From that day forward and for many years, I intuitively knew that I would never be let down if I made an honest effort. I had found a power greater than myself. A profound and powerful force had changed my life.  I could no longer remain agnostic. This was that wondrous moment that life gave me and for this moment I gave my life. For nearly three decades I lived to good purpose despite my mistakes and trials. But now, after thirty years, I had lost my way again. Angry at God for illness and misfortunes, I turned away.

Waiting for the Rabbi, I sat at the foot of my bed.  The sound of leather soles knocking against the hard linoleum stopped at my open doorway. There, a large man with a pepper-colored beard wearing a dark shiny suit reached out his hand and began speaking. 

“Hi Matt. Rabbi Goldstein. It is my privilege to be here with you. The week of Rosh Hashanah brings us a time for careful introspection. Your trials have come at a special time of the year.” Speaking softly he sat across from me on the chair and together we recited from the Torah. Then he rose to his feet and took the ram’s horn – the Shofar, in his hands that had hung down from his shoulder on a leather strap. After a moment of silence, he shared these thoughts with me:

“The sound of the Shofar helps awaken us. Shevarim is the sound of the heartbroken. It is the first glance that comes with unflinching self-evaluation. We grieve because we have failed to live up to our full potential. From the depths of our soul we cry out to God. We cry for forgiveness. We cry for mercy. We cry for those we’ve hurt, those we need to find reconciliation with, we cry for hope, we cry for the courage to change and to start anew. The Shofar is the sound of the soul yearning.  We yearn to connect, to grow, to achieve. Hearing the Shofar helps us settle with the past and prepares us for a rebirth of a new and better self.” 

The Rabbi held the Shofar to his mouth and sounded the ancient call. I could not hold back the tears. As the Shofar sung its heart-wrenching call, I sobbed.  The peculiar wailing sound of the horn had traveled down the empty corridors of the hospital. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door. A nurse peaked into my room and nervously asked if everything was alright. The Rabbi turned to greet her. I nodded affirmatively. She closed the door and Rabbi Goldstein finished blowing the Shofar. I wiped the tears from my face and then confessed, “It was not the wrong number I called.” The Rabbi smiled. And, like an angel the mysterious messenger who had come so suddenly into my life had left just as quickly. 

Within days after leaving the hospital, I returned home and reunited with my family. Before each of them I openly admitted the secrets and lies that had separated me from my God and from their love and support.  Today, I am a free man with nothing to hide – not a secret in the world; and when I pick up the phone I remember who I am really trying to call.