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| These are NOT the kids or the parents from yesterday. |
After the ceremony yesterday came the wonderful food that is part of every Shabbat--and especially such an important one as this. It also lets the congregation and guests mingle--a very Jewish thing. My wife and I met another couple and spent time talking with them.
In the olden times, this special rite was the essential entry point into the serious business of being a Jew. Of course, back then, girls didn't have one--they were very busy running the household with their mothers according to Jewish law and custom and weren't expected (or even allowed) to stand before the congregation this way. But this is 2013, and now, one of the touchstones of being Jewish is an equal opportunity affair. Having the two kids do it at the same time was a great idea, too.
Sam and Arielle are attractive, bright, and sweet young people, and it was a joy to watch them up there. They both claimed to be nervous, but it was not apparent to me. Sam's sense of humor and informality and Arielle's charm and sweetness made a good combination. You could see their parents beaming.
The ceremony, let by the typically affable yet learned rabbi (who was seated because of his broken ankle), managed to balance the dignity and significance of the occasion with the humor and warmth typical of Reform congregations. This felt like the the "temple" that I grew up in and he was like the rabbis I liked as a kid.
The music was simple, just a singer and a guitar, but moving and beautiful. We enjoyed several songs nicely rendered by the music director from the synagogue, and a couple of special guest appearances by Cantor Schwartz from Southern California. I enjoyed a conversation with the cantor after the ceremony that rekindled a little of the curiosity and interest that informed this Jewish blog last year.
Witnessing an event like this one can't help but stimulate a range of thoughts. For one, I remember my own Bar Mitzvah ceremony on a May morning many years ago. It was my great moment--the attention was on me--and I made the most of it. But I had just arrived in town the previous Fall, and my connection to the congregation and the rabbi was pretty fresh. Also, my family was going through a crisis that would culminate just a few months later with my parents separating. But all that was in the background on my special day. It was one of the moments when I actually felt connected to my tradition and that of my ancestors.
I appreciate that my parents put aside their troubles enough to make my special day, but the life I lived after their divorce was not very Jewish. In fact, the life before the separated wasn't either, but there is much to say about Judaism being a family and community religion, practiced at home as well as in the shul. The many activities, holidays, rituals, meals, and relationships are meant to create an environment conducive to thinking of and studying about Judaism. In that sense, studying the Torah in a room with others or alone--and preparing a Shabbat meal or lighting candles or preparing the home for a holiday, are all part of it.
Although traditional, Orthodox Judaism has rigidly separated roles for men and women (which I am not interested in living today) the roles had equal value, or at least were supposed to. Part of why there is Reform Judaism (and Conservative and modern Orthodox) is because the world has changed and most Jews have changed with it. With so many options, a Jew today has to decide exactly what he/she will or won't do. It's not just about following the rulebook and showing up for everything. Some Judaism today incorporates yoga and meditation, which seems to go especially well when contemplating God.
Jewish events make me remember my father, especially during the Kaddish. This prayer, in ancient Aramaic, is one that I never said as a kid (pre-Bar Mitzvah) and by the time I needed it, when Dad passed away 11 years ago, I didn't know it or say it. My father didn't have a particularly happy connection to Jewish life, but still tried to give us at least something of it. On one side, the holidays felt sort of "tacked onto" our non-Jewish life in our non-Jewish suburban (and constantly changing) surroundings, but I still grew up knowing I was Jewish and not Christian or Muslim or Buddhist (or Athiest). I certainly wish that my parents had displayed more enthusiasm for the holidays and activities, but that was not the way we lived. We were assimilated and comfortable and that may be why I am open to all people and not Jewish-centered (and twice intermarried). It is what it is.
That doesn't mean that when I meet someone Jewish, I don't feel some sense of a common identity. I work with many Jews now, at my company, and feel that way about them. Most are from other countries, particularly Israel, but we have some bond that is greater than nationality and level of practice.The American Jews feel like the kids I knew in Sunday school.
When I see young people going through their Jewish rites of passage, like I saw yesterday, I sometimes have a little pang for the fact that I didn't and couldn't do this for my two fine sons. I am thrilled that they have grown to adulthood feeling like members of the human race, and are open and tolerant of others. But I have not passed on the history of my people to them. I have some regret, but also, accept that I don't live in a particularly Jewish way and can't expect them to. And, with non-Jewish mothers, only the Reform (and even more liberal flavors of Judaism) would accept them as Jewish anyway.
What now? I have revisited this Jewish Roots Project after more than a year because I felt like coming here. And it's the roots that remain, regardless of what has happened or will happen to the tree. What little shoots may grow from this is yet to be determined. But I also known that I can't leave this alone. It's up to me.
I'll be back.
