It seemed like a good idea at the time. After all, due to my extremely poor study habits when I was a boy I never learned a haftorah for my bar mitzvah. So when Rabbi Vogel “suggested” I learn the haftorah I should have chanted in 1967, I figured I had plenty of time to master it. After all I was now older, wiser, more studious and much more dedicated than I was at thirteen. So without much prodding I readily agreed to his suggestion. I’d return to Delaware and chant my haftorah on June 9, 2001.
I figured how hard can it be, you learn the words, memorize the tune and quicker than you can say, “More kugel please!” you’re ready to go. At least that’s what I thought as I was dancing with the Torah and enjoying a few l’chaims with friends last Simchas Torah and made one of our traditional mitzvah pledges.
Suddenly a day that had seemed an eternity away a few months earlier was now a mere eight days away. Eight days! Ahhhhhhhhh! Although I put on a brave face, telling people I was ready for the big day, my insides were like mush. I had learned the words pretty well, but the tunes, oy veh, every time I chanted the tunes; it was a new adventure in futility. Despite my best efforts I simply could not remember the tunes for the haftorah and the accompanying blessings. Every time I practiced, I was mortified to hear a new version of the melodies come out of my mouth.
I was fine as long as I followed along with the tape cassette Rabbi Vogel had prepared for me. In my mind I sounded like a practiced Yeshiva student as long as I wore my headphones. But as soon as I turned off the tape player, oh was I in trouble.
In the months leading up to the big week, I had practiced at work during my lunch break, on airplanes flying on business and in my backyard as I mowed the lawn. I had even practiced while walking from shot to shot during my weekly Sunday morning golf game with my buddies. In short, I had practiced anywhere and everywhere and still couldn’t master the elusive tunes.
I kept telling Rabbi Vogel on the telephone, “I don’t think I can do this. I cannot for the life of me retain the tunes.” As the panic rose in my voice he’d tell me to relax while assuring me I’d do just fine. He told me he had helped lots of bar mitzvah boys through their haftorah and he’d help me as well.
Several days before the big event my wife Linda and I traveled to see my parents in Connecticut. It was there, in the confines of my boyhood home, that I was determined to finally get it right. Over the course of a week I sat out on their redwood deck, headphones in place, chanting my haftorah over and over again. My parents were very supportive, telling me I sounded great. I kept whining that I was fine until I took the headphones off and then I was lost. My Dad chuckled and said I’d be fine and to relax. With panic in my eyes I’d go back to my Chumash and study.
Finally the big day arrived. I had traveled for five hours the day before chanting my haftorah all the way from Connecticut to Delaware on an Amtrak train. I don’t know if it was my imagination but in the last hour or so before I arrived in Wilmington, Delaware I thought I sounded as if I was actually starting to get it right. I arrived at the Chabad House about three hours before the start of Shabbos. I immediately sat down in one of the learning areas and started to practice. I had to admit the first three or four practice sessions sounded pretty darn good!
At 7:00 p.m. I walked over to the Vogel’s for Shabbos. After davening and eating more Kugel than one human should ever attempt to eat, I walked back to the Chabad House to get in a little more practice. To my chagrin, without my headphones I was awful. Panic set in. What was I going to do?
That night I laid in bed staring at the ceiling listening to crickets chirp outside my window for what seemed like forever. As the sun rose above the horizon I found myself having a mental conversation with my departed Great Grandfather Charles Cooper. I told him I had been practicing my haftorah for months but wasn’t very confident in my abilities. I asked him if he could take a few moments from his own heavenly Shabbos table and send his great grandson a little assistance.
Finally, it was time to go to shul. When I walked through the door all of my Delaware friends were there. Although I was nervous, I realized I was among friends and I’d be all right even if my haftorah was a little off key. Before I knew it, the Rabbi was finished laining from the Torah and it was “game time.” I said a little prayer asking Hashem for help, I gave a little wink in Great Grandpa Charlie’s direction and anxiously walked to the bema.
Rabbi Vogel gave me the book containing the haftorah; I cleared my voice and began with the first blessing. As I chanted the first few words I heard an almost imperceptible tune emanating from my left. For a few startling moments I actually thought Great Grandpa Charlie was singing in my ear. Then I realized Rabbi Vogel was acting as my human cassette player, keeping me on track as I chanted my haftorah. Gaining confidence my voice started to get stronger and I heard the melody I had been practicing for months flow out of my mouth! Before I knew it I was half way through the reading. And then as unbelievable as it seemed, I was finished. What had seemed impossible only hours before was now complete. The rest of Shabbos was one of the most joyous of my life. When I left the shul that day I walked through the neighborhood, with a huge smile on my face, my feet barely touching the sidewalk.
A dream thirty-four years in the making had now become a reality. Thanks to Chabad I had overcome my fears, doubts and lack of confidence to accomplish something I thought was beyond my abilities. Between smiles I kept thinking, “If I could do this, what else could I accomplish if I just dared to try?”
As Shabbos drew to a close I felt empowered to take on the world. And I knew somewhere; someplace Great Grandpa Charlie was dancing with pride to a divine tune!
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