The Lessons of a Shofar Lost in Peru

For almost a decade, my soul sister Grace, who leads yoga retreats in Peru, has been inviting me to join her. But the time was never right.

When I visited her this year in Colorado, we hiked together, in awe of the nature around us. Our nervous systems felt recalibrated, and as we reached the peaks of the snowy mountains we realized we were not separate from this extraordinary nature, but rather a part of it. In that moment, we knew we needed to share this sacred feeling with others, and so we decided it was finally time to take a trip to Peru. We created the “We Are All Extraordinary Retreat” to help us remember that each of us is truly extraordinary.

But I am a religious Jew, and it’s often difficult to travel in a way that is “kosher” while connecting with foreign cultures. There is the struggle to stay clean of Avodah Zara (idolatry), to keep kosher, and to have Shabbat with challahs, grape juice, Kiddush cups and hand-washing cups miles away from home. Because of this difficulty, I would take the lead on all things kosher. I would also bring the Torah and spiritual teachings, and of course my infamous enormous shofar. We wanted to give Jews the chance to really experience nature, while immersing in another culture in a way that still honors and celebrates our own.

The anticipation was high. I felt so cool with my newly braided hair, which makes travel easier, and my beloved Shofar that I’ve taken around the world. I trotted happily off to Lima!

But then disaster stuck.

When he saw my shofar, the customs guard in Lima said, “Wow, what is that?” I said proudly, “It’s my ritual prayer horn, I am a spiritual leader, and I am leading a sacred retreat!” He asked to see it, as if he was curious, but little did I know it was his plot to seize it from me. He took it and ran to the customs office where he placed it in the trash. He crossed his arms, blocked the way and looked at me with apathetic eyes. My heart shattered all at once.

I can’t say I’m proud of what happened next because my middot (my good character traits) went out the window as I nearly lost my mind. “You can’t do that! You deceived me!” I tried to claim religious exemption. I called for help and for the police. I phoned friends who speak better Spanish than me and tried to have them explain that the shofar is a tradition of our ancestors (Peruvians respect ancestral traditions), but customs declared I would not enter the county with that horn no matter what, and that they must destroy it.

I was devastated and so my dear friend and co-leader, Tsipporah, and I did the only thing we knew to do: contact Chabad! She contacted Mendel Carlebach at Chabad of Lima who said they would do whatever they could, and they also reminded me to pray. Not only was I going to pray, but I was also going to ask everyone I knew to pray for the return of my shofar.

I posted quickly on Facebook since it’s the best way to access many people quickly: “Today I literally fell to my knees crying and begging as the airport in Lima confiscated my huge shofar aka my third arm. It is the most precious thing I own and I’m just devastated … Please, please, please give Tzedaka or say a prayer for the return of my shofar … It may sound silly to you, but to me it’s a part of my identity and purpose in this world and spiritual mission and destiny … And there is nothing we can’t pray about … so please, be my prayer team … the tears just keep welling up in my eyes … Hashem, thank You for taking it from me, and thank You, please, for bringing back asap.”

With my head hung I proceeded to fly to the retreat center in the Sacred Valley of Pisac, trying to trust and surrender. If it was God’s will that I get my shofar back, I would, and if not, it would be a tremendous lesson in letting go.

That evening I received an influx of messages, comments and emails from people sharing that were praying for me. Then I got a WhatsApp message from a man named Rabbi Shoshan Ghoori of the Orthodox Union. His message really shook me to the core: “You don’t know me but I saw your message on Facebook and I’m well connected in South America. I’m going to do everything I can to help you get this shofar back!”

He began to reach out to important people in politics and in the Jewish community. Later that day, his lawyer Sandro Monteblanco called me and said he was also on the case. Chabad called. Rabbi Ghoori’s wife Miriam called and said she was Peruvian and happened to be flying to Lima for a couple of days and would go to customs and see what she could do.

That Shabbat, as retreat participants gathered around the Shabbat candles, we shared our highs and lows. With tears welling up in my eyes I shared that my high was losing my most prized possession, because it reminded me how much Jews care for one another and how we come to each other’s aid in times of need—even complete strangers! I was deeply touched. And this was my first lesson: We truly are a loving family!

I still had no shofar, but the Nation of Israel was on my team and I had a retreat to lead.

As we hiked and journeyed around the area, I realized that nearly every time we struck up a conversation with someone, we would find that they were an estranged Jew or a person with Jewish heritage. That there are “lost Jews” everywhere was my second lesson. My teacher Morah Leah Golomb used to teach us that when Mashiach comes we are going to be flabbergasted to find out who is Jewish.

For the second Shabbat (after the retreat participants had left), I went to a raw vegan restaurant to see if I could pay on Friday and eat on Saturday because “I am Jewish and I keep Shabbat.” The Rasta manager, with dreadlocks past his waist, looked at me and said, “I get it, I am too.” Then there was a light-skinned, blue-eyed 51-year-old man named Michael who had been traveling in the Caribbean for the last 13 years. He found out we lived in Israel and he told us that his mom is Jewish, and their ancestors had converted in 1492 in Spain. “But today I know nothing,” he said. We spent the rest of Shabbat answering his questions on Kabbalah.

