Page 3-THE NEWS-March, 1984
Fun and Games... part i
By Morris Speizman
Be they Protestants,
Catholics, Moslems, Hindus,
Buddhists,—even Jews—all
congregations have memories
of lighter moments in their
group lives.
The synagogue in which I
have worshipped and worked
for over three decades is no ex*
ception. While some of the in
cidents portrayed were en
acted in a spirit of severe
earnestness at the time—in
retrospect they were, shall we
say-humorous. You can be the
judge.
First of all, I recall the
“Great Organ Mystery." In
the early 1930’s or late 1920’s,
I don’t recall which, the “Left
Wing" elements of our con
gregation, then known as the
Hebrew United Brotherhood
(a typical misnomer) decided
that an organ would enhance
the services. After much
acrimonious discussion at the
Board and Congregational
meetings, the organ was voted
on, duly paid for, and
delivered. That normally
would have been the end of it,
but not in those hectic days.
By some mysterious means,
engineered by, I am told, one
of our red-haired “Right
Wing” members with the aid
of others of a similar doctrinal
mind, the organ was quietly
removed in the dead of night
and has never been heard of or
been seen since. No one has ad
mitted participation in this af
fair, but I do know that con
tributions from certain
members were radically in
creased shortly thereafter,
perhaps as thank offerings, or
conscience money.
After we lived here for
several ye£u*s, we ran into the
great “Shofar Crisis.’' The
gentleman who acted as our
reader for the High Holy Ser
vices, along with several other
year-round functions, such as
Shochet, Mohel, and other
assorted duties, was faced
with an increasing budget due
to the growth of his family and
his basic needs.
When he was first engaged,
the congregation bought all of
the fixtures for his little but
cher shop, and our bright
young lawyers at the time
may or may not have retained
title in the equipment. At any
rate, over a period of years, it
gradually disappeared into
thin air and we had no further
equity in it. (But that's
another story.)
His original salary as our
reader for the High Holy
Days, etc. was set at about
$1000 or $1200. Each Jime, he
would approach the Board
with a request for an increase
in his salary. This would be
tabled to the July meeting and
held over to the August
meeting. In August, the decis
ion was usually a negative one.
“We couldn’t afford it." By
the time the High Holy Days
arrived, the situation had
reached a crisis.
In addition to conducting
the services himself, he was re
quired to blow the Shofar.
Even with the aid of an assist
ant reader for the Shachrit ser
vices, etc., the task proved
very hard on him. He barely
got through the Rosh Hasha-
nah services when the annual
ultimatum was issued. Unless
he could get a raise, he would
not be able, to officiate at the
Yom Kippur services.
A hurried meeting of the
Board was held and he got his
raise. His strength returned
and he was there in his full
glory for Yom Kippur. This
went on for several years un
til his stipend was increased to
$1800, at which point there
was an adamant refusal on the
part of the Board for further
increases.
The same yearly routine was
followed, but tUs time our
good friend decided that he
simply had had it. Without an
increfise, he would not com
plete the Yom Kippur services.
So, after the Mussaf services
on Yom Kippur, he
disappeared.
The Ritual Committee
checked on the situation, and
was advised that he was just
too weak to continue for the
Mincha and Ne'elah services,
and had quietly walked home.
His assistant (who happened
to be his brother-in-law), a
learned and gentle soul, in his
later years, carried on for
these services, but our prob
lem was—who would blow the
Shofar at the end of the Yom
Kippur Day so that we could
all go home properly inspired,
refreshed and rededicated to
Judaism.
Many, many years ago, I
was a youngster in a small
town in Canada. On Thurs
days, when our Melamud was
busy with his duties as a ritual
slaughterer, we made it a prac
tice to slip upstairs from the
basement Cheder into the
sanctuary where we would
drink some of the wine and
blow the Shofar, as children
are wont to do. Being a
member of the Bugle Band in
the local high school, I quick
ly learned how to blow the
Shofar. I usually received the
major punishment when the
humble teacher rushed back
in.
Many, many years later
when this Shofar crisis
developed, it occurred to me
that perhaps I could still blow.
So, during the simun^ I quiet
ly came into the Temple and
did a little practicing.
To get back to Yom Kippur.
The crisis was in full flower as
the Ne’elah service approach
ed its conclusion. We anxious
ly looked back at the door to
see if our good friend would
finally show up, and low and
behold, it was already 5:12
p.m.-5:15 p.m. and no sign of
him. Everybody stood up dur
ing the Ne’elah services in
those days and at the last mo
ment our good Rabbi looked
down at the expanse of faces
and crooked his finger to mo
tion me forward.
I walked to the Bimah with
due deliberation, took hold of
the Shofar, and the Good Lord
must have been with me,
because the Tekiah Gedolah
was, if I say it myself, a classic
one. Since then, I was known
for many years as the “Harry
James’’ of Seventh Street.
(Editor's Note: Part II will
be in April's issue.)
?eensvi
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