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11. Tisha B’Av
- Rutgers University Press
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11 Tisha B’Av Broken Sound You shall sound a broken blast on the shofar, in the seventh month, on the tenth day of the month—the Day of Atonement—you shall have the shofar sounded throughout your land. —Leviticus 25:9 Fore!giveness: An Introduction As someone who looks more like a German tourist than a stereotypical rabbi, I am rarely what people expect to see. This came home to me when I was preparing to lead my first High Holiday Services. After traveling through a hurricane to get from New York to Boca Raton for my first pulpit as a student rabbi, I waited at the airport for the congregant assigned to meet me. Someone who matched the description I had been given entered the baggage area, and briskly walked right by me. I watched as she asked everyone else on the flight whether he or she was the rabbi. Eventually , I caught up with her and told her I was the rabbi. “Really?” she asked, looking me up and down. “Nice to meet you. Let’s get your rental car.” It was a white Bronco, O.J. style. Now, that got me noticed. I was pulled over three times in the course of two days. As I checked into the hotel, one other thing got me noticed: my shofar, the long, spiraled antelope horn used on Rosh Hashanah. As the person behind the desk checked me in, the hotel manager passed by and smiled. His polite greet152 Broken Sound 153 ing morphed into quiet whiplash as he turned to see the long object peeking out of my bag. What started out as cordial curiosity spiraled into great concern. Our exchange continued cautiously: “My, what a large object you have there,” the manager said. It occurred to me that this long shofar looked a bit like a gun. “Yes, it’s an occupational hazard.” “And what exactly is it that you do?” “I’m a rabbi. All I need is my room, a way to print my sermon, and a place to practice this shofar. It’s a ritual object, nothing harmful.” He took a moment to collect himself, and put his game face back on. Then he assured me that he would do everything he could to make me comfortable, but asked that I not practice in his hotel. “Surely,” he said, “the golf course behind the hotel would be more appropriate.” So it was that the next morning, I was outside with my shofar on the Broken Sound Golf Club. The night before, Erev Rosh Hashanah, I had led the overflow service in a seafoamgreen school auditorium. For this service, the congregation flew me in as their student rabbi, and bused in the elderly and the deaf. They were also trying to attract young Floridians , an elusive demographic, with a singles service planned for Rosh Hashanah afternoon. I had slept soundly in the hotel, thousands of miles away from any family members who might want to drop in with pots and pans. Waking up bright and early, I went to the golf course to practice the shofar before returning to the synagogue to lead the morning service. I figured I would have the course to myself. It was, after all, early in the morning on the first day of Rosh Hashanah in Boca Raton. But, as it turned out, I was not alone, as I discovered when a golf ball winged me on the head. I awoke bleeding and dazed. Fortunately, the ball had only nicked the back of my right ear; if it had hit me straight on, I would be dead. The first thing I could focus on was a large gold chai [54.242.96.240] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 10:09 GMT) 154 Tisha B’Av necklace, featuring the Hebrew word for life, poking through a puff of white chest hair. Morris, my assailant, was in his late sixties, and he had come for an early round of golf. He was mortified at having hit me, and his embarrassment only increased when he saw the shofar. I told him who I was, and why I was on the golf course. When I mentioned the name of the temple where I was leading services , he cringed. It was clear that he had decided to come to the Broken Sound Golf Course instead of hearing the sound of the shofar this Rosh Hashanah, and he had certainly not expected to find...