THE MENSCH

 
After I received smicha (rabbinic ordination), I interviewed for a few rabbi gigs. This was around 1978. First I interviewed at the Hillel in Norman, Oklahoma, but I couldn’t see myself there. I’m not a geography snob, but Oklahoma was not OK. I didn’t insist on a sexy spot like Encino, Marin, or Bethesda, but how about a place with some Jews?

The Mensch, 1978

I took a stab at Omaha. Don’t underestimate the Jewish scene there. The board of trustees at BethSteak grilled me — grilled me hard. Back then I had a Jew-fro and looked like I’d just  come off the beach in Venice, California (which wasn’t too far off the mark). A board member asked, “How would you liven up our Purim carnival?”

I’d throw glow sticks all over the social-hall floor, and I’d free the goldfish from the tank. I’d pass out Free The Fish! signs. What I actually said: “I’ll listen. I’m a good listener.”

A trustee asked me how I’d handle lifecycle events.

“I’d show up,” I said. (Lifecycle was a new word back then.)

My responses to the board were all short. I was nervous, facing 20 AKs. At 28,  it was difficult to string together wisdom for the elderly. Maybe I should have delivered my hard-hitting sermon “I’ve Got the Jewish Blues,” complete with blues harp accompaniment. Instead, I did a dvar Torah. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I ended with “The key is listening.” (I picked up some stock lines at rabbinical school.)

A board member asked when I was getting married. I said, “Have you got someone for me?” That got a laugh.

I flung some Hebrew; I knew more Ivrit than they did. They weren’t going to get anybody better than me.

The board president asked the last question: “How would your friends and family describe you?”

Thank you,  Mr. President, for that question! I said, “I don’t like to talk about myself, but I suspect my friends and relatives would say, in a word, I’m a mensch.”

Mensch — that’s the password. It unlocks the door to the Holy of Holies and all the other Temple doors, including the pantry. If you’re a mensch, you’re in. I got the gig.

And I turned it down! Me — geo snob. I wasn’t going to Omaha, Nebraska.

I did one final interview, in Muncie, Indiana — even smaller latkes. (The word had gotten out that I had turned down Omaha.) The Muncie rabbi bought all the food for the kiddushes and spread out the hummus and poured the wine.

I didn’t get the Muncie gig. A folksinging rabbi did. I heard her clips years later on YouTube. Not bad.

I wound up in property management in Cleveland. I blame that on my father. He led me into the promised land:  the dog-eat-dog world of apartment management. I joined the rabid/ate.

[fiction]

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Yiddishe Cup plays a free Mother’s Day concert 2-3 pm Sunday (May 10) at the Cuyahoga County Public Library, Beachwood branch, 25501 Shaker Boulevard [corner of Shaker and Richmond], Beachwood, Ohio. Best to register. You can probably get in without registering, but it’s best to sign up.