A Gentile's Reflections on Her First Bar Mitzvah

On Saturday I attended my very first Bar Mitzvah. It was for Ian's best buddy Noah, son of our good friends Emily and Dave. Leading up to the big day, I had two major concerns:

1. Will my kids last through the long service, and 
2. Will Ian convert to Judaism after the mega-party to follow?

Abby had her own concerns, namely whether there would be translators available for the stuff in Hebrew. I should note that she also kept confusing Mazel Tov with Taj Mahal. Ian expressed no concerns other than that we leave for the synagogue asap. I can assure you that this was the first time I've ever seen him in a hurry to reach a place of worship. 

As it turns out, I need not have worried about the service. Apparently, as Bar Mitzvahs go, they don't get much better than this. Everything about it was lovely. The rabbi was warm and welcoming. The music was delightful with clapping and toe-tapping. The cantor's voice was beautiful. Noah sang and played the guitar. Relatives sang their blessings to him. His father read a poem he had written for Noah for the occasion, and his mom delivered heartfelt words laced with her typical dashes of humor. Noah shared his own story and was in complete control of the entire service. No awkward 13 year-old here!

And speaking of awkward 13-year-olds, Ian sat with a bevy of them in their own little section of the synagogue. They all looked lovely, dressed in their finest. And most interestingly, I observed my son engaging and actually participating in the service. I can't get Ian to a worship service in our church without him pitching a hissy fit and behaving like a 2-year-old in the pew, but there he was in the temple, trying to sing along...in Hebrew. My sense is that if Noah was leading the service, Ian would be game for worshiping golden calves, stinky sneakers, or circus clowns. That's Noah -- a force to be reckoned with.

To return to my reflections on this experience, as an outsider to the faith, I must admit being befuddled but curious at much of the tradition. The hymn/service book appeared to be backward with two sets of page numbers going in the wrong direction. (A friend has since informed me that Hebrew is read from right to left.) It was clear that this book also had special meaning because the Jewish guests touched it to the Torah and then kissed it as Noah walked the Torah around the temple. Prayer shawls also received a kiss after touching the Torah. The prayer shawls were lovely, by the way. Kind of like the clerical stoles pastors wear. I often think I'd like to be a minister just so I could wear my own funky and creative stole. Fashion, however, is probably not the best basis for entering the ministry.

I think what impressed me most about the entire experience was the emphasis on tradition, heritage, and family. I was struck by the fact that this practice was thousands of years old. And I could appreciate why honoring ones children means so much in the Jewish tradition based on the history of the people. (I find it challenging to merely tolerate my children much of the time, much less honor them with an occasion that includes lifting them up on a chair like pubescent monarchs.)

All in all it was a fabulous day with well-dressed and happy kids, well-dressed and happy adults, and the immeasurable blessings of family and friends. Mazel Tov (Taj Mahal!), Noah!