Rabbi Zuckman

The reason your camp succeeded is because of my hard work. Why shouldn’t I benefit?

Heshy

If you do things your way, the camp will close down. I have to choose the guy who’s best for the job.

Rabbi Zuckman

"R

abbi, Rabbi Zuckman!” Clap, clap, stomp, stomp. “Rabbi Rabbi Zuckman!”

I waved to the cheering kids from my spot at the head of the carpool line. A maroon Sienna pulled up.

“Two Markowitzes, going once!” I called. “Two Markowitzes, going twice, two Markowitzes, do I hear two Markowitzes?” Gavi and Benny Markowitz came scrambling down the bleachers, high-fiving me as they passed.

“Bye, Rabbi Zuckman!”

“Bye, Rabbi Zook!”

“Get lots of rest tonight,” I yelled after them. “The staff-campers basketball tournament is tomorrow! We’re gonna beat you!” Their laughter floated back to me as they climbed into the van. I turned to the silver Camry that was pulling up. “Bergman carpool, going once!”

Finally there were only two carpools left — Kranzler and Hallman (always the same two). I stretched out on the bottom bench. “Why do seagulls live near the sea? Because if they lived near the bay they would be bagels!” They cracked up. Nothing like fifth-grade humor.

“Hey, Rabbi Zuckman?” Yehuda Kranzler’s eyes were dancing. “Is it true that you’re breaking out color war at the end of the basketball tournament?”

“Hey, that’s a good idea!”

“Is that a yes?” demanded the older Hallman kid. He was in sixth and loved to be in the loop.

“When you get to be the camp director, you’ll know everything,” I said mysteriously.

“It’s a yes!” Binny Hallman did a little dance. “How you gonna do it? Tell us!”

I waved them into the blue Odyssey. “See you tomorrow, boys!”

When the Kranzlers were also gone and the parking lot was empty, I picked up some trash and went inside to the office. We weren’t breaking out color war, but we were having a barbecue and kumzitz after the game. I scrolled through my contacts looking for Rabinowitz’s number; he was supposed to come with his guitar.

Heshy was in the office of course, regally ensconced in the leather swivel chair, cool as a cucumber in the AC, tapping away intently at his computer.

The first time I met Heshy, he said he liked the fact that I had a business head. “There’s a lot of growth here for the right guy,” he’d asserted. His gray eyes were dark and intent.

My business head made me hesitant, though. Camp Ohr Kayitz was weak, just 75 campers in five years. What was the plan for growth?

Heshy pointed at me. “You’re the plan,” he said persuasively. “You’re the expert who’s going to double enrollment in one year.”

A great salesman. I smiled politely.

“So what do you think?” he asked.

I hesitated. “I need to think about it. I have another offer.”