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.