SAUL'S INSTALLATION

Before he rose to the exalted position of president of the Schenectady Jewish Center, Saul Rabinowitz was a member of the Rabbinic Search Committee there.  Despite the importance of serving on a rabbinic search committee, Saul was not too keen on accepting the offer when he was initially asked.  But his wife, Sadie, convinced Saul that service on the rabbinic search committee would derail him off the presidential track, from which Saul was desperate to remove himself.  You see how that worked out, for as you know, Saul served with distinction as the SJC president in 2008 and 2009.

Having heard the news of Temple Beth El’s recent rabbinic installation, I received a phone call of congratulations from Saul.  He told me about his own personal experience on the SJC search committee.

Saul said that serving on a Rabbinic Search Committee is serious business.  According to Saul, he reviewed 250 pages of applications, and claims to have invested 100 hours in attendance at Search committee meetings over a two-year period of his life.

“Time I can never get back,” he is quick to point out.

Such a heavy workload makes it understandable (if not entirely forgivable) for Saul to admit that on one occasion during a search committee meeting his mind went a-wandering.  He began to daydream that the Rabbinic Search process could be conducted like a television game show.  Had this been the case, can you imagine what kind of rabbi we would have selected?

If the game show had been Concentration, we would have searched to find a rabbi with a great memory who will do everything at the synagogue exactly as it has been done before.  If the game show had been Jeopardy!, a game in which knowledge is central to the search, we would have landed a smart and learned Rabbi, but finding the big prize, the Daily Double, is purely the result of a lucky guess. What if the game show had been Family Feud? The most influential families in the temple would compete against each other, with the winning family selecting a rabbi who is their most perfect candidate.

Lucky for us at Temple Beth El, the Search Committee operated like a popular television program from 40 years ago.  The show was called This is Your Life.  Do you remember that show? The host, Ralph Edwards, would surprise a celebrity or an ordinary person, and then bring family and friends on stage to share their memories of the honoree. The television show, This Is Your Life, affirmed a person's relationships and accomplishments.

This is an apt metaphor, for our Rabbinic Search Committee was able to articulate honestly who we are as a congregation, speak truthfully about our needs and preferences, and explain clearly what makes us unique.  It is to our mutual benefit that David Widzer answered our call, for he is the right rabbi, for the right congregation, at the right time.

To the other rabbinic candidates we respectfully thank you for your interest in Temple Beth El, and we have nice parting gifts for you backstage. Herschel, tell ‘em what they’ve won.

SAUL'S APPEAL

Saul Rabinowitz, past president of the Schenectady Jewish Center, is fond of telling the following story whenever he meets a fellow Temple president.  He claims to tell this story every other month. This in itself is odd.  Where does Saul hang out so as to meet all these Temple presidents?  Probably the place he goes to take a schvitz.

Saul's story takes place the week before the High Holy Days of 2008.  He has not yet written his speech for the SJC Yom Kippur Appeal.  He is in bed, tossing and turning, staring at a darkened ceiling, thinking about the tone of his message, losing sleep, without inspiration.  His wife, Sheila, lay snoring beside him.  Suffering from his self-induced bout of insomnia, Saul gets into his car and goes for a ride.  He drives and drives, as the Parkway exits whiz by, until he is not even fully aware of where he is going or where he has been.   

Unconsciously, Saul pulls off at an exit ramp somewhere in Orange County and follows the back streets until he comes upon a clearing in a farmer's field.  There, he sees a gold circus tent billowing in the wind.  It is nothing like neither the Ringling Brothers nor the Barnum or Bailey tents of his youth.  Saul finds an opening in the tent and steps inside.  What a strange circus, he thinks.  There is no smell of popcorn and no children in attendance.  Instead, the bleachers are filled with Temple presidents.  (Saul knows this because they all are wearing their official Temple name tags.)  

Soon, a yarmulke-wearing ringleader wrapped in a tallit appears center stage to introduce "The Strongest Man in the World."  The handlebar mustachioed gent with bulging muscles bursting from his red singlet grabs a microphone and approaches the audience of Temple presidents.

