“What can I send you as a gift for Christmas?” she asked in a letter that December.
Calvin had one request.
“Could you ask if an elder of your synagogue would say the kind of prayer for me that a father says while touching the head of his son? I’m told that if a father blesses his son in prayer, then everything the father has blessed the son with comes true in the life of the son. My father never got to bless me, and I’m quite sure his father never blessed him. My father once did time in this same penitentiary that I’m in. I hope that the curse that was on him—and now on me—will be the last curse to follow my family.”

Ora’s response was humbling.

“I passed your request on to my father,” she wrote. “And he gave you this blessing: Y’varekh’kha ADONAI v’yishmerekha. Ya’er ADONAI panav eleikha vichunekka. Yissa ADONAI panav eleikha v’yasem l’kha shalom.

May God bless you and keep you. May God cause the divine light to shine upon you and be gracious to you. May God turn his face toward you, and grant you peace.

As Calvin read the rabbi’s words, they flowed over him like water, seeping into the cracks of his despair and loosening its grip.

He sent Ora a reply. “Please, tell your father I said thank you.”

The Jailhouse Lawyer
Calvin Duncan, Sophie Cull