Bupkis

In march of 1972, I auditioned for the Cantorial post at Temple Beth Torah, of North Miami Beach. This came about because the president of the Shul, a Hyman Katz, or HAAAAAAAAmen, as he called himself with his southern accent, recruited me, kind of like a ball player. Hy was an aficionado of the cantorial art form, and a major record collector. Somehow, he had gotten his hands on a “pirated” recording of me singing an obscure piece, composed by my teacher, Moshe Ganchoff, a personal favorite of Mr. Katz. Ganchoff was a supreme artist in the genre, and though not always appreciated by the average listener, was known in the field, as the “Cantor’s Cantor.” Katz began to call me regularly, singing the praises of his beloved Beth Torah, and saying what a wonderful match this would be. I even remember him rhapsodically going on about the synagogue looking like a star of David, from an aerial view! (very useful information…) With my current contract winding down, I decided to give it a shot, even though as a born and bred “New Yorker,” I didn’t see myself moving down there.

I flew down for a sabbath weekend, and had a great time. It seemed as if most of the membership were former New Yorkers, so I felt right at home. There were huge crowds at both the friday evening and saturday morning services. Coming from a small “mom and pop” shul, this was exhilarating. I noticed there were three or four oxygen containers in the Rabbi’s office adjacent to the sanctuary. The reason for this became clear, as one of the senior citizens fainted during the recitation of hashkivenu, a prayer I was chanting on friday night. The rabbi, in a blase fashion, motioned to a nearby doctor, who retrieved an oxygen canister, and tended to the man. I kept singing, not skipping a beat. Those seniors, however, were serious about Cantorial music. When I started the shabbat morning service, there were 1100 people in their seats with folded arms, ready to see what the “kid” could do. I was up to the task, and was mobbed by an adoring public at the kiddush following services. When sabbath was over, Hy Katz took me around the neighborhood, and we had a bite at a New York style kosher deli.

My flight back was sunday, late afternoon. I was awakened early sunday morning by Hy, who drawled: “We want you, and we’re gonna have a negotiation at 11 am.” Not expecting this, I called my older brother Sol, a Cantor, and thirteen years my senior. After talking about salary, he left me with the phase: “Tell them you don’t want to be in the community, but of the community.” So, armed with my brother’s dictum, I went to the synagogue to meet Hy.

Katz met me in the lobby, and ushered me into the conference room. Awaiting me there, were 12 men,whom I later found out were attorneys, accountants, and other such professionals, most of whom smoking cigars, and looking at me as though I were a guppy, in a pool of sharks. Without preamble, one of them waived his cigar in my direction and announced: “We’ll give you seventeen Thou.” I thought: “What the hell is this? The guy doesn’t even say hello! O well, it wasn’t a terrible offer, but I knew colleagues in my age bracket, with similar skills, who were making more.” So, I said: ” I appreciate the offer, but I think another two thousand dollars would be appropriate.” Katz looks at me stonily, and says: “The offer is seventeen.” I say: “You told me this was a negotiation!” First cigar guy says: “Seventeen.” Katz adds: “Don’t worry, there’ll be lot’s ‘a hach_ NOSEH! ” (hebrew slang for extra money in the form of gratuities and the like) I retort: “Thats hypothetical; I can’t count on it.” Cigar, clearly annoyed, says: “What is it about the number seventeen that you don’t understand?” Sweating, I pull out my trump card: “Gentlemen, I don’t want to just be IN the community, but, OF the community.” Katz looked at me as if I had two heads, and said: “That’s all we have in the budget.” I say, (a little too loudly) “I have a budget too!” Cigar guy says softly: “Kid, take it or leave it.” Without hesitation, I pointed at him and said: “What kind of car do you drive?” Taken by surprise, he screwed up his eyes and said: “A mercedes.” I shot right back and said: “Just because I’m a Cantor, doesn’t mean I’m not entitled to the american dream just like you. I also want a mercedes! Good morning!” With that, I stormed out of the room.

On the way to the airport, I realized that while it felt awfully good to run out on them like that for a moment, It probably wasn’t the best way to handle the matter. As a matter of fact, on the plane, I began to think I might have made a mistake not accepting the offer. When I got home, I was certain that I should have accepted it. Where else would I get a chance to sing my beloved Eastern European Cantorial music to such an appreciative congregation? Swallowing my pride, I picked up the phone, called Katz, told him I would like to reconsider, and he said: ” Mazel tov!”

A couple of weeks before I was scheduled to move to Miami, I got a postcard from Hy. As I read it, I could here his drawling voice saying: “Beein’ dat youah first Shabbes is gonna be Rosh chodesh bench’n, (The blessing of the new month) ah expect you ta be singin’ Ganchoff’s mi sheoso nissim, and later in the service, Hershman’s modim. Of course I picked up the phone to call my big brother, and said: “What the hell should I do? If I give him what he wants, then he’ll think he can choose the repertoire I sing all the time!” My brother, whose name wasn’t Solomon for nothing, said: “Why don’t you do one, and choose the other one yourself?” And so I did. After the service, everyone’s coming up to me, wishing me a good shabbes, telling me how terrific I was, when Katz appears and says: “What happened to the modim?” I look at him and say: “You don’t say hello; you don’t wish me a good shabbes; you don’t say welcome to the community; you don’t say, THANK YOU FOR THE MI SHEOSO NISSIM! All you do is complain about the modim! Katz thinks for a second, and says: “Oooooooooo, DA CANNER IS A HOTHEAD!” That was the beginning of my complicated relationship with the weirdo president. I say complicated, because he actually loved my work, and liked me in his way. I liked him too, kind of like a whacko relative that you had to deal with every now and then.

Part of my job was to teach bar and bat mitzvah kids. I began to notice a strange pattern. After teaching the kid for six or seven months, the week before the big event, the kid and his/her parents would go to the sanctuary to rehearse with me, and take a picture with the Rabbi. Invariably the father would shake the Rabbi’s hand, and either an envelope, or raw cash would would pass to the Rabbi. I, who slaved six months with the kid, got bupkis.

So much for hachnoseh…

A couple of years down the road, I began teaching Hy’s son for his Bar Mitzvah. Always on the lookout for a concert to supplement my income, I landed a big one. I was engaged to sing the tenor lead in Pagliacci, with the Miami Beach Symphony. The show was scheduled for the Sunday after the Katz Bar Mitzvah. I knew Hy like a book, and he looked at me on that saturday morning with a look that said: “Dat sumbitch Mendelson’s gonna DOG it, and save his voice for the PAAAAGGGLIACI!” Normally, in the shacharit, or morning service, I would sing one big extended piece. That morning I sang three. In the musaf, or additional service, I would sing two. That day, with Katz getting redder in the face with each one, I sang six! I must say, I was quite magnanimous, especially when the week before, at the Katz dress rehearsal, Haaaaamen handed the Rabbi an envelope.

I got bupkis…