Free Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance by Roger Herst

Tybee more damage than good."
    "You've got your subjects and predicates
scrambled." She was tart.
    He shot back with equal annoyance, "Why won't
you let me feel bad about this?"
    "You can, Asa. But not on the job. Our
tradition proclaims life's puzzlements, not its solutions. Our
congregants don't want to see feet of clay. If you expose your
tender side, they'll devour you like a leopard killing a weak
impala for his dinner."
    "I'm sick of pretending to be someone I'm
not. This isn't the right job for me. You know it, too. You're
different, Gabby. You fit the mold. I just don't."
    The remark caught her as they were navigating
through vehicular traffic passing before the hospital entrance. Her
bruised hip inhibited a split second dash to safety as a blue Camry
sped past, too close for comfort. Once on the curb, she responded
to Asa before pressing behind him into a revolving door. "We must
talk about this." When they exited into the lobby, she completed
her thought. "But when we can spend the time it deserves, without
interruptions."
    A color-coded directory map in the main lobby
described the six-floor complex. The Burn Rehabilitation Center was
located on the third floor, with the supporting Intensive Care Unit
at the far end of the hall. They ascended in a slow, over-crowded
elevator that stopped on every floor.
    A covey of visitors hovered in the waiting
room, some sipping coffee from Styrofoam cups, others staring at
the walls lethargically. Steady noise of equipment and voices from
the corridor made reading difficult. A TV overhead flashed images
of a college football game nobody was watching.
    Gabby projected a strong voice. "Is anyone
here from the Morgenstern family?"
    A stylish 40-year-old blond in a ski sweater
and riding pants, with lizard skin cowboy boots said, "I'm the
aunt. David's sister. Name's Trudy Klein. Are you friends of the
family?"
    "Yes. I'm Rabbi Lewyn and this is Rabbi
Folkman from Congregation Ohav Shalom. Can you tell us about the
girls?"
    Trudy Klein wagged her head sideways to study
an overweight, bulldog of a man beside her. "Janean is in serious
respiratory trouble. Flames singed her lungs and breathing
passages. Things are better for Tybee. If they can control
infection, they say she'll be all right. She's young and the
doctors say that reconstruction is likely to produce a good
result."
    The bulldog-looking man with a shock of
reddish hair around his ears and freckled skin was Uncle Angus
Klein. A rumpled dark gray business suit hugged his bulk like a
corset and a black necktie flapped loosely over his chest, the knot
a full three inches from the unbuttoned collar open at the throat.
He offered an outstretched hand, but pulled back the moment his
wife said, "Why did you come here? Doctors are fighting for our
Janean's life. If you hadn't tried to evangelize them, they
wouldn't be here now. Pushy Jews are no more tolerable than pushy
Christians. Coming here is unmitigated chutzpah . Hasn't enough damage been done? It's too
late to save their souls? My advice is to leave immediately. The
family doesn't need more rabbis."
    "My colleague and I came to offer a prayer
and to tell David and Laura how we feel for them," Gabby said,
controlling a flush of anger.
    "Too late for sorrow," interrupted Trudy
Klein. "You should have thought about the results of your meddling
before. You've injured my niece; you've injured my brother and my
sister-in-law."
    Gabby struggled to suppress resentment. "I'm
afraid you've got the facts twisted. We didn't come to meddle. We
came because we cherish the girls and won't be dismissed by anybody
but David or Laura. Please tell them that Rabbi Folkman and Rabbi
Lewyn have come to offer a prayer."
    Grandmother Nora Morgenstern stepped
alongside Gabby. Silver-haired and forty pounds overweight, yet
fully painted with mascara and rouge, she was unaware of any
controversy and, from an older school, was inclined to regard
rabbis reverently. Her offer to fetch her son and