Peh and his friend, the shofar

By Deborah Pessin

Do re me, me re do,

Up and down the scale I go,

Singing fa so la ti do,

When the cock begins to crow.

This was the letter Peh’s morning song. For Peh, whose name means mouth, love to sing and talk and make up poems and jingles. But most of all, Peh loves to imitate his friends, and Peh had many friends; bells, trumpets, horns, anvils, echoes, footsteps, all kinds of things that made sounds. Every day Peh visited his friends and practiced the sounds they made.

One of Peh’s best friends was the Shofar, which was a trumpet, made of a ram’s horn. This shofar lived in a synagogue, and he could make some of the loudest sounds Peh had ever heard. When the Rabbi put the shofar to his lips and blew, the voice of the shofar would ring out so bravely, that the walls of the synagogue shook.

This shofar was blown on very important holidays, when the shofar was full of people. Whenever one of these holidays came round, Peh visited the synagogue to hear his friend shake the walls with his beautiful shofar voice.

One day Peh went to visit his friend, the shofar. To his surprise, Peh found him looking troubled.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Peh.

The shofar shook his head sadly and did not answer.

“Have you lost your voice?” asked Peh.

“It is almost as bad as that,” said the shofar in a funny squeak, “I have a sore throat, and tomorrow is an important holiday, I don’t know what to do!”

“Do you mean you will not be able to use your voice?” asked Peh anxiously.

“How can I with a cold?” said the shofar. “The Rabbi thinks it is his fault. He thinks he has forgotten how to blow me. Here he comes now,” the shofar added gloomily.

At that moment the Rabbi came walking down the empty synagogue. He picked up the shofar from the table and put it to his lips. He blew. A tiny squeak that sounded like a mouse came out.

“Oh dear,” said the Rabbi. “Why can’t I blow the shofar? I’ll try again.”

And he put it to his lips and blew with all his might. Another Squeak came out. The Rabbi blew and blew, he huffed and he puffed, his face grew red. He turned the shofar this way and that. At last he gave up.

“I hope I will be able to blow the shofar by tomorrow,” he said gravely.

And he left the synagogue and went home.

“The Rabbi doesn’t know about my sore throat,” the shofar told Peh. “Poor man.”

“Maybe your throat will feel better tomorrow,” Peh comforted his friend.

The shofar sighed, “I’m afraid it won’t,” he said. “It feels very raw.”

Peh suddenly had an idea. He got so excited that he almost fell off the table.

“I’ll take your place tomorrow,” he told his friend.

“Please stop talking riddles,” said the shofar, “How can you take my place?”

“It’s easy,” Peh went on, “I can make the same sounds you make, with a little more practice.”

“You mean …” began the shofar hopefully.

Peh danced up and down. “I mean, I’ll hide in you,” he explained eagerly, “and when the Rabbi blows, I’ll imitate your beautiful loud voice, and no-one will know.”

This time it was the shofar that got excited. He said he would be grateful all his life, and he begged Peh to come on time the next day, or the Rabbi and all the people in the synagogue would be disappointed.

Peh hurried away. He went to a forest to spend the night because he did not want to disturb the alphabet with his practicing.

All the forest animals came to listen as Peh’s voice rang through the trees like a loud, clear shofar blast. The lion thought Peh ought to get a bit of roaring into his voice, and the bear thought a growl would sound better.

Peh practiced all night. The next day he rushed back to the synagogue. The shofar was so glad to see him; he almost lost whatever voice he still had.

“I am glad you came,” he whispered to Peh, “just look at all the people, and look at the Rabbi … he looks terribly worried.”

“Now don’t you worry,” said Peh, and he crept into the shofar and waited.

An hour passed. It was so quiet in the shofar, Peh almost fell asleep. Two hours passed. Peh dozed off because he had been awake all night practicing. And he was a bit sleepy. Three hours passed. Peh was fast asleep.

The Rabbi picked up the shofar. A worried line creased his forehead as he put the shofar to his lips. The Rabbi blew. Not a sound came.

All the people in the synagogue leaned forward anxiously.

“Wake up,” the shofar whispered to Peh, “please wake up!”

Peh awoke with a start. The Rabbi put the shofar to his lips again.

“Ready?” whispered the shofar.

“Ready!” whispered Peh.

The Rabbi blew. Out came the voice of Peh in a loud and beautiful shofar blast. The Rabbi smiled happily. Again he put the shofar to his lips and blew. Loud and clear came Peh’s shofar voice, making the walls of the synagogue tremble and shake. Again and again the Rabbi blew. Up and down, up and down went Peh’s voice. Bold and clear the call of the shofar rang forth till the vast synagogue was filled with brave echoing sounds.

And when it was all over and everyone had gone home, the shofar sighed happily.

“Why, you sounded so much like me, I couldn’t tell the difference myself,” he said to Peh.

“Oh, that,” said Peh modestly, “there is no sound a mouth cannot make with a little practice.

And a very satisfied Peh went home to tell the alphabet about his adventure in the shofar.