The Escape.

Chovevei Torah is located on Eastern Parkway between Albany and Troy. Aunt Rachel has not missed a Friday night service in almost sixty years. She leads tours. When Stein first suggested it, two weeks ago, as a route of escape I laughed. What Rachel does not know, what Stein and Yossi Stern (head of the volunteer civilian patrol organization, The Shmira) do know, is that the worldwide Lubavitch headquarters is connected via a series of underground tunnels to all of the influential Orthodox synagogues in the area. The tunnels, if viewed from above, form a subterranean star of David.

The plan is simple. Stein sits on the executive committee and has invited me along with Stern to be the Ark guardians. It is an honor people like Stern receive regularly (Stern, for some reason, has elected to be my guide on this escape---gambling debts aside, I find this to be deeply unsettling. Unsettling in the coming home to find a stranger sitting on your front porch sort of way. However the prospect of missing the Palin/Biden smackdown is worth the risk.) For me to be in front of the congregation is suspect at best. But, religion being the house of ready made redemption, I have rationalized that people will see me as a symbol of the fallen returning, the unerring power of Judaism to inject prudence and meaning into the lives of even the most depraved. I digress. While Stern and I are flanking the Ark, Stein will be delivering an address to the congregation on the current economic crisis and its implications on the Jewish community. Stein has the advantage of being perceived to be completely insane in general, yet profoundly informed on the subject of economics. Stein will address the congregation and will make a slip, saying some as of yet undecided deeply offensive statement that will cause the upper level of the synagogue, where women sit, to be cleared. For decorum's sake, of course. In the general hubbub that accompanies the herding of the women towards the exit, Stein will feign fainting. Stein will lose no face as he has none to lose (outbursts are always the risk one takes when allowing him to speak in public) and Stern and I will slip unnoticed into the secret exit beneath Stein's lectern. By the time Aunt Rachel has attempted to locate me, and by the time she can't find me and call's Stern's Shmira, Stern and I will be driving towards St. Louis. Meanwhile, the Shmira will conduct a thorough and fruitless search of Crown Heights and the surrounding environs.

Stein is speaking now. Droning about short selling and mark to market accounting. Aunt Rachel is nodding off. It's not hot, but the humidity has painted the room with sweat. The time is nearly nine, when Stein is to make his gaffe. Then it begins. Stein stops and seems to lose his place. One of the Rabbi's acolytes starts gesturing to the point in his speech transcript where he paused. Stein smacks his hand. The gesture is grand enough to catch the attention of the congregation. Everyone stops.

Stein steps away from the lectern now, leaving our exit unblocked, and moves center.

"I have decided as of today to stop all personal donations to the state of Israel and I implore you all to do the same," he says.

Pandemonium! Recriminations! Spittle and rage lobbed from the fur lined mouths of the elders, indignation and spite spat from the fresh faces of the young believers. He's turned the synagogue into the floor of the New York Stock Exchange. The women are herded out, the men are enraged. The Rabbi walks toward Stein and puts a hand on his shoulder. Stein bites his hand! Brilliant. The men are charging the bima like villagers from 'Frankenstein.' Stern looks at me and politely gestures toward the lectern as if to say 'after you.' I move quickly making sure not to look up and catch Aunt Rachel's eye.

We are in the tunnels now, the sounds of the synagogue melee receding.