Rabbi Gabrielle's Defiance (17 page)

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?"