During this past winter, Reb Tzvi Meir Silberberg, the Rav of Nachlas Yaakov, received a letter with the following story:
The writer shared how his son got married in 2004 and was honored with family and friends attending the wedding from far and wide. Joining in the celebration was an uncle who, other than knowing that he was a Yid, did nothing about it. He lived in some distant country without a speck of Yiddishkeit. Attempts were made to influence him, but he was set in his ways, not open to listening to anything they had to say.
During the simchah, there was a Rosh Kollel who spotted him and made an effort to include him in the festivities. At one point, he even pulled him into the center circle, hoping to leave a positive imprint on his lost neshamah. As a result, not only did the uncle not feel like a sore thumb, he even formed a fond relationship with the Rosh Kollel.
In no way was the Rosh Kollel just looking for another friend. All his efforts were in the hope that nourishing the uncle’s pintele Yid would evidently sprout and grow into a tall tree, providing all with luscious fruit.
A few days later, the Rosh Kollel received a call from the family members requesting that he call the uncle. After seeing the how well the two of them hit it off, he was asked to reach out to the uncle in the hope of fertilizing the tree that much more.
Just a bit into the call, the conversation went flat. Neither had anything else to share. Being Chodesh Elul and seeing a shofar resting on his desk, the Rosh Kollel had a rather novel idea. He blew a Tashr”at, Tash”at, and Tar”at, the three types of sets how the shofar is blown. Not knowing if the receiver even knew what they were, he asked if the sounds were at all familiar, and the uncle responded in the affirmative.
The call lasted just a few more minutes until they ended.
Fast forward 14 years...
Sitting at that chassan’s son’s bar mitzvah, the Rosh Kollel was approached by a someone who didn’t look familiar to him. The man expressed that he was that distant uncle who he had met years earlier, and unlike his previous course of life, he was now shomer Torah u’mitzvos.
In utter shock, the Rosh Kollel questioned what had ignited the spark. To his surprise, the uncle confirmed that it had been the shofar blasts. They had shaken him to the core. “Once I heard those sound waves,” explained the uncle, “I was unable to continue with my course of life. I grabbed onto that moment, and for the past several years, I never let go of it. Its potency charged my soul to embark on this ever-so-tall path of life. I stand here only because of those blasts, and thanks to you, me and my family are b”H fully observant Yidden.”
Concluding this letter, the writer points out that not only were these not the tekios of Rosh Hashanah, but they weren’t even valid for Elul. They were a few random blasts in the afternoon blown over the telephone. Nonetheless, their effect was everlasting. Literally.
Repeating this episode, says Reb Tzvi Meir, I don’t know if this year’s tekios shofar will be the same as the previous one. After seeing such results from a non-observer, how much more can it effect a yes-observer?
Tapping into tekias shofar, and into Rosh Hashanah in general, can leave a permanent impression.
