Congregation Sons of Abraham and David, known colloquially in Wayne as the SAD Shul, had three different readings for Megillat Esther on Purim night. The first was for those synagogue members who liked their megillah fast and furious. The ba’al koreh read at a rapid pace, and when he said “Haman” you had only about two seconds to scream “boo” before he went on, or you might miss the next word. This was affectionately called The Express Minyan.

The second reading of the megillah was clearly designed for children. Many of the people in the room were in costume, there was candy everywhere, and the ba’al koreh was a patient, child-friendly reader who liked to do different voices for the various characters in the megillah and didn’t mind a little extra noise while he was working. This minyan, in contradistinction to the first, was called The Local.

The third reading was unique in character, as far as anyone in the SAD Shul knew. It was a minyan for people who liked to make a lot of noise whenever the ba’al koreh said “Haman.” And I mean A LOT OF NOISE. People brought the loudest noisemakers they could to this reading. Most of the revelers wore earplugs to avoid sonic damage, but some craved the sensation of being at a rock concert and risked permanent hearing loss on a yearly basis, with no auditory protection whatsoever. Each mention of “Haman” was accompanied by a little less than thirty seconds of foundation-shaking cacophony. It was truly glorious, if you were into that sort of thing. This third reading was known as The Running of the Bullhorns.

George Shapiro lived all year for that third megillah reading. All his close friends from the community came with him, and they sat as close to the ba’al koreh as they could. They had a bet going: if one of them could make the reader jump from their emission of sound, the others owed him a pizza. But that was no easy task. Saul Lipton, the ba’al koreh, was a cool character.

So far no one had managed to rattle him since the time, five years ago, when Manny Rosenthal played the 1812 Overture on his boom box with a volume control that went all the way to the number 11.

This year George was ready. He went to a special website, keepontruckin.com, for a special order air horn. Their catalogue offered horns that played “Dixie” or “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” but for a little extra, you could name your tune. George requested “Shoshanat Ya’akov.”

The website guaranteed the air horn would emit a deafening sound, but George had to be sure. Two weeks before Purim, when the air horn arrived in the mail, he put in the batteries, took it into the backyard and tried it out. Shoshanat Ya’akov was so loud, birds flew from trees for three blocks around, and dogs two towns over in Pompton Plains howled and strained at their leashes.

When George sat down for the megillah reading on Purim night, he was so excited he could barely contain himself. Saul Lipton was going to jump out of his socks. He had hidden the device in a large shopping bag and didn’t want to pull it out until the time was right. He patiently sat through the first chapter of the megillah. The story of King Achashverosh’s party and Queen Vashti’s fall from grace flew by in an instant. The second perek, the story of Esther’s selection as queen and Mordechai uncovering the plot of Bigtan and Seresh, went by in a heartbeat.

The third chapter was moments away. George reached into his Stop and Shop bag and clutched his air horn. “Achar hadevarim ha’eyleh gidal hamelech Achashverosh et Haman-”

The room erupted in noise. George pulled out the air horn. He pushed the button, squinted his eyes, and NOTHING HAPPENED!!!

George didn’t know why, but he had experienced a malfunction of his Weapon of Mass Disruption. It simply didn’t work.

George was despondent. He had been waiting for this moment for weeks, and now, nothing. Caught off guard, he shouted, “Haman stinks!” at the top of his lungs, but his exclamation was drowned out by the crowd. George kept screaming insults at Haman every time his name came up, but it just wasn’t good enough. He didn’t know what he was going to do.

Everyone at the Running of the Bullhorns could see George was in a bad way, and they came over to help. With each new evocation of Haman’s name, a new noisemaker was offered to him to try out. Al Saphir’s giant cymbals made George feel a little better. Jordan Potensky’s tuba was very satisfying, but he had a little trouble with the mouthpiece. Rich Daumer’s little box that emitted a loud, blood curdling scream was plenty noisy, but it didn’t really speak to him. Dan Goldberg’s giant wooden grogger had a nice Purim authenticity. Ezra Magen’s cap gun brought George back to his childhood. Paul Volmer’s cow bell had a nice tone and was fun to swing over his head.

In the end, every “Haman” had been covered with a different noisemaker in the room. George appreciated his friends banding together to help him out. It almost made up for the malfunctioning air horn.

After the megillah reading was done, George turned to his friends. “Thanks, guys, that was really special.”

“Oh, it’s no big deal,” Ezra said, putting his cap gun back in its holster.

“That’s what friends are for,” Jordan said, putting his tuba back in its case.

“Just trying to make the holiday meaningful,” Al said, patting George on the back. “And besides, we fulfilled a new mitzvah for the holiday.”

“O.K., I’ll bite,” George said. “What’s the new mitzvah?”

“Matanot lameshuga’im,” Al said. “Gifts for the crazy.”

That line may have gotten the loudest boo of the evening.

By Larry Stiefel