Then there was Fito, the handsome young Peruvian ceremony leader with a stunning feather crown (donned for a healing ceremony I participated in). I approached him in advance and said, “Listen, I am Jewish and I only stand testament to One God, so if anything conflicts with that, I’ll need to leave the hut.” “Of course,” he answered, “I understand. My heritage is Jewish.” My mind was blown.

And of course there was David, a huge Shaman guy with a painted face from Venezuela next to me in the ceremony who said, “I want to tell you that before Venezuela, my family originally came from Israel.”

Perhaps the most special of all was Elena Dabul, a reiki specialist who was also staying at the retreat center. I could hear a hint of Israeli in her voice, and we bonded to share her first candle lighting and Shalom Aleichem in 25 years. She couldn’t believe she had come all the way to Peru to lead women’s prayer circles to reconnect to her Jewish roots.

The third lesson I learned is that we are all more similar than different. The conversations about prayer and the Shechinah (the Divine Feminine Presence) continued for hours with Elena. She told us about her practice of praying in the Four Directions (a widely held tradition in indigenous cultures in the Americas), and we shared with her that this is a deeper meaning behind waving the Lulav, and the esoteric wisdom behind the Magen David (the “Jewish Star”) and that we also acknowledge the directions. She shared with us about ego and fear in Shamanistic wisdom, and we shared with her how Judaism is all about teshuva (coming back to our highest loving selves) and working back to unity.

The fourth lesson: “There is nothing new under the sun” (King Solomon, Ecclesiasties). Between the epic Jewish heritage encounters, I was still yearning for good news about my shofar. My dear friend Jessica Leah Tabak left me a message about the missing shofar that helped me understand that all of our blessings and perils are found in the biblical narrative and we are simply re-experiencing different versions of the stories in every generation in order to teach us profound soul-lessons.

She told me, “Nili, you sound just like Yaakov and the ‘pachim ktanim’ (the small vessels).” There is a story in Parshat Vayishlach about how Yaakov left something very precious across the Yabbok River and needed to retrieve it even though his family was now in enemy territory. So the commentaries ask, what was so important that he needed to do this? My teacher Leah jokes, did he really care that much about his Tupperware? The sages answer that these small vessels contained oil squeezed out from the famous olive branch in the Noah’s Ark story (the branch retrieved by the dove that let Noach understand that the world would go on), and these small vessels actually represented Yaakov’s (and the people of Israel’s) purpose in life, to bring the message that there is hope for the world. She said, “You’re the same, just with your shofar. That’s why it’s so important to you.” She was right, and even more fascinating, it turns out that that is the Parshah I was born in.

All in all, it was worth losing the shofar to truly feel how much our national mission of bringing hope, peace and unity to the world truly means to me. (The shofar is said to be heard on the Great Day when Elijah announces the coming of the Messiah.)

All in all, it was worth losing the shofar to truly feel how much our national mission of bringing hope, peace and unity to the world truly means to me.

It was worth losing the shofar to show a small group of Peruvians how sacred and precious our holy tradition is still to the Jewish people today in 2023.

It was worth losing the shofar to see Am Yisrael come alive and support one another.

It was worth losing the shofar to remember that God always has a plan. Rabbi Ghoori’s wife Miriam (who had gone to customs for me to explain what the shofar was so they wouldn’t throw it away, and to stall them from destroying it until we could get permission to reclaim it) said that she had no idea why she made such a crazy and short trip to Lima when she had just returned from Israel. She was befuddled by her own weird and exhausting plan, but now she understood why she needed to make that trip—for another Jew.

The final lesson I learned: It’s as if there’s a loving Creator of the Universe planning everything behind the scenes. The One who holds the stars is holding our whole lives. He is holding up the extraordinary Peruvian mountains of Machu Picchu and the whole Earth upon nothingness, and He is holding us and planning every detail of our lives according to our highest growth, goodness and unity. Sometimes that looks like a devastated heart and a lost prized possession like a shofar. Sometimes it looks like a lost Jew found and reconnected. He knows what He is doing, He is doing it with Love, and this whole experience has taught me that I can learn to trust and surrender—perhaps one of the most important lessons in life.

So did I get my shofar back? Thank God, yes! Through the help of all the wonderful Jews who reached out, and with my friend Rebecca Rocker going out of her way to pick it up from customs, I did get it back. But I got more than that. I had my faith reinvigorated: in others, in myself, and in God’s extraordinary plan. And now I get to share it all with you, my extended extraordinary family.

Nili Salem is a psychotherapist and a Torah teacher living between Los Angeles and Israel. Nili’s previous shofar videos from around the world, and a slideshow of her “We Are All Extraordinary” Retreat in Peru can be found on her YouTube channel, Instagram and Facebook. Stay tuned this coming month of Elul for a new Shofar video every da.! Nili can be reached at nilisalem@gmail.com.