"I am the Strongest Man in the World," he says, and proceeds to lift an elephant over his head with one arm tied behind his back.  The audience of Temple presidents is agape.  Next, the world's strong man lifts an automobile over his head with both arms tied behind his back.

"Nobody is stronger than I am," he declares, as fifteen clowns tumble through the four doors of the car.  Then the strong man reaches into his singlet and produces a lemon.  He holds the lemon in his right hand for all to see.

"Behold this lemon. It may be worth $500,000."

The Strongest Man in the World caresses the lemon in his fingers like Sandy Koufax gripping a fastball.  The circus strongman then squeezes the lemon with all his might.  The lemon rind explodes and bursts with zest.  The pits become dangerous flying objects ricocheting like stray bullets.  The strongman increases his vice-like grip, the lemon juice flows freely down his arm, the juice dripping from his elbow, until all the juice runs into a glass and fills it. 

Then the strong man holds the mangled fruit aloft and says: "If anyone can squeeze another drop out of this lemon, you will take home $500,000."

Nobody had ever squeezed another drop out of the lemon after the Strongest Man in the World had gotten through with one.  He's been traveling with this circus act for nearly a dozen years.  Many people had tried over time: weightlifters, longshoremen, lumberjacks, but nobody could ever do it.  No need to worry today would be any different.

Then, from the far-reaches of the bleachers, a faint voice calls out.  "I will accept your challenge."

Coming forward towards the center ring is a frail old man, wearing thick glasses and a polyester suit.  He is about 85 years old and does not weigh much more than 85 pounds.  After the laughter has died down, the strong man hands the wrinkled remains of the rind to the little fellow.  But the crowd's laughter turns to total silence as the little fellow clenches his feeble fist around the lemon, gives a squeeze, and as if by a miracle, six drops of lemon juice fall into the glass.

As the crowd of Temple presidents cheer, the strong man pays off the $500,000 bet and asks the little man: "What do you do for a living? Are you a lumberjack, a weightlifter, a longshoreman?" 

"No," the little fellow replies. "I work as a fundraiser for the United Jewish Appeal." 

Saul Rabinowitz awoke in a cold sweat.  It was all a dream.  Inspired, he wrote the best Yom Kippur Appeal ever heard by the congregants at the Schenectady Jewish Center.  Coincidentally, Saul's appeal helped to raise exactly $500,000 in pledges.  SJC used these donations to establish a new Youth Lounge, refurbish the courtyard, waterproof the old school wing, put a new roof on the building, update the staff's computers, and provide comfortable lobby seating so people could gather to schmooze while sharing a cup of coffee and conversation.

All of the above was completed in less than two years time.  Except for the lobby seating, which is delayed and still causing arguments because no two people can agree as to what color the upholstery should be.  But as Saul will tell you, when it comes to Temple accomplishments, five out of six ain't bad.  It ain't bad at all.

SAUL'S AUFRUF

Saul Rabinowitz, president of the Schnectady Jewish Center from 2008 to 2009, once told me his favorite responsibility as lay leader of SJC was presiding as officer on the bimah during a Shabbat service featuring an Aufruf ceremony. The Aufruf, which in Yiddish means "calling up," is a congregation's acknowledgment of an upcoming wedding. As is the custom in most Reform synagogues, both the bride and groom are called upon for an aliyah, a recitation of a blessing over the Torah. The Shabbat service is traditionally followed by a Kiddush of light refreshments in the synagogue's social hall, sponsored by the parents of the bride and groom. It was during the Kiddush after an Aufruf ceremony when Saul Rabinowitz would seek out the groom and attempt to scare the living kishkas out of him.

Nobody ever would call Saul a romantic or confuse him with a love-struck character in a Nicholas Sparks novel. To be sure, Saul adores his wife, Sadie, and everyone knows it, the lone exception being Sadie herself. In 2003, the Rabinowitz's grown children, Sammy and Sheila, rented the SJC social hall and invited over one hundred of Saul's and Sadie's closest friends (all blood relatives or SJC members) to a party in celebration of their parents' thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. After the plates of creamed herring and stuffed derma were cleared from the tables, Saul stood, with Manischewitz glass in hand, to toast his bride.

