Transportation, Transportation:

This story, full of surprising twists and turns, begins on Erev Yom Kippur. It was raining, so we decided to take a taxi both to and from services. The taxi was late, and despite assurances from the taxi company that it would arrive any minute, we faced a deadline of being unable to get our considerable stuff to services (prayer books shofar, promised apple juice for fast-breaking, etc.) Our town lacks an Eruv. So at 15 minutes to Kol Nidre, we jumped into my car, forgot about the late taxi, and drove onto the nearby campus where I delivered our stuff and my wife. (Although services are a 0.8 mile walk from home, they are a 1.5 mile twisty drive.)
It was now too late to drive home and walk back, so instead I parked on campus in a garage that was a seven minute uphill walk from services, and I missed nothing. I was a little worried about the car though. I actually have a sticker that says I can park in this garage because I'm a radio DJ for the campus station. But I'm only allowed to park in the mornings, and the car would be there 25+ hours. Would it still be there? Ticketed? But I set these worries aside and went to services.

We now congratulated ourselves that we would not need a taxi either way. The money we saved would be greater than the ticket I might get from the University. I had brought a wad of cash to services to pay the two taxi drivers, and this also turned out to be useful, because another family had parked in a municipal garage and brought NO money to get their car out after Yom Kippur. We loaned them our cash after Neilah so they could get home.

After services I left my wife to get the car, pick her and our stuff up, and drive home. I had my cell phone but she did not have hers. The walk downhill to the car took wice as long as the uphill walk had taken. Fasts can do that to you. As I approached the car, I could see from quite a distance that it was still there (not towed). As I got closer I could see it was not booted. When I got very close I could see: no ticket. At this point I felt WAY ahead. I got in the car, depressed the clutch, turned the key, and the car lurched forward towards the cement wall just in front of it. Horrified I slammed the brake, the car stalled, and I started to figure out what had happened.


It quickly became clear that the clutch pedal was doing nothing for me. It was unnaturally low, and I could not get in or out of gear unless the car was turned off. I faced the prospect or walking back to my wife, both of us hungry and tired after the fast, and telling her we needed a tow AND a taxi (and had no money). Might there be SOME way I could get the car to run?
The garage was practically empty, and it was built on an incline. I tried letting the car roll and shifting directly into second. No dice. Then I got the incredible idea. I COULD work the gear shift with the car turned off. So I put it into first and THEN turned the key. It's pretty terrifying doing this, the car lurches, the lights flicker on and off, but it worked. Stopping the car was no fun either: I could hit the brake and stall, or I could hit the brake AND turn the car off and not stall. I drove proudly around the garage a bit, then out and back to services to get my wife. I drove strictly in first gear, and on the way I went very carefully through two stop signs and also drove right past a campus guard who would have liked me to stop. I waved vigorously at him like an old friend as I went past. Nothing happened.
The campus - and the town - are a bit hilly. I doubted I could make the car start when pointed uphill. I was just hoping for a lot of luck on this rainy night. My next problem was that I had to turn around where I picked up my wife. I got her and our stuff in the car, explained the situation, and then started the business of going backward and forward to turn around. Backing up by turning the car on in gear is even more terrifying, it starts moving too fast. This was not fun. But I did get turned around, and drove off campus. I again passed the two stop signs, as carefully as I could. (Bear in mind that every time I stopped, I would have to turn the car off, put it first gear and turn it on again with another lurch. I wanted as few starts as possible.)
Driving home I had to stop for the first light, put on my emergency lights, and lurch-start when we had the green. Not fun. Then I had to drive up a hill with more lights. It turned out I COULD lurch-start even uphill! We got home. Of course I didn't park in our driveway, I'd never get out again. We drove another block to find a wide open place where I could stop at curbside, and then trekked home in the now steady rain.

My next concern was to get permission to park on the street overnight, something generally illegal where we live. So I had to decide which police department to call. You see, I knew I had parked my car almost exactly on the border between our borough and our township. I called the township. The policeman I spoke to was quite helpful, but not at all sure the car was really in the township. He decided that HE would tell the borough I was getting permssion to park there, to save me the extra call.

Now what?

Our favorite garage is six miles away and of course not open late at night. I considered driving all the way there in first gear to leave the car for their morning discovery, but I wasn't sure whether I was beating it to death by starting that way. I wanted ADVICE. Whom did I know who knew about cars? (Not common knowledge in our circles.) Well, I remembered a wonderful guy who used to live next to us. He actually once bought, majorly repaired and sold a used Jaguar at a profit. I once asked him for advice about where to take my car for repairs, and he proceeded to discuss the nearby alternatives pretty much the same way a wine expert discusses wines. We hadn't been in touch for years, but I called him (and left a message).

When Jim called us back, he spoke first with my wife and then with me. He had wonderful suggestions. The first was that rather than trying to drive all the way to our repair place, in first gear on a 50 mile an hour road, I could drive part way - just enough to be within range of a free tow by AAA. He also pointed out that I could lurch-start in second gear if I wanted to go faster. But he considered the exact brand of car, a 1994 Honda Accord, and the symptoms. He said we might have a hydraulic clutch, and if so, we might just be out of fluid. He told me where to look under the hood if that was the case. I got back out in the rain, walked back to my car, and used the flashlight to look at the car manual. YES! We had a hydraulic clutch. I propped up the hood in the rain, hunted about with my trusty flashlight, and YES, we are out of clutch fluid.

Once again, now what? I considered calling AAA and asking them to come with the fluid AND a tow truck in case I was wrong. I was worried that the driver might decide to insist on the tow even if we didn't need it.
Then my wife had the really great idea: Wait till morning. In the morning I can buy the fluid, try putting it in, and see what happens. So that's the plan! I will edit this story further, soon, to tell you how it all works out.

All in all, I'm not sure this adventure was our worst post-Yom Kippur experience. There IS the time we had to remove 200 books from the University immediately post-YK, but that's another story.

EDITED TO ADD: We were low on clutch fluid, I added some and the clutch still did not work. I drove (in first gear) five miles to my favorite car repair. They found a leaky cylinder. Indeed, most of the liquid seems to have drained out onto my garage floor.

I was also told that once you get a car started you can shift without using the clutch, as long as you get the motor at just the right speed. (Had I known this, I would have been afraid to try it.)

The Mango and the Shofar:

Many years ago we had a certain fine shofar blower for Rosh Hashana. On the second morning, he brought a brown paper bag to services along with his shofar and kittel. He seemed very pleased with himself. When it was time to blow shofar, before saying the second day shehechianu, he reached into the brown bag and pulled out a mango, which he stared at very deliberately and replaced in the bag.

He then proceeded with his shofar blowing, but those who had seen the mango had a hard time recovering their kavana.

A changing view of Neilah

I've led the Neilah service many times. Originally, all of my nusach reflected a sense of purified exhaustion, seemingly appropriate to the end of the great trial of Yom Kippur. But then came the year I played racquetball. Eventually I beat my body into submission and had to stop playing, but for awhile I was in paticularly good health and strength. Yom Kippur arrived, the time for Neilah came 'round, and I was not exhausted at all. Rather I was in a state of energetic exultation.

I could have proceeded with the service I'd prepared, but that would have been quite a phoney thing to do, chanting melodies reflecting an exhaustion I did not feel. I improvised a great deal that year, singing the way I felt, and - Russian style - building up to more energy and excitement as the service progressed.

And that's the way I've done it ever since.