THE RABBI OF POT

Rabbi Jeffrey Kahn Wants to Be D.C.'S First Legal Medical-Marijuana
Dealer. But First He Has to Navigate City Regulators, Well-Financed
Competitors, and Suspicious Neighbors.

Rabbi Jeffrey Kahn spent 27 years teaching the Torah in shuls from
central New Jersey to southern Australia. Lately, he's been talking a
lot about a passage from Leviticus, the part about not standing idle
while your neighbor bleeds.

"This really is an important religious issue," says the silver-haired
58-year-old, his wide smile punctuated by crescent-shaped dimples.
"Especially because of how people have been suffering and the ways
that drug laws have been used against Americans and especially
against minorities...I think scripture is very clear that when we
have the opportunity to help people, we must do it."

Not to mention that bit about seed-bearing plants that God declared
good and gave to all humanity.

The rabbi and his wife, Stephanie Kahn , 55, are competing to
establish the District's first city-sanctioned medical-marijuana
operation. Call it Kosher Kush. It's the culmination of a sort of
mid-life crisis for the couple: After packing up their prior lives
and making a pilgrimage to Israel, the store represents their
unlikely next step--a mom 'n' pop pot shop. "We wanted to do
something different," says Stephanie Kahn, a nurse who made her
career in hospital administration, "but still within the framework of
trying to help people."

Last month, the District officially joined 14 U.S. states in
decriminalizing marijuana for people with certain qualifying
conditions, including cancer, HIV/AIDS and other illnesses. D.C.
voters OK'd medical marijuana by more than 69 percent back in a 1998
referendum. But, for 12 years, Congress blocked the ballot
initiative's implementation. The ban was finally lifted last
December. Since then, city officials have been busily working on a
set of rules to regulate sales of what remains a federally classified
Schedule I narcotic.

Under the regs, D.C. will license up to five medical-marijuana
dispensaries and 10 cultivation centers citywide. Though D.C.'s rules
are probably stricter than anywhere else on the decriminalized-pot
map, they nonetheless will open the nation's capital to an industry
that has ballooned into a billion-dollar business out in California.
In fact, some well-established West Coast operators have proven eager
to move into markets far from home. One of the Golden State's largest
purveyors, Berkeley Patients Group, recently spun off a Northeast
affiliate that has snatched up half of the dispensary licenses in Maine.

So far, the Kahns are the first and only ones to go public with any
specific D.C. plans. And if their idea is already a divisive topic in
the city's leafy Takoma neighborhood, it's also a subject of great
interest farther afield, where marijuana advocates and potential
competitors see the couple as the proverbial canary in the coal
mine--if that coal mine were outfitted with grow lights, hydroponics
and a security apparatus to rival that of a Swiss bank.

"There's always a first one," says Allen St. Pierre , executive
director of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana
Laws (NORML). "More often than not in business, and in medical
cannabis, they play the role of sacrificial lamb. They put the city
council, the [advisory neighborhood commission], the regulators,
through the rigors. As often is the case, they don't come to it well
capitalized, or with the kind of best-practices information they need
from other places. And, if they lack those things, then it's very
hard from the time they begin the process, to the point of actually
opening a dispensary, to it being a functional dispensary. That's a
very long path, generally speaking."

Kahn, though, might be the best guinea pig local reformers could
want. Until recently, he served as executive director of the
D.C.-based nonprofit Interfaith Drug Policy Initiative. He enters the
business almost as well versed on the issue of medical marijuana as
he is on scripture.

"Jeffrey is blessed in the sense that he comes out of drug-policy
reform," says St. Pierre, who spotted the rabbi "near the front row,
vigorously taking notes," at a seminar on how to set up a dispensary
during last year's NORML conference. "And, at the same time, coming
to this as a rabbi and invoking this sort of profound humanistic tone."

The humanism might have helped more a few years back, before medical
marijuana became a lucrative enterprise. These days, people would
rather talk about money. "Even if they can call them nonprofits, the
individuals, if these things are done correctly, will be paid pretty
well," notes St. Pierre. "In many cases, we've seen people make small
fortunes. So, there's that balance between what is altruism on one
level and a standard money-making model on the other. In some ways,
who could be better to straddle that line than a man of the clergy?"

