And then it happened. How or why it happened remains shrouded in mystery

I was so excited when I awoke that morning, pumped to do my chesed project nice and early.

It was Rosh Chodesh, and I knew the regular chiyuvim (mourners) who generally lead the davening were excluded from doing so because of Rosh Chodesh. Therefore, I was determined to be at the minyan well before the six  a.m. starting time. I wanted to ensure the minyan would start on time as I knew those who attended that minyan had places to go, people to meet, and buses and trains to catch. [Note: Yes, there still are those who go in to work and don’t work virtually from home in their PJs.] I also knew that since it was Rosh Chodesh and the aveilim were not going to start on time, the minyan might be delayed.

As I entered the shul, I saw another fellow leaving from the vasikin minyan, which began at 5:01. I thought it strange that the vasikin minyan on Rosh Chodesh was over by 5:50 but I figured this one fellow had just left the minyan early. No doubt he had a valid excuse for leaving before the end of davening.

I arrived in the beis medrash at 5:56 and quickly approached the amud to make sure davening began at six on the dot.

As I davened, I wondered how I should do Hallel. Should I sing any of the paragraphs? Should I also daven Mussaf?

Finally, Shemoneh Esreh was beginning, and I noticed that the regular gabbai who “klops” to signal the addition of yaaleh v’yavo hadn’t given the expected bang. Not wanting everyone to forget yaaleh v’yavo, I not only played chazzan, I took it upon myself to be the klopper as well! I gave two loud KLOPS, indicating to all: Don’t forget yaaleh v’yavo!

Oh, how proud I was of myself. Not only had I made sure the minyan began on time, I’d also ensured no one forgot yaaleh v’yavo.

And then it happened.

How or why it happened remains shrouded in mystery.

However, somewhere between the third and fifth brachah, the well-meaning chazzan (aka me) realized that the day was “just” a regular Friday — and Rosh Chodesh was tomorrow.

I did not say yaaleh v’yavo in my quiet Shemoneh Esreh, and after chazaras hashatz I moved on to Tachanun.

However, I now realized that not only had I given a “false klop” — which may have caused others to erroneously add on yaaleh v’yavo — I had taken away the amud from those legitimately entitled to it, namely the aveilim.

Realizing my mistake, I contemplated my next step.

I could continue to daven the rest of the davening and pretend nothing had happened. After all, once davening was over, what could anyone do?

However, by continuing the davening, I would further deprive the aveilim of their rightful position at the amud.

So after Tachanun, my face beet-red with embarrassment and with some hesitancy, I girded myself and turned to face the crowd of men. I looked straight at them and humbly asked forgiveness for giving a false klop and for improperly “chapping” the amud from the chiyuvim.

Then I asked one of the aveilim to take his rightful place at the amud.

As the chiyuv walked toward his deserved place at the amud, I quickly returned to my seat, abashed and flustered yet determined to be more mindful in the future of the correct calendar day.

I learned an important lesson that day.

To paraphrase Hemingway, “Ask not for whom the klop is klopping; it klops for thee.”

I thought I was giving the klop, but the klop was meant for me.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha, Issue 1025)