He looked older than the last time I’d seen him.

When I heard that Rabbi Goldberg (name changed) had been hospitalized I hurried over to see him. In the annals of theNew Jerseyrabbinate he was well known. In its heyday his shul inNewark’s Central Ward then known as the “Old Third Ward ” was one of the largest in the city. But by the time Rabbi Goldberg arrived in the late 1940s it was already in decline and by the time he left after the riots of 1967 there was no longer a minyan.

After the shul closed he moved toBergenCountywhere he did various jobs until his retirement. I met him years ago and we became friendly. Usually the conversation was dominated by the elderly rabbi. This time however he seemed subdued.

I asked him how he was feeling. As if I had touched a deep sore spot his face turned ashen. And he began to speak.

“You know my wife and I had just one son Jerry. He was always a bright but difficult child. When the teacher said ‘Sit’ he would stand. However he was a good boy and I loved him with all my heart. When he was 13 he discovered construction. There were many abandoned buildings in Newarkand Jerry would pull out the wires and the plumbing and rebuild them. I wanted him to follow in my path. However he chose his own path and nowadays you would say he was ‘off the derech.’

“He stopped coming to shul which was particularly hard on me as not only was I the rabbi I would count on him for a minyan and he would be off constructing something.

“Jerry is now the head of a construction company inNevada. He makes a great deal of money; however I doubt he will be in shul this Rosh HaShanah.

“In October of 1967 with our last Rosh HaShanah in Newarkapproaching there were only 13 men left. On Erev Rosh HaShanah my baal tokei’a called fromBrooklyn and canceled on me. He was too scared to come.

“I was desperate. When I awoke on Rosh HaShanah morning I saw Jerry. He was returning from a night out and was about to go to sleep. I said ‘Since you were a little boy you were the best shofar blower I ever heard. Today in the shul where you grew up there will be 13 elderly Jews without anyone to blow shofar for them.’ I then left for shul.

“At 11 a.m. it was time to blow shofar. I placed the tallis over my head. As I brought the shofar to my lips I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Abba I’m here.

“There was Jerry in a plaid shirt and corduroy pants. He lovingly took the shofar from me and for the last time in the history of the ‘Old Third Ward’ inNewark the shofar was heard.”

There was a long pause.

“I wonder if Jerry will hear the shofar this year” he said.

Two days later Rabbi Goldberg left This World. Before he died he gave me a letter. The last line stated simply “Please give my shofar to Jerry.”

I called Jerry to tell him of his father’s death. He was silent.

“Your father told me there was one special object he wanted you to have.”

“What is it?” Jerry asked.

“He wanted you to have his shofar; he said no one can blow it like you.”

There was a cry on the other end of the phone and as I heard his cry I too cried.

And together we cried over the last shofar to be heard in the “Old Third Ward” inNewark.