Mr. Goldwyn sat forward at his desk and peered over his glasses. You’re a what?” “I’m a Jew, Mr. Goldwyn, and I can’t work on the high holy days.” “You mean it? It’s not one of your little jokes?” “No. I’ll do anything in the world for you, Mr. Goldwyn, but I won’t work on Yom Kippur.” “You’re a real Jew?” “Yes, sir. I converted several months ago.” “You know what it’ll cost me to suspend production for a day? We can’t change the schedule, it’s too late. Twenty-five thousand. Maybe more.” “I just learned today that I’m scheduled to shoot on Yom Kippur, sir. I came up as soon as I heard.” He threw out his hands. “Sammy –answer me a question. What did I ever do to you?” “Sir, you’ve been wonderful and I feel terrible about the problems I’m causing you. It’s one day of the year when I won’t work. I’m sorry. I really am.” He took off his glasses. “...