There are many oral traditions in Judaism; indeed, our Talmud, our encyclopedic set of laws and commentaries, is known as Torah she'b'al peh -- the Oral Torah. Tonight, I'd like to share with you a story not from the Talmud, but one that is still passed on orally from generation to generation even today. The story is called "The Boy Who Blew the Shofar."
Long ago in the city of Kiev, there lived a young boy named Eliyahu. He was a fine student in the yeshiva and had great faith in God.
One night, Eliyahu had a strange dream. He was walking at night on the path that led to the synagogue. When he arrived, he entered and found that it was empty, but he saw that a shofar and a large prayer shawl had been left on the bimah (the elevated platform from which the Torah is read and services are led). Just then, a man entered and, odd though it may seem, he was wearing a shroud. Stranger still, Eliyahu was not afraid. As the man approached him, Eliyahu saw that he was troubled. The man said:
"I am one of 48 souls from the world of the dead who have been forced to wander between heaven and earth. Our souls have been trapped, unable to ascend, since the time of our murders at the hands of the Cossacks. (Editor's note: for the trolls reading this, he's not saying kossacks killed him, so get your falafel elsewhere.) The forces of evil have held us back, but we can no longer bear waiting to be set free. Please, Eliyahu, you must help us!"
"But how can I help?" the boy asked.
"You must take the prayer shawl and the shofar from the synagogue and go to the cemetery outside of town, where we are gathered. There, you must sound the shofar, but this must be done before the close of Rosh Hashana. Then the gates of heaven will be open, and we will be free from our wandering."
Eliyahu was even more shocked than before. "Why me? I am not even 12 years old. I do not wear a prayer shawl yet, and I don't know how to blow the shofar."
The man looked into Eliyahu's eyes. "Eliyahu, if the gates of heaven do not open for us before the close of Rosh Hashana, we will have to wander for another year," he said. "Only you can set us free." Then the shrouded man departed, and Eliyahu awoke.
When Eliyahu realized it was only a dream, he sighed with relief. But all day long he was haunted by the man's words: "Only you can set us free."
He couldn't imagine stealing a prayer shawl and shofar from the synagogue, or blowing the shofar in a cemetery, which is never done. And so despite hearing the man's words over and over in his head, he did not do as the man had asked, and a whole day passed.
That night, Eliyahu dreamed again that he followed the path to the synagogue. This time, he saw someone wrapped in a prayer shawl, standing in front of the Ark. As he entered, the figure turned around and Eliyahu saw that it was a woman. He could hardly believe his eyes -- a woman standing before the Holy Ark (for these events predated the egalitarian movement), and a shrouded one at that! Yet when she approached him, he did not fear her -- he felt sorry for her, for he could see she was suffering. The woman spoke:
"Eliyahu, only two days remain before Rosh Hashana. I am speaking for 48 souls whose fate is in your hands. You must take up the prayer shawl and the shofar and blow great blasts on it to open heaven's gates for us. Hurry to the cemetery, Eliyahu. Only you can set us free."
The shrouded woman then departed, and no sooner had she passed through the doorway than Eliyahu awoke.
This time, he was paralyzed by fear. "I am losing my mind. Who could forgive me for stealing from the synagogue? And who would ever believe my reason for doing so?" Tormented by these thoughts, another day passed, and Eliyahu did not do as the woman begged of him. Still, he desperately wanted to free those poor souls from their wandering. The words of the woman returned to him again and again: "Only you can set us free."
Eliyahu was tired. He could not think clearly. But as it grew dark, he fell into a deep sleep. Again he dreamed that he entered the syangogue. Everywhere he looked, he saw worshipers, men and women, all dressed in shrouds, all chanting prayers. He recognized the shrouded man who had approached him on the first night, and then the shrouded woman who had approached him on the second night. He counted quickly -- 24 men on one side of the aisle, and 24 women on the other side, separated by a curtain. What an odd congregation they were! Yet he was not afraid -- he could see they were suffering.
Then Eliyahu noticed that no one was leading the congregation. "How is it that you are praying without a leader?" he asked.
The man replied: "We are waiting for him to put on the prayer shawl and take up the shofar."
"And when do you expect him to arrive?" Eliyahu asked.
"He is already here," the man answered.
"Where is he?" Eliyahu was very curious to know the identity of the leader.
