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At a bris for the son of Israel Baseball League player Dan Rootenberg, Rabbi Paysach Krohn noted that while Rootenberg gets three strikes at the plate, a mohel only gets one cut. The rest of the documentary “Holy Land Hardball” sheds light on why the same was true for the IBL.

Boston businessman Larry Baras sold Americans on the proposition of bagels without holes, but couldn’t hook Israelis on baseball as the league folded after its inaugural season in the summer of 2007. From marketing slogans like “Baseball in Israel? Vy Not!” to player uniforms that got stuck in Israeli customs, the film shows aspects of the league that would lead one to believe things were doomed from the start.

Winner of Best Documentary at the 2008 Boston Jewish Film Festival, “Holy Land Hardball,” directed by Brett Rapkin and Erik Kesten, was viewable for free online during the week leading up to Aug. 27 (the DVD can now be ordered at holylandhardball.com).

Twice in the documentary, Baras is pictured gazing at Jerusalem from a lookout point and says, “I didn’t think it would be so hard. I was wrong.” Israelis interviewed at the start of the film unsuccessfully mimic the motions of a bat with their hands, call the game a lazy sport for overweight men, and complain that baseball “takes too long, not enough action.”

At the first of several board meetings in New York City, Baras speaks of “getting down to tachlis” (a Yiddish version of “getting down to business”) on details such as building stadiums, deciding on how many games to play, and finding housing for 120 players.

“Well, except for players, fields, and fans, we’ve got everything all set,” Baras says.

During a tryout in Hinsdale, Mass., prospective player Alex Montejo says, “I heard about this just really from typing in Israel and baseball in Google.” Adam Crabb of Australia says he never met a Jew before, and Norman Jamal of Deal said his family would move to Israel if his dream of making a baseball team came true. Regarding the clumsier players at the tryout, Baras says, “there are some, that, God bless them.”

Dan Duquette, the former Red Sox general manager and the IBL’s director of baseball operations, says of Baras that, “Anybody that would even dream of bringing baseball to Israel, I was impressed by. [He is] somebody who had the, how do you call it, the chutzpah to bring it to Israel.”

At the Yarkon Sports Complex in Petach Tikva, a field built by Baptists in 2001, Israeli sports reporter Roy Barak doubts that the IBL will be successful, saying that, “For us it was very bizarre. It looked like a few Jews with a few bucks wanted to start a dream, but they don’t really understand the Jewish people.”

With 177 days to go before opening day June 24, the league holds another tryout in South Florida. Executives once again aren’t thrilled with the talent, including Rabbi Yisroel Ruck, a shortstop who cut school to try out, and Ivan Gluck, a 75-year-old first baseman.

The league has better luck at tryouts in the Dominican Republic, finding legitimate talents who were trying to keep their dreams of reaching Major League Baseball alive. Regarding their prior knowledge of Israel, players at the tryout say things like “I just know it’s very far from here” and “Everyone is Christian over there.”

During the league’s introductory press conference, rules such as a seven-inning game (rather than nine) with a home-run derby to settle ties are announced. As opening day approaches, the league deals with logistical problems like finding three fields for its six teams. Besides the Yarkon complex, the IBL secured a field at Kibbutz Gezer as well as a soccer field in Netanya called the “Kufsa,” meaning box in Hebrew, only find out that the Kufsa was exclusively occupied by Israeli soccer players in the summer.

At the Salute To Israel Parade in New York City, IBL officials are seen in their “Baseball in Israel? Vy Not!” T-shirts, while the league distributes the perfect gift -- footballs with the IBL logo, rather than baseballs. Players arrive at their quarters for the summer, a kibbutz called Kfar Hayaraok, and marvel at their smallish beds. Only some players get air conditioning, and ice is only available at a gas station across the street. Uniforms and equipment, meanwhile, are still being held in customs by Israeli immigration officials who never heard of baseball and fear the IBL is trying to re-sell the materials.

“It’s not the Ritz, but we’re getting off the ground here,” Phil Rosenfeld, a league executive, tells players about their housing situation. “It is what it is.”

As players tour Jerusalem, civilians barely raise an eyebrow when told that the league is kicking off that Sunday. Marty Appel, the IBL’s public relations official, laments how Israeli media outlets are not buying into the league. The film shows a commercial for the league that needs to explain what a home run is.

Opening day, however, is depicted in the documentary as a moral victory of sorts. The uniforms finally arrive, and Hatikvah is sung before the game starts. Nate Fish talks of Israeli kids growing up wanting to be the third baseman for the Tel-Aviv Lightning (his position), and league officials are optimistic about what they accomplished.

After the last scene ends with the first pitch in the league’s first game, the film notes how the 2008 and 2009 IBL seasons were cancelled, but that investors are still trying to bring baseball back to Israel. In that spirit, the film flashes “Next year in Jerusalem?” across the screen, but anyone who watched might not come away so confident of that possibility.