried him privately
before notifying close friends. No funeral. No memorial service.
Nothing. One day he was alive and the next, in the ground. I felt
totally excluded. Since when should any family deny friends the
opportunity to say Kaddish at a burial? I
felt it was wrong then. Still do today, years later. Inside me, I'm
angry. I'm thinking, to hell with David and Laura's sensitivities.
I don't want to make a scene, but to grieve. You probably feel the
same. "If we sit in the rear, perhaps no one will recognize us. The
ceremony starts at 2 p.m. First Methodist in Chevy Chase. According
to the papers, the Reverend Claire Goldwater will conduct the
ceremony. Know her?"
"You know I make a point of avoiding
ecumenical meetings and don't frequent Methodist circles."
"I've met her at the Washington Association
of Women Ministers. I have a suspicion there are a few Jews buried
in her ancestry. And there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind
that some of our illustrious alumni are members of her
congregation. So are we going, or are we traveling the low
road?"
His lips curled into a smile for the first
time in days.
Chuck Browner usually knew which phone calls to put
through to his boss and which to postpone. He possessed an
instinctive, almost animalistic sense about strangers. When callers
got testy, he immediately lost his finely honed diplomatic craft.
His low threshold for pushy people launched a steady stream of
complaint letters to Ohav Shalom's Board of Directors, with copies
to the rabbi. On more than one occasion Gabby interceded with the
Board in order thwart a notice of termination.
When Kye Naah called, Chuck's initial
reaction was positive. He put Kye on hold for a moment and, through
the open door to Gabby's study, not only let her know who was
holding, but added an observation. "I read about Kye Naah in the
papers all the time. On the community pages he's a hero. In the
business section, he's a minister of Satan."
She took up the phone immediately.
"Rabbi Lewyn, do you remember me? The guy who
knocked you down at the Greenbrier?"
"Hard to forget. I still bear some pretty
ugly black-and-blue marks in places that don't see much sunlight. I
tried to speak with you after your fabulous presentation, but there
were too many people around."
"I called to find out about your
injuries."
"Aside from jokes about the heavy-weight
prize fighter who took his revenge, my face is healing with little
danger from scarring, thank God. The hip's a bit slower. I played
some indoor
An empathetic smile expanded on Chuck's
cheeks. There was usually a good reason why she asked him something
like this. "So what are you cooking up now, Rabbi Gabby?"
"Oh, nothing special. It's just a matter of
curiosity."
"Your nose is growing like Pinocchio."
Her fingers rose instinctively to feel along
the bridge. "Is it?" she sounded her embarrassment.
***
The first thing Gabby noticed when she
dropped by Asa's study at 10:45 a.m. was that the menorah was gone.
He was reading Midrash haGadol , a
compilation of Hebrew folk tales written to explain the biblical
passages read weekly in medieval synagogues. Such folktales were
obviously a distraction from other matters on his mind. He barely
acknowledged her presence until she asked, "You okay? I'm worried
about you, Asa."
His eyes rose from the large tome lying flat
before him, Talmudic style, and landed upon her, but dropped again
to the text while his lips remain sealed. "Asa. Talk to me, please.
We're both in this together. Don't wall me out. I know you're
hurting. I came to ask if you think we should attend Janean's
funeral this afternoon."
His words barely broke a whisper. "I want to,
but my guess is David Morgenstern will throw us out."
She stepped closer to his desk, then moved
around it to place a hand on his shoulder and said. "I once had a
dear friend in California. A wonderful man who was sick for many
years. When he finally died, his wife and kids buried him privately
before notifying close friends. No funeral. No memorial service.
Nothing. One day he was alive and the next, in the ground. I felt
totally excluded. Since when should any family deny friends the
opportunity to say Kaddish at a burial? I
felt it was wrong then. Still do today, years later. Inside me, I'm
angry. I'm thinking, to hell with David and Laura's sensitivities.
I don't want to make a scene, but to grieve. You probably feel the
same. "If we sit in the rear, perhaps no one will recognize us. The
ceremony starts at 2 p.m. First Methodist in Chevy Chase. According
to the papers, the Reverend Claire Goldwater will conduct the
ceremony. Know her?"
"You know I make a point of avoiding
ecumenical meetings and don't frequent Methodist circles."
"I've met her at the Washington Association
of Women Ministers. I have a suspicion there are a few Jews buried
in her ancestry. And there isn't the slightest doubt in my mind
that some of our illustrious alumni are members of her
congregation. So are we going, or are we traveling the low
road?"
His lips curled into a smile for the first
time in days.
Chuck Browner usually knew which phone calls to put
through to his boss and which to postpone. He possessed an
instinctive, almost animalistic sense about strangers. When callers
got testy, he immediately lost his finely honed diplomatic craft.
His low threshold for pushy people launched a steady stream of
complaint letters to Ohav Shalom's Board of Directors, with copies
to the rabbi. On more than one occasion Gabby interceded with the
Board in order thwart a notice of termination.
When Kye Naah called, Chuck's initial
reaction was positive. He put Kye on hold for a moment and, through
the open door to Gabby's study, not only let her know who was
holding, but added an observation. "I read about Kye Naah in the
papers all the time. On the community pages he's a hero. In the
business section, he's a minister of Satan."
She took up the phone immediately.
"Rabbi Lewyn, do you remember me? The guy who
knocked you down at the Greenbrier?"
"Hard to forget. I still bear some pretty
ugly black-and-blue marks in places that don't see much sunlight. I
tried to speak with you after your fabulous presentation, but there
were too many people around."
"I called to find out about your
injuries."
"Aside from jokes about the heavy-weight
prize fighter who took his revenge, my face is healing with little
danger from scarring, thank God. The hip's a bit slower. I played
some indoor
Similar Books