"Eliyahu, it's you. We have been waiting for you."
Eliyahu looked around and saw every eye in the congregation was on him.
The man continued, "Eliyahu, only a short time remains. Please, hurry! Only you can set us free."
Just then, Eliyahu awoke, covered in a cold sweat. He leaped from his bed as if propelled by an invisible force were pushing him, and he ran in the direction of the synagogue. When he arrived there, he saw the door was open, and his heart nearly stopped. He stepped inside, and to his great relief, he saw that they synagogue was empty. The prayer shawl and the shofar lay on the bimah. He hesitated -- did he dare put on the rabbi's prayer shawl? Time was passing and he had to hurry -- soon it would be too late. Quickly, he picked up the prayer shawl and wrapped it around himself like a long robe. Amazingly, the moment he put on the prayer shawl, he felt stronger. Then picked up the shofar and ran to the cemetery.
He arrived there shortly and entered the place where spirits and demons are said to roam, but he had no time for such fears. His only fear was that he would be too late. "God in heaven, let me not be too late," he prayed aloud. As he stood amid those tombstones, in the presence of all those departed souls, he had the same feeling that he had had in the dream: that all eyes were on him.
Hesitating no longer, Eliyahu lifted the shofar to his lips and blew. The first long, unbroken note rang clearly through the night air. Then, one after the other, the broken notes came forth, sounding like sobbing and wailing. As he blew the notes, Eliyahu thought he heard sobbing and wailing around him. He repeated the long, unbroken blast and held it for what seemed like forever. The instant he finished that long, final note, the sound of rushing wind encircled him for several seconds, as if they were hugging him, and he heard a distant creaking sound, as if somewhere far away, a great gate had opened.
Suddenly, the winds grew calm. For a few moments, Eliyahu stood in the cemetery, wrapped in the large prayer shawl, holding the shofar in his hand. He felt a sense of calm and peace and stillness. But all at once, he realized that the men would be in the synagogue to pray, and he had to return the shofar and the rabbi's prayer shawl. In a panic, he ran back to the synagogue as fast as his legs could carry him.
When he arrived, Eliyahu saw that there was only one person there, one man who was praying. And he was not wearing a prayer shawl.
As Eliyahu entered, the man turned around. Eliyahu saw that it was none other than the rabbi himself. The boy was overcome with terror. Would the rabbi ever forgive him?
But the rabbi smiled broadly as he approached the boy and put his arms around Eliyahu, who was still wearing his prayer shawl. Eliyahu looked up at the rabbi in confusion. The rabbi said, "You were chosen, my boy, because your faith is so strong. And because you opened the gates of heaven for them, those souls have been freed from their wanderings and have at long last reached their final destination.
"They were right, you know, Eliyahu. Only you could have set them free."
Rosh Hashana marks the beginning of ten day period culminating with Yom Kippur (the "Day of Atonement") known as Aseret Y'mai T'shuvah -- the Ten Days of Repentance. During these ten days, Jews are obligated to contemplate their actions over the previous year (not that we don't do this all the time anyway; it's just more intense during these ten days), and we ask God to forgive us for any sins we may have committed against Him/Her/It over the past year, and far more importantly, we ask our fellow human beings to forgive us for any sins we have committed against them over the past year. Indeed, it is our tradition that until we make our best effort to earn the forgiveness of our fellow human beings for any trespasses we may have committed against them, we are not worthy to ask God for forgiveness for any sins we have committed against Him/Her/It.
We blow the shofar for many reasons, but perhaps the most important is as a reminder that we must repent those sins. The three sounds of the shofar are reminiscent of the anguished cries of one who truly desires forgiveness. The t'kiyah is the long, unbroken blast described in the story, as if the shofar blower is wailing over his/her transgressions; the sh'varim consists of three shorter blasts, broken up as if the shofar blower is groaning in grief; and the t'ru'ah consists of a staccato of at least nine very short, very quick sounds, as if the shofar blower is sobbing.
Blowing the shofar does not merely mark the beginning of the new year. It also reminds us of our failings over the past year, and spurs us to endeavor to do better in the coming year. It reminds us that sometimes we have to be able to put the needs of others ahead of our own selfish desires. When we come to those realizations and when we do our best to correct our mistakes, we can truly celebrate the new year, content in the knowledge that we have done all we can to make the new year a sweet one.
