Tuesday, August 25th, 2020

I look down into the atrium as I wait for the afternoon prayers. People are finally using the space. The stain on the grey wood floor is gone. Three round white tables, each with three brightly colored chairs, line one side, a careful distance apart. It takes a while to pull everyone together. The boss is trying to end a phone meeting. Some people are out today. Others are deep into their work and don’t notice either the time or the regular visitor who makes his rounds through our office welcoming the men to head out to the hallway. Once enough of us are there, the prayers begin. Just before the end, the boss ducks behind the receptionist’s desk and emerges with his shofar. Returning to his spot, he sees a family peeking out of the next office over. A tall man holds a boy in his arms. A woman whispers something in his ear and heads inside. A girl and another boy huddle by his feet. The boss shows them the shofar and gestures for them to come over. They don’t. When it’s time, he blows the usual blasts: one, three, nine, and one. The girl runs inside. The boy holds tighter to his father’s feet and stares. If he knows what the sound is, he probably hadn’t expected to hear it in this context. One of the regular guests covers his ears. Others admonish him. I’m surprised that a sound could be too loud for him. When he talks, we generally can hear him from the other side of the floor. When it’s over, I head back in. Next to the yarmulkes and prayer books, someone has placed a new bottle of hand sanitizer and a fresh thermometer. The page where we sign in and affirm that we're not sick when we arrive is full. Time to start yet another new one.