You won't find strains of marijuana with currently popular names like
"Greencrack" or "AK-47" at the Kahns' shop. That's not just because
the rabbi is a man of letters. Rather, it's carefully planned as a
marketing strategy: D.C.'s would-be first pot shop is going to
position itself to look more like a health spa than a head shop.
They're calling it the Takoma Wellness Center. Stephanie Kahn
describes the aesthetic as "kind of zen-like but simple and classy."

"Our ward has the highest cancer rate in D.C.," says Rabbi Kahn,
citing figures from a Georgetown University survey. "We've got the
highest percentage of elderly people...There's a need for our dispensary here."

They've already settled on a location: a small, roughly
1,500-square-foot abandoned law office at 6925 Blair Road NW,
conveniently located about half a block from their home and, more
importantly, the legally mandated 300 feet from the nearest school.
They have a security plan, complete with surveillance cameras and an
off-duty D.C. cop monitoring the premises. "We were looking at paying
four times what a security guard would cost," he says, "because we
believe it's the right thing to do."

But the Kahns are especially clear about what they don't want. "No
Cheech and Chong," Stephanie Kahn says. And no pot leaf logo, either:
They've instead opted for the palm-shaped hamsa, an amulet meant to
bring good luck and ward off evil, according to some traditions in
the Middle East.

"We've certainly looked at a lot of dispensaries in other places
where we didn't like what they do," says Rabbi Kahn. "We don't
understand why people have competitions of what's the best medicine
or clearance sales of medicine--things like that just don't make
sense in a medical context." Like many advocates, the Kahns are loath
to even utter the word "marijuana." They prefer the scientific term cannabis.

The marketing plan also comes with a touching back story about how
Stephanie's father reluctantly turned to pot to get relief from the
symptoms of his multiple sclerosis. "He had terrible spasms and he
was in pain all the time," she says. But the notion of smoking dope
"horrified" him. "He was such a straight-laced, very suburban,
businessman. Hippies, drugs--bad things. He didn't want anything to
do it with it. But more and more doctors kept suggesting it. He
finally tried it and he was amazed." Her mother wasn't so lucky.
Though a doctor recommended cannabis to help counter the nausea
brought on by cancer treatments, she was unable to obtain it. The
Kahns say they'll dedicate their dispensary to the memory of
Stephanie's mother.

And if they do, it'll likely look different from one possible
competitor: the nonprofit District of Columbia Patients Cooperative,
organized last January. The co-op's directors include Adam Eidinger
and Alan Amsterdam , co-owners of the Capitol Hemp boutiques in Adams
Morgan and Chinatown. Amsterdam, 43, says he previously operated a
coffee shop in the Netherlands, where such establishments can sell
marijuana. "I ran a coffee shop," he says. "I grow. I've had
extensive experience in every aspect of the cannabis industry."

Amsterdam's group has also scouted locations, primarily in the Adams
Morgan area, but was waiting on the regulations before signing a
lease. He envisions a facility with a sort of showroom feel, so
visitors get a sense of the actual living plant. "It's really
important to show people that, you know, it's just a plant," he says.
"It's not out to attack you like society says."

Another possible competitor: Stephen DeAngelo , executive director of
Harborside Health Center in Oakland, one of California's largest
retailers. A D.C. native who cites the congressional mothballing of
the 1998 referendum as "one of the most crushing experiences" of his
life and a big reason he left for the Golden State, DeAngelo is often
mentioned as a player in the D.C. dispensary sweepstakes. His
national consulting firm, CannBe, is already active on the East
Coast, partnering with Rhode Island investors on a proposed
75,000-square-foot operation in downtown Providence. At one time, his
firm and Amsterdam's group had been in talks on a possible D.C.
partnership; they ultimately deciding to go their separate ways.

"We've been in conversations with a few people in D.C.," DeAngelo
says. "But nothing has firmed up at this point."

Conceptualizing your very own marijuana store is one thing. The
logistics of actually setting it up is quite another. The regulations
proposed by Mayor Adrian Fenty 's office last week--which would
impose strict limits on location, staffing, and inventory--call into
question the very feasibility of maintaining such a facility.

For one thing, the system seems designed to exclude anyone with much
prior experience in marijuana salesmanship. Even a misdemeanor
citation for possession is grounds for disqualification from working
in the newly legalized industry.

That's not a problem for the Kahns. But they're more confused by the
pesky question of where their merchandise is supposed to come from.
One key question: Whether dispensaries will have to grow their own.
"We're waiting to see if the District is going to be making
provisions even for how the cannabis is going to get here in the
first place," the rabbi says. "You can't plant tomatoes and say
'Abracadabra' and it comes up marijuana."

