DAVID ROBSON

THIS IS a true story about a non-Jew who deserves to be sealed in the Book of Life because of what he did this Yom Kippur. William is the sort of man who can arrange or acquire just about anything, and very often has. But on that day he did not expect to be called upon. All the people he did things for were at prayer.

He was just settling down for a calm, relaxing time when the phone rang. It was Pete, the chauffeur of one of his clients. “William,” he said, “there’s a crisis come up and you need to get it sorted dead quick.”

“Yes, Pete, what is it?”

“We need a chauffeur.” “What do you mean, we need a chauffeur? You are a chauffeur.”

“No mate, not a chauffeur, a shofar. It’s a sort of ram’s horn. The rabbi blows into and it makes a noise. Without it, they can’t end their fast, and that would not be good.”

This was news to William who knew all about chauffeurs but had never heard of a shofar. After a little more quizzing, the story unfolded like a tallit. The Yom Kippur service in question was a private gathering in a hotel far from any local shul. The rabbi had been flown in from Jerusalem and, oy vey, he’d forgotten to bring his shofar. And when did he notice this oversight? When he arrived on the Monday? On the following day, a few hours before Kol Nidre? No — he didn’t realise it until Yom Kippur morning. By the time William was alerted it was nearly 10 am. The clock was ticking.

What to do? William whipped out his iPad, went on to Google (or possibly Jewgle) and began a crash course in shofar studies. He’s a quick learner. Wasn’t it likely, he thought, that a proper shul has at least one shofar to spare? As it happens he did know such a shul (or synagogue, as he would call it). He drove there fast, parked his car on the road right outside and approached the security guards.”What are you doing, driving up in front of the shul on Yom Kippur,” they asked testily, “and anyway have you got a ticket to get in?”

“I’m a gentile,” said William, “I haven’t got a ticket but I wonder if