"To Sadie, my first wife, I wish you a Happy 35th Anniversary," he said. "So many times you have asked me, 'Saul, what are you thinking?' And my response is always, Sadie, if I wanted you to know, I'd be talking. Yes, Sadie, we've been together a long time. Had I killed someone thirty-five years ago, today, I would be a free man. But seriously, Sadie, I want to thank you for thirty-two of the happiest years of my life. Those three years we spent in Stuyvesant Town when your sister lived near us I could have done without. Still, if I may channel my inner Jackie Gleason, Babie, you're the greatest."

Saul swears there wasn't a dry eye in the social hall.

Trying to get Saul back on topic, I ask why he so enjoyed the Aufruf ceremony. He explains feeling an ethical duty to share and impart his worldly knowledge to a fellow man who is about to step under a chuppah to marry a Jewish woman. At just the right moment – which is usually when the only baked goods remaining are a few lonely pieces of raspberry rugelach and the oldest living member of Sisterhood begins stashing the Sweet and Low into her purse – is the time when Saul would seek out the naïve groom-to-be. Putting an encouraging arm around the poor sap's shoulder, Saul walks the young man to a quiet corner of the social hall to have a heart-to-heart talk.

"The Jewish wedding is a sacred ceremony, ripe with symbolism," Saul says, looking deep into the eyes of the love-is-blind fool. "The breaking of the glass is particularly symbolic. The old-school rabbis would have you believe the breaking of the glass symbolizes the destruction of ancient temples. This is a meaningful insight, but it doesn't drill down deep enough or provide any real-world lessons.

"The new-age rabbis," Saul continues, "will tell you the breaking of the glass symbolizes the fragility of the union into which you are about to enter; one false step by either one of you, and the marriage can shatter, its shards never to be put back together again. Now this insight," Saul adds, "has a message to which today's newlyweds can relate. Yet, for me, personally, there still remains a nugget of truth, a kernel of reality, a nagging suspicion of actual married life to a Jewess which the rabbis do not address."

The future groom is now hanging on Saul's every word.

"What is the meaning? What is it? What does it mean to break the glass?"

Seizing the moment, Saul waits a beat, and admits the secret of marriage known only to Jewish men: "Son," he says, "when you break that glass, it'll be the last time you'll ever put your foot down."
 
As the groom nods with a faint glimmer of understanding, Saul returns to the Kiddush table, gulps down the last three pieces of raspberry rugelach and drinks a cup of tea with no artificial sweetener added. His work here is done.

MOSES AS TRANSITION MANAGER

Two years before Saul Rabinowitz was to become president of Schenectady Jewish Center, he attended a lecture given by William Bridges, author of Getting Through Wilderness.  Here, in Saul's words as it relates to SJC, is Mr. Bridges' message from that lecture in the autumn of 2006:

As a temple we've made changes, and now we are at a stage to manage our transition.  We all know of a classic management story that provides an excellent account of a leader’s successful transition project. It is in the book of Exodus, and the leader is Moses.

When Pharaoh finally let Moses’ people go, some of them surely thought the Promised Land was just around the corner. But Moses was not so naive, for he saw that he had to draw a line of no return. Whatever the old system is, it always “follows” people and tries to pull them back, just as the Pharaoh’s army did.  This pull must be broken, and Moses did that by a symbolic act. He called on God to part the waters of the Red Sea so that his people could cross over, and then just as Pharaoh’s troops entered the sea he called on God to close the waters again. The pursuers were drowned.

There are two elements to this action that ought to be noted. The first is that there needs to be a clean break with the past. There must be no pieces of the past lying around to suggest that perhaps it is not gone, after all. Those pieces might be policies that were justified by the old goals, tactics that were justified by the old strategies, missions that were justified by the old vision. The past needs to be “drowned,” as the Pharaoh’s army was.   We are careful not to denigrate “the past” in the general sense. The eradication of the past should not be done vindictively or with any suggestion that those who were loyal to the past were mistaken or ineffective. Instead, it is clear that the past did its job and got us where we are today. It was fine for its time, but its time is past. New situations call for new solutions.

