SAN DIEGO — A sincere group of people in the movie making industry felt the need to rekindle ties to their Jewish heritage. Aware they had a special talent and perspective to bring to religious worship and celebration of God, they formed their own synagogue up north in Los Angeles. They chose an ordained rabbi from the movie business who was a producer and scriptwriter to be their spiritual leader. He graduated from the same high school as myself, Thomas Jefferson in Brooklyn New York.
The worshipers decided to meet once a month on a Friday night. No one wanted the commitment of weekly services which is the usual ritual at a temple. This limited schedule ruled out raising funds for an expensive edifice. Instead they rented a school for the handicapped for the evening.
These special people saw life as a stage, and since they talked publicly to God only once a month they needed a performance to get His attention and hear their prayers. To accomplish this they hired Eddy Manson, my Uncle Lenny’s childhood friend as musical director. Eddy’s impressive credentials were as an Academy Award winning composer and arranger, and voted by his peers to be the greatest harmonica player in the world. (he really was). His job was to create a musical performance to blend with the oratorical preaching and praying of the rabbi. For his efforts Eddy was handsomely paid for each service. The results were an inspired musical achievement God must have enjoyed. Other people enjoyed the service too and the congregation rapidly grew to more than one thousand worshipers, a membership any religious group would drool over.
One Friday evening a group of my high school alumni, my wife and myself included attended the service. The evening was dedicated to our group. Twelve hundred worshippers were seated. The rabbi began the service with a few introductory words and then Hale Porter, the Cantor, sang a glorious prayer song in a rich deep bass voice coating every wall and niche in the hall with a sweet sounding chorus of men and women echoing in the background. This was followed by a lovely soprano who sang a brilliant solo in reverence to the glory of God in a lyrical voice. While she sang she accompanied herself by strumming angelic chords on a guitar that resonated in the hearts of the entire congregation. Eddy Manson completed the musical treat with one of his spirit-lifting harmonica renditions.
The rabbi rose and spoke some good words and then introduced Harry Boykoff, an enormous giant of a man. Harry had been our high school’s first basketball star in the thirties. He later starred at St. Johns College when it was a national basketball powerhouse. Harry was not handsome with his protruding ears, but his whole life he practiced a love and charity toward mankind that earned him the deserved reputation of being a beautiful man. He was being honored that evening for his lifetime of compassion and deeds in helping people in need.
After the service and the wonderful feelings of fellowship in the air there was a coffee and cookies social in the lobby. While munching a chocolate chip delight I met an old neighbor of mine who coincidentally was also a Jefferson High grad. We had not seen each other in a couple of years and lingered to talk. My wife Carole, Uncle Lenny and his wife, my fabulous new aunt, wandered outside waiting for me to join them. A short time later my aunt interrupted our conversation and said, ”Hi Joan, (they knew each other) we’ve got to go.” She put her arm in mine, and as we headed out the door remarked,“That woman is a barracuda!” Ah fellowship!
The rabbi was ecstatic. Not only was his flock multiplying monthly, but he was also raking it in with substantial side income from weddings, bar mitzvahs and funerals. I got to meet the exalted rabbi a few times through Eddy Manson and my Uncle Lenny, who were members of the temple board. The rabbi also officiated at Lenny and Shirley’s wedding. I had a dilemma. I disliked the rabbi. Each time I met him and tried to have a conversation with him his eyes darted around the room while we were talking, looking for someone more important to engage. The first time this happened I questioned my own feelings and it fed into all my insecurities. Maybe I was just unimpressive and bored him? The second time it occurred, I was annoyed, the third time he bored me. I held my tongue with my family not wanting to be seen critical of this popular cleric.
Four years later cracks appeared. A schism developed in the congregation and the Board fired the rabbi. He gathered those supporters still loyal to him and formed a new temple they named Shalom Aleichem, later shrewdly changed to “The Creative Arts Synagogue” in order to compete for the movie business talent. They held their services at the Methodist Church on Wilshire Blvd. Uncle Lenny initially sided with the cleric but subsequently they had a falling out and Lenny returned to the original performing arts group.
The original group, now meeting at the Wadsworth Theater nearby, hired a new young dynamic rabbi. He was paid a handsome salary as rabbis go. He was a good-looking charismatic young man in his late-thirties. He often could be seen on Sunday morning television programs in the L.A. area. In addition there was the lucrative fringe benefit officiating at weddings, bar mitzvahs, and funerals, which ballooned his annual income enormously. After two years he didn’t feel this was enough and he let the Board know it. The Board, in a financial crunch had just experienced the fees being doubled for use of the theater parking lot. They not only couldn’t afford a salary increase, but also wanted him to take a pay cut in order for the congregation to survive. The rabbi refused, quit, and formed a third group called “Temple Shalom.”
Some other members split off from the original temple. They named their group “Temple Shofar.” Charlie Powell, Vice President of Finance at Paramount Studios led them. He was a powerhouse top executive in the movie making industry (now deceased). I found out a month ago that this was the same guy I hung out with for a couple of years when I was a student at Brooklyn College.
The board of the original Synagogue of the Performing Arts, burnt by overpaid prima-donna men of the cloth, shopped around for a new emissary of the Lord while holding onto their wallets. The search ended in a manner that Solomon would have appreciated.
The rabbi for many years has been Joseph Telushkin, a scholar who has written several books on Judaism. On the first Thursday of every month the rabbi, who lives in New York City, boards a plane and flies to Los Angeles. On Friday night after sundown, the beginning of the Sabbath he conducts the service at the Synagogue for the Performing Arts. On Sunday morning he flies back home. His first year salary was half what they had been paying, and everyone was happy including the Lord, who still gets to listen to a great performance.
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Ira Spector is an author and freelance writer based in San Diego. In 2011, Spector published Sammy Where Are You? .An Unconventional Memoir … Sort of. It is available via Amazon.