Our Shofar Blower

by Sheri Lindner

He stands illuminated
Almost like an icon,
Like those mosaics of saints
With halos that hover above their hoary heads,
The light upon his dewy face
Coming from an unseen source,
A place within.

His left arm is outstretched
As far as it can reach;
His right is bent;
His body, like a sailboat keeling to catch the best wind,
Lists slightly toward the right.

He closes his eyes
And purses his lips
And forces a huge amount of breath through the narrow place,
And a miracle happens:
A wail like the end of days
Or the affirmation of life in a baby’s first cry.

No one sleeps at this moment;
No one turns away.
In the midst of these Days of Awe there is much that is ordinary,
But this is not;
This is a moment of awe,
For once there were those who would have stolen away this breath,
This breath inside this man,
This man who is us.

And so, rapt and awe-filled,
We look, and we listen,
To this one who holds the ram’s horn,
This latter-day Isaac who was not sacrificed,
As he breathes forth,
For all to know,
The soul of his people.