For Yakov Pultman
"Dear G-d, please save us."
The traffic was backed up twenty deep. There was no way to get to where he needed to go. But there was no horn to honk and no lane in which to change. He was stuck, with no traffic helicopter to rescue him with an alternate route, no GPS with help from above.
It was Hoshanot.
"There has got to be a better way," Shimmy Lopatin muttered under his breath. He stood with his lulav and etrog in a line of men that was going nowhere fast. The line of congregants at the bimah was clogged and people were merging from every row of chairs. Everyone had converged on the same spot simultaneously, and no one was moving. It was bedlam, anarchy.
"We need salvation," Moti Rabinowitz muttered. Was that in the siddur, or was he also feeling the strain?
"I'm trapped," Mark Reichlin said.
"I'm sorry," Shimmy said. "Are you referring to your prayers or the congestion?"
"The traffic, of course. My tefillot are just fine, thank you."
"But what can we do?"
Suddenly someone stood up in front of the Aron Kodesh. Clad in white (well, a white talit, at least), he was a beacon of calm in a sea of cantankerous Jews. It was Yitzchak Pruzansky, a man on a mission.
"Fold the first four of the outer chairs in every row near the bimah," he said in a deep voice brimming with authority. "And you, Steinhart, go into the third row and form a second line going toward the rabbi's pulpit."
"It'll never work," someone called from the crowd.
"Enough from the eirev rav," Yitzchak said. "Just do it."
Reluctantly, people began to fold the chairs, and Steinhart did as he was told.
Sure enough, things began to move. It was like a great Port Authority cop had descended from above and removed the bottle neck.
The Hoshanot were a tradition performed during morning prayers on Sukkot, commemorating a ceremony from the Beit Hamikdash, the Temple. On Sukkot, in the time of the Temple, large willow branches would be set up on each side of the mizbeach, the altar, and after four blasts of a shofar, the Jews who were visiting for the holiday would make a circuit around the altar each day.
"If you're not making the hakafah, move into the fourth row," Pruzansky added. "We'll make that a frozen zone. Feigenblum, keep moving or step to the side."
Nowadays, a circle is formed around the bimah, as someone holds the Torah there, and men with the four species (lulav, etrog, hadassim, aravot) recite the Hoshana prayers as they complete one circuit.
"Mendy, you can talk with Steve later. Just keep walking and no one will get hurt."
The Hoshanot are a prayer for G-d to fulfill our needs through abundant rainfall in the coming year and also serve as a symbolic conclusion to the repentance process from Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.
Everyone finished their circuit and made it back to their seats. The congregation broke into singing "Hoshea et amecha," Please save our nation, as everyone put their lulav and etrog back into their cases. The mood was festive.
Wow, Pruzansky really saved the day out there."
"I know. He was incredible."
"Is he a policeman, or school principal?"
"No, I think he's a lawyer."
"We should make Hoshanot direction his yearly job in the shul. Official Sukkot traffic cop, or Lulav Czar."
"I'll bring it up at the next shul board meeting."
"Do you think the motion will pass?"
"On most issues I tend to doubt it, but in this case I think it will be unanimous."
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Posted by: acai pills | October 14, 2010 at 05:30 PM