The Smallest Shofar
The rabbi had a lot of trouble
Blowing the shofar.*
The congregation waited
But the sounds were just bizarre.
Some strangled bursts of air came out
But music was resistant.
The notes he tried to play, I’d say,
Were pretty non-existent.
He tried three shofars – all were long,
The pride of any ram,
Including those who wandered
In the time of Abraham.
With children gathered at his feet,
The rabbi seemed distraught,
For with his biggest audience,
His efforts came to naught.
But then he grabbed, a last resort,
The smallest shofar yet.
Without a fancy curvy shape,
What music could he get?
He took a breath and we all smiled –
A golden tone emerged,
Outshining all those shofars
On which somebody had splurged.
That little shofar saved the day;
Its sound was strong and clear
And hopefully, it will be first
To have a chance next year.
*a ram’s horn blown on the Jewish holiday
of Rosh Hashanah (the highlight of the service)
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