The shofar carries a lot more than sound. In Jewish tradition, it cuts through routine, wakes the spirit, and marks moments of awe, repentance, and hope. In stories of illness and danger, it can also become a symbol of healing that feels bigger than medicine alone.
A shofar is made from a ram’s horn and shaped into a simple horn that can sound like a trumpet. It is tied to Rosh Hashanah, where it serves as a spiritual jolt, and to Yom Kippur, when its blast closes the day of fasting with prayer and reflection. That sharp note has long stood for renewal, wholeness, and a chance to start again.
That meaning becomes deeply personal in the story of Nikki Goldstein, a journalist in Sydney whose health had been fragile for years. Chronic lung disease and an autoimmune illness had already pushed her through repeated hospital stays, and by early September 2022 her condition had turned critical. A CT scan showed severe damage, she was placed on a ventilator, and doctors did not expect her to pull through.
Goldstein was put into a coma while her husband Rowan and daughter stayed close by. Then came an unexpected moment that changed the mood in the room. Her daughter spotted a rabbi, and Rowan asked him to pray because the family believed it might be Nikki’s last day.
The rabbi, later identified as Rabbi Eli Schlanger of Chabad in Bondi Beach, stayed at her bedside and offered prayers for her recovery. Before leaving, he reached into his jacket and took out a shofar. Rowan agreed without hesitation, and the rabbi blew it over Nikki as she lay unconscious.
What happened next stunned everyone. Within about a day, Goldstein’s lungs began to respond, the “whiteout” on her chest X-ray started fading, and she was brought out of the coma. The recovery moved fast enough to feel almost unreal, and what had looked like an ending had turned into a sudden turnaround.
That kind of moment is part of why the shofar still grabs attention. It is not just a ritual object sitting in a holiday service, but something people connect with urgency, mercy, and the possibility that a life can change in an instant. For Goldstein, the experience was powerful enough that she later wrote a book with Rabbi Schlanger called “Conversations With My Rabbi.”
The shofar’s force is not limited to hospitals or private moments of prayer. In Sydney’s Bondi Beach area, Rabbi Schlanger later showed the same courage in the face of violence during a Hanukkah gathering that turned deadly when gunmen opened fire. As people panicked, he stepped forward and pleaded with them to stop, placing himself directly in harm’s way.
He was killed in that attack, but his wife and baby survived despite being wounded. The scene added a painful layer to the story of a man who had once brought comfort at a bedside and later faced terror without backing down. The same voice that had carried prayer in a quiet room had also carried moral courage in a crowd under fire.
Another doctor’s story adds a different kind of weight to the shofar’s symbolism. A rabbi blew the horn during a medical episode and then discovered the effort had likely exposed a serious cluster of health problems, including diabetes, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol. What began as a frightening interruption became a lifesaving warning, which is its own kind of mercy.
The shofar’s roots go all the way back to Mount Sinai, where tradition says it was first sounded when the Ten Commandments were given to the Israelites. That ancient blast still echoes through the modern stories attached to it, linking faith, alarm, and healing in a way that feels timeless. In a world full of noise, the shofar still manages to cut straight through.
