I had wanted to hear the shofar being that it's our first Rosh Hashana in the Diaspora. My left foot was hurting terribly - Haim just left with Ivry to hear the ram's horn. Two minutes after they had left, there was an incredible knock on the door - I figured it was Haim again. Perhaps he had forgotten his keys? Again, a stronger knock.
"Who is it?" I called.
"Your husband said that you sprained your ankle and you wanted to hear the shofar." a voice said.
It was the Chabad people from the Yeshiva across the street.
"Do you want to hear the shofar?" he asked.
"Yes, but I can't move from the bed." I said loudly. [Actually, I wasn't properly dressed either.]
So he stood from behind a locked door, blowing the ram's horn for a good minute.
"Have a very sweet New Year and feel better." I could hear him well.
"Thank you so much."
As he played, I thought I would probably be the neighbor's enemy after that, but then I remembered... Wait, this is Squirrel Hill - an island of peaceful coexistence between Jews and blacks. I had to remind myself the edginess I would feel in New York City was totally different here. I had nothing to fear.
It was such a blessing to be able to get door to door shofar service. I will remember this moment and the kindness of that man's heart and the Chabad community. I don't think I'll ever feel alone. And thank you hubbie. That was so sweet of you.
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