Turning the corner I hear a man explaining the ram’s horn, how it’s called a shofar, and why it’s an important part of the Jewish new year.
The man doing the explaining is a rabbi. He wants to know if there are more Jews around.
“I don’t think so,” the other man says.
Suddenly, the rabbi sees me.
“There! There is a Jew.”
The rabbi sprints toward me. His son, a boy of about ten, follows close behind.
Before I can respond, the rabbi’s son slaps a yarmulke on my head.
“We’re going to pray,” the rabbi says.
I tell him it’s been a while since I’ve done that, like not since my bar mitzvah.
“It’s ok,” he says. “It’ll only take a second.”
The rabbi leads and I follow. He tells me I’m not as rusty as I think.
“You knew three quarters,” he says.
The rabbi blows the shofar.
I thank him and return the yarmulke.
A man passes the three of us and says, “Happy new year, guys!”
“Is he Jewish too?” the rabbi’s son asks.
“No. Definitely not. But we should all wish each other a happy and a healthy new year.”