It was a regular weekday morning. I scurried along with the rest of the commuters, off to another day at the office, a day like any other day.
I was mildly anxious about something, but then, mildly anxious is my default state. Like I said, a day like any other day.
I passed the spot where the musicians usually play, flutey pan-pipes and bland muzak and crooned Motown. But today was my favorite, a serene, dignified violinist with a Mona Lisa smile. She always gathers a crowd.
I knew the tune that throbbed from her fingers, caressing my ears: "Yerushalayim Shel Zahav." My chest expanded as the familiar notes uplifted my soul, and I sang, grinning, under my breath: "Ha-lo le-khol shirayikh, Ani kinor."
I had been so blissful it didn't occur to me to drop some money into her jar until I was at work. Shoot.
But the next thought that occurred to me was Yosef. The teenage Yosef, freshly abducted, on his way to the unknown and frightening future, but through his terror breaks through the scent of sweet spices. I am with you, is the message.
As He is with me. And whoever else who was able to hear the words, for the upcoming yuntif:
"A ram's horn calls out on the Temple Mount in the Old City . . ."