She remembered sitting in Yom Kippur services when she was little.  She remembered the sound of the shofar at the end of neilah  when all the adults would rush out to eat. And she remembered the sound of the haftarah— the lilting, warning, mournful sound of the prophet Isaiah saying: K’ra v’garon! Al Tachshoch! “Cry from the depth— says God. Don’t hold back, lift up your voice like the shofar!”[1] The first time was the time she came home from kindergarten, downtrodden. “The