If it comes to self-cultivation, Stephanie Kahn says, they'll
probably hire someone who knows what they're doing. "When we first
got married, my husband said, 'I hope you do better with your
patients than you do with all of our plants,' because they did not
live," she says.

And the possibility of having to rely on the Kahns' conspicuously
non-green thumbs is only one of the cultivation challenges buried in
the regulatory language. The rules currently limit legal grow
operations to possessing only 95 plants at a time. The cap is
intended to help protect cultivators from facing stiff federal
penalties. But by limiting supply, it's also likely to mean high
consumer prices.

"Every cultivation center will have its product sold before it even
hits the shelf," says Amsterdam. "That's going to be troubling when
you run out and you've got to wait three weeks for product. You're
just sitting there, twiddling your thumbs, paying taxes. But you
don't have anything to sell." He says that in New Mexico, a similar
rule has led to shortages. (The proposed rules already prohibit one
piece of Amsterdam's ideal business model: Cultivation centers--the
spots where he could display growing plants--would have to be closed
to the public.)

"A 95-plant garden is not going to be very feasible from an economic
point of view," DeAngelo says. "The cost of that medicine is going to
be extremely high." He notes that 62 cents of every dollar earned at
his Oakland dispensary goes to pay for the product itself--and that's
in a state with a vast cultivation system.

Even if there is enough of the basic stuff to go around, adequate
variety is another potential snafu. "No one kind of cannabis works
best for all patients," says DeAngelo. "Patients, universally, find
different strains that work best for them and tend to stick with
those strains and request those strains." The vast cultivation
network in California provides for various forms of herbal relief
beyond the inhalable kind--tinctures, capsules, edibles. "I have
questions about whether that would be possible under the D.C. model,"
DeAngelo says.

Before you sell cannabis to the ailing, you have to sell your
storefront to the neighbors. Even before the new law officially took
effect last month, the Kahns had already pitched their dispensary
plan community groups like the Old Takoma Business Association,
Neighbors, Inc., and the local Advisory Neighborhood Commission 4B.

Rabbi Kahn says the efforts to preempt the NIMBYs reflects lessons
he's picked up about problems in other newly legalized pot markets,
where critics complained about insufficient public notification.
"They just awarded the dispensary locations in Maine, and once that
came out in the paper, that's when neighbors first found out that
there was going to be a dispensary in their neighborhood," he says.
"That seems like a crazy way to do it."

Of course, telling the neighbors about your pot business plan isn't
just optional in D.C. The regulations Fenty proposed last week
delegate licensing authority to the District's Alcoholic Beverage
Regulation Administration (ABRA) and Alcoholic Beverage Control (ABC)
Board--and not the Department of Health, as in other states. (The
health department will still register qualified patients and doctors
authorized to prescribe pot.)

Marijuana advocates have denounced ABRA's involvement as a misguided
blurring of the line between the medicinal and recreational uses of
the drug. But from a practical standpoint, it makes some sense:
Liquor regulators are the most experienced in vetting venues that
dispense a controlled substance--not to mention balancing the
concerns of consumers, businesses, and neighbors.

In awarding the licenses to grow or sell marijuana, the liquor board
has been instructed to give "great weight" to the recommendations of
local advisory neighborhood commissions. The regulations specifically
call on the ANCs to address "the potential adverse impact of the
proposed location to the neighborhood." As any experienced D.C.
nightclub operator can tell you, wrangling with the local advisory
boards can be a dicey proposition, to say the least.

Which means that, efforts to cast his store as a health-care facility
notwithstanding, Rabbi Kahn may be in for a tough fight. "The only
opposition we hear is, 'OK, fine, but please not near me,'" he says.
Trouble is, that sentiment has a substantial echo in ANC4B.

The rabbi shows up at the group's July 26 meeting at their local
police station clad in a conservative navy blue Ralph Lauren
button-down, gray slacks and black shoes. His wife wears a floral
jacket and black pants with a red handbag and matching ladybug
bracelet. There's not a single strand of industrial hemp between
them. "We are very straight-laced people," she says.

But as the evening wears on, it's clear that their neighbors--or at
least this panel of their elected representatives--aren't so convinced.

It's about the kids! ANC Commissioner Judi Jones , who criticizes the
Kahns' concept as a "a ready-made market for illicit drug sales,"
points to the presence of "young people" at a previous discussion of
the dispensary plan back the week earlier. "I found that most
interesting," she says, noting that one of youths had openly stated
that "he knows some of his friends can't wait for that clinic to open."

