A shofar call to family and tradition

When I was just 1-year-old, my grandpa handed me a shofar and said, “Max, this is a shofar.” Although I cannot recall that exact moment, the shofar has been integral to my life ever since. It serves as a constant link to my family and our traditions.

As I grew older, “Papa” patiently explained each sound the shofar makes and its historical significance. He did not just teach me to blow the shofar; he introduced me to the basics of music, deepening my appreciation for our heritage. Playing a small shofar throughout my childhood became a method of learning and connecting with this tradition.

When I was in Israel, my grandpa and I visited the Shofar Factory for my bar mitzvah present. We tried many different shofarot, similar to how a wand chooses its wizard in the Harry Potter movie series. When I found the right shofar, its sound and size empowered me. I remember thinking about all of the times in the future when I would stand at the front of the sanctuary in shul and blow the shofar. This experience cemented my bond with the shofar and its role.

While we practiced and occasionally blew shofar together, it had been many years since my grandpa and I had done so. I was looking for an opportunity to allow Papa and me to blow shofar together. It has been on my mind because I will be graduating high school this coming June.

Through a strange confluence of events this week, Papa and I had the opportunity to blow shofar together. The experience was years in the making. In the same room where I had my bar mitzvah during the height of COVID-19 in September 2020, my papa and I blew shofar together this past Thursday. 

When I blew the shofar at my bar mitzvah, it was just my mom, me, and someone who worked at Park Avenue Synagogue (who also happens to be a family friend) in the room, isolated from everyone else on Zoom. Yet, my connection to shofar and tradition remained strong. Despite the constraints during the pandemic, the experience in the room was significant and reminded me of the resilience of generations that have come before me.

Max Alperstein’s bar mitzvah, on September 7, 2020: Max reading Torah at Park Avenue Synagogue. (courtesy)

On September 19, 2024, a little more than four years after becoming a bar mitzvah, I woke up excited and nervous. Today would be the day I had been waiting for. I would (finally) be blowing shofar with my grandpa again. Before going to the synagogue, my grandpa and I warmed up, matching our shofar pitches and ensuring we were in sync. Blowing shofar at synagogue always feels different than when practicing at home. What made it even more special was a bar mitzvah at synagogue in the morning during minyan.

As we arrived, I was struck by the size of the morning minyan. I expected very few, especially since most of my own family was absent. My mom was flying home from Madrid, my doda (aunt) and dod (uncle) were listening in from Dallas on Zoom, and my grandma joined us virtually. The presence of my family, despite being spread out, made the moment even more special.

Standing in front of the crowd, I felt a rush of adrenaline. We blew the shofar together, the sound piercing my heart, filling it with love and hope. After blowing the shofar, I took a moment to publicly thank my grandfather for teaching me about the shofar and how to blow it, as well as for being such a significant part of this tradition for me.

Each blast carried our collective prayers and hopes, reaching out to God and calling for the well-being of the Jewish people. My favorite blast on the shofar is the tekiah gedolah; the very long blast at the end. For years, my grandfather and I have pushed ourselves for this blast to last over a minute in length.

These extended sounds from the ram’s horn are significant and impactful for everyone to hear. They are a final call to God and signify our understanding and devotion to Him. Interestingly, our shofars are made from the horn of a kudu, a kosher animal with even larger horns than a ram. Most shofarot come from the ram.

September 4th 2023, Max Alperstein blowing shofar at Park Avenue Synagogue. (courtesy)

This moment was about more than hearing the shofar blasts. Each shofar blast, whether a tekiah gedolah or a t’ruah, reminds us of our tradition’s strength. In that moment, surrounded by loved ones near and far, I hope we all felt a deep connection to our heritage and a renewed sense of purpose as we prepare to celebrate Rosh Hashanah in a little more than a week. Shanah Tovah.