The Red Sea experience is a symbolic “boundary event” and such an event captures people’s attention and carries the message that the old way is gone and beyond recovery.  The Spanish explorer, Cortez, created another such boundary event.  After his men landed on the coast of Mexico, he burned the ships. His message: there is no turning back now!  The effect of the boundary event is not just to keep the past from invading the present; for Moses, it is also to keep the people from turning around and returning to Egypt.

Moses knew that people need a long journey through transition before they can be transformed into the people who are ready for the Promised Land. Moses knew that it would be easier to take the people out of Egypt than it is to take the Egypt out of people.  Moses knew he could not get his people into the Promised Land until the ones who had known Egypt had died.  If we take that literally, it is a discouraging message.  But if we take it symbolically, it makes good sense: the old attitudes and behaviors that were appropriate to Egypt must die and new ones must be generated, or else the Promised Land will prove to be just a new Egypt.
  

SAUL'S LAMENT

A new temple president is taking over this space, meaning the composition of a monthly message in TBE's Bulletin for the next two years. This is a daunting task, so I searched the internet for websites from which to plagiarize the meaningful messages of other temple presidents. That's how I discovered the plight of Saul Rabinowitz, president of the Schenectady Jewish Center in 2008-09. Saul's dilemma is instructive.

Writing his first president's message for the monthly Kvetcher, Mr. Rabinowitz is a beacon of optimism. He describes many creative ideas and outlines a broad range of issues to be tackled during his term. Most importantly, he beseeches the congregation to participate in temple life. The article's final sentence strikes a crescendo: "Get involved! Make a difference! Call me to volunteer for a committee!"

The next month, writing his second president's message, Rabinowitz's words also reverberate with unbridled energy and gush with enthusiasm. By now, one immediately notices that each of Saul's sentences end not with a period, but with an exclamation point. There is no denying it; Rabinowitz is eager to lead. This second installment of the president's message trumpets the same notes as before, and again urges the congregation to get involved. This time, Rabinowitz ends the article by listing his telephone number and e-mail address. "I suggest you get in touch with me; together we will create a better SJC!!!"

In the third Kvetcher article Rabinowitz hammers home the same hopeful tone, and again implores the congregation to get involved. "I didn't hear from anyone wanting to volunteer," he writes. "Maybe it's because the high holidays were late this year. I am again asking for your participation!!!!" In addition to his telephone number and e-mail address, now Rabinowitz also includes his mobile phone number, office number, fax number and the number of his in-law's weekend house in the Catskills.

Another four weeks pass, and still, not a soul has come forward to volunteer to help the temple. How can this be? Rabinowitz wonders. "I have a lot of great ideas to improve our temple, but I cannot do it alone. I need your help. Please call me."

Another month goes by, and still, nobody steps up to volunteer. A hint of desperation seeps into the next president's message. "My number is listed in the temple directory. Would it kill you to pick up a phone?"

January rolls around and nobody reaches out to Rabinowitz. Then February comes and goes, and still, no volunteers. In March, a lonely and exasperated Rabinowitz changes strategy. The president's message for that month's Kvetcher consists of one sentence, printed in 48-point bold typeface with a heavy box border. "Temple Volunteers Needed; Call Saul Rabinowitz."

Nobody volunteers during the month of April, either. That month's issue of theKvetcher is mailed to congregants' homes. "You will now receive the Kvetcher in your mailbox," Rabinowitz writes. "Since nobody is volunteering I can only surmise that you are not visiting the temple website to read the Kvetcher. I have no doubt the additional expense of mailing home the Kvetcher will be offset by increased participation resulting in a more vibrant and dynamic temple community."
 

In May's Kvetcher, in the space reserved for the monthly President's Message, an Editor's Note is published, which reads: "The temple president usually writes in this space, but due to Saul Rabinowitz's resignation we are using this forum to announce the formation of a Search Committee to find a new temple president. Volunteers for the committee are invited to call the office."

I wonder if any volunteers ever called.