Chacham had a student that was an orphan and he would spend much time with him. They would learn together, walk through the forests and ponder the secrets found in the Holy writings. One year, right after Tisha B’Av, the boy became sick.
Chacham took the shofar on the first day of the month of Elul and tested it to see whether it was in good condition. The student was in the room and the sound of the shofar touched him in such a way that his color began to return to his cheeks.
He asked his beloved teacher for one more blast, and Chacham gladly obliged. From then on, for the remainder of the month of Elul, this became a ritual; Chacham blowing the shofar once each day for his sick student. On the day before Rosh Hashanah, the orphan was there, waiting to hear the shofar, but he was disappointed.
“I am sorry, but today we do not blow the shofar. Tomorrow morning, we will blow the shofar in the shul (synagogue).” Chacham explained.
The student looked at his beloved teacher with tears in his eyes and asked, “I am sick to my very soul and my body is weak. The call of the shofar gives me comfort, strengthens me and makes me feel better. Please just one blast! Just one small blast!”
Chacham was touched by the beseeching voice of his student and slowly brought the shofar to his lips and blew one blast.
On Rosh Hashanah, everyone expected Chacham to blow the shofar. That year, Chacham went up before the aron kodesh (Holy Ark) where the Torah scrolls were, opened it and said: ” Ribbono shel Olam, Master of the Universe, I have to repent. It’s written that on the day before Rosh Hashanah one must not blow shofar, yet I did.”
He broke down it tears and called out: “Ribbono shel Olam, Master of the Universe, do you know why I transgressed this custom? It was because my young student lay on his sickbed begging and crying that I should only blow one blast of the shofar for him. My heart melted, I couldn’t bear to watch him cry and be in pain, so I blew once for him, though I shouldn’t have.