Nonsense, the Kahns say. Teens seeking access to the Wellness Center
will have to contend with a security plan that will keep unwanted
stoners out--and a municipal record-keeping requirement that will
ensure that no stray herb ever escapes. "It's going to be monitored,"
Stephanie Kahn notes. "Every quarter of a half of a gram. Every
little speck. Dust!"

There's an easier place for teenagers to score: "They can probably
get all they want at Coolidge [Senior High School]," she says. "I
mean, please."

The rabbi seems almost as ruffled by another commissioner's comment
about possible profiteering. "We alerted you to the issue, and we
enjoy having this conversation with you," he shoots back. "But don't
accuse me of retail or profit or anything you don't know about."

Neighborhood e-mail discussions about the proposed dispensary have
been generally more supportive and on point. "On Listservs, we've had
people who come out and say lots of nice things," notes Stephanie
Kahn. "They don't necessarily come out to these meetings." No
kidding: "I think this is our ninth community meeting and I'm already
trying to get beyond trying to correct them with proper information,
because they just come back the next week and say the same thing,"
the rabbi says.

Things don't get any easier outside. In the hallway, ANC Commissioner
Sara Green sidles up to suggest the couple look for alternative
locations across the state line in famously liberal Takoma Park, Md.
"I can tell you right now that when you just go on the other side of
that Metro station, you're in another community, you're in Granola
Park," Green says. "You may have a lot more acceptance if this were
in Maryland."

"It's illegal in Maryland," Kahn points out. "What we have in our
community here in the District of Columbia is approval. In Maryland, it lost."

Green says that's not the point. "Very many of these people in my
community do not want this...Given the tenor, the tone of the
conversation we've had, because I know these people very well, I can
tell you, you may be facing a vote of opposition."

Stephanie Kahn asks whether Green has any suggestions to improve
relations with the ANC. "I don't," she says.

Amsterdam, for his part, expects a better reception in Adams Morgan,
where the local ANC1C passed a resolution in support of medical
marijuana last February. It already has a neon hemp leaf highlighting
one of its storefronts: his. "This neighborhood is a little more laid
back," he says.

Rabbi Kahn, meanwhile, seems to be having second thoughts about
bringing the issue to the ANC's attention in the first place.

"You know, we approached them a long time ago with the idea that we
could kind of have nice conversations over a period of months and
kind of form a partnership with them and see how this could be done
so it really benefits the community," the rabbi says.

"I've been to other meetings where the conversation is very
different," he adds. "There have been people who are upset because
the D.C. law is so restrictive, that there are people with illnesses
whose needs are not going to be met, that the sickest people probably
need more marijuana per month than what it is that our law [is] going
to offer, so the sickest people aren't even going to be helped by our law."

At least one person at the Takoma ANC meeting seems positive about
the Kahns. Of course, her argument--that what the wellness center
would sell is better than junk food or malt liquor--isn't exactly the
marketing message the rabbi has in mind. "Listen, y'all can put it in
my basement," says Wanda Oates , who approaches the couple after the
meeting. "My goodness! You know, we've got liquor stores, we've got
candy stores, we've got all this stuff that's more detrimental to
your health than marijuana ever could be."

A week after the ANC meeting, the mayor's office releases its long
awaited regulations on the new medical-marijuana program.

For the Kahns, the timeline represents something of a let-down. The
couple had been hoping to open their dispensary in the fall. But
under the new rules, regulators aren't authorized to judge the
applications until Jan. 1. Even if the first cultivation center were
to be authorized on New Year's Day, it would still take several more
months for the first legal batch of the stuff to mature. That means
spring at the earliest.

The rules also say that officials will consider applications on a
"first-come, first-served" basis, making the Kahns wonder whether all
of their advance maneuvering was worth it. "Am I going to have to
stand outside ABRA for three days as if I was waiting for the first
iPhone?" the rabbi asks.

"We're just a little disappointed that it looks like it's going to
drag out so long," he says. "Not so much personally disappointed, but
disappointed for the patients who've been waiting for so long, and a
little concerned that delay leads to delay, and now we're going to an
election."

The rabbi is all too aware that the shifting political scene could
stop the program dead in its tracks. Republicans could potentially
regain control of Congress and overturn the will of the voters yet
again. "It seems a shame that after waiting 13 years, it can't be
done quicker," he says.