Why would anyone go to the trouble of preparing for an adult bar or bat mitzvah?
For me, the story begins with a fascination with the number 13. I was born on a Friday the 13th. And it seems like every 13 years I face new challenges.
Along the way, I’ve learned about the rich meaning the number 13 holds in Judaism. Maimonides espoused 13 principles of faith. The numerical equivalent of God is 26, two times 13. The Hebrew Bible has 39 books, three times 13.
My name also fascinates me. At an early age, my mother told me my Hebrew name (Devora Malka) meant bee queen. Everyone called me Debbie. But as soon as I could hold a pen, I wrote D-e-b-o-r-a-h.
I heard that Deborah was a hero in one of the Bible stories I never studied — we didn’t attend Hebrew school. I wanted more than a nominal relationship with Deborah but had no idea how that would occur.
At age 13, I was busy enjoying junior high school and not concerned about the dearth of Jewish training in my life. When we attended services, I followed prayers by rote. I shed the Debbie moniker when I went to University of Delaware. Thirteen years later, I was busy building a career and setting up a household in Willmington, Del. Soon, as a new systems supervisor, I was transferred to Mississippi.
Arriving in Concord at age 39, I became engaged to Michael and was ready to tackle Hebrew. I read about adult bar/bat mitzvah classes at Conservative Congregation B’nai Shalom in Walnut Creek. I signed up immediately. Both Rabbi Gordon Freeman and my friend, an East Coast cantor, persevered as I struggled to learn a very foreign language.
The rest of the class celebrated their b’nai mitzvah on a bright summer morning. But my incentive for going solo the following January was to read Haftarah Beshalah, Deborah’s story.
After the reading, I spoke about women leaders with Deborah as a role model. I extolled her work as judge and prophetess and her legacy as a national leader, uniting the Israelite tribes against Canaanite oppression.
“Remember,” Freeman said, “Deborah’s general, Barak, had the military strategy and soldiers to fight against the Canaanites. But he needed the spiritual banner inspired by Deborah to win.”
We celebrated after the service with family and friends. The story could have ended with that simcha in 1988.
I whizzed through the years in a bee-like mode. Michael and I celebrated our wedding, moved to Pleasanton and joined Congregation Beth Emek in Livermore. I traveled extensively in my management position. Several years ago I jumped off the corporate ladder and leaped into a freelance writing career.
This winter, while ploughing through multiple projects, a bat mitzvah goal nagged at me like a persistent child. I had vowed to reread my Haftarah portion in 13 years. It was time to pause and reconnect with biblical Deborah’s energy and wisdom.
Then I read that Beth Emek needed readers for the upcoming lay service of Beshalah–it was beshert, meant to be.
The studying ensued. I enlisted my friend and neighbor, Myriam Feldman, to coach me in Hebrew. Rather than re-reading my bat mitzvah Torah portion, I learned the maftir for the first time. I practiced reading from the scroll with Rabbi Richard Winer of Congregation Beth Emek. I was buoyed by his comment, “I wish I didn’t have to attend the UAHC conference this weekend so I could hear you read at services.”
Looking at the text with older, wiser eyes, I absorbed the impact of Deborah’s accomplishments on the infant nation of Israel — and its relevancy now.
Each night I read about Deborah sending Barak to ascend Mount Tabor and fight the Canaanites. Then I’d hear the television blaring about more carnage in Israel and election mania. Israel was not some distant entity; this was biblical Deborah’s struggle — and mine, too.
Finally, I stood in front of the congregation and read. Winer would have smiled. My father, who passed away before my bat mitzvah, would have marveled in his heart, while publicly mimicking my off-key chanting.
I spoke to the congregation about what’s significant in our lives — working toward peace for Israel and all Jews. I talked about changes in my life. I noted with sadness that my mother, now 83, no longer travels effortlessly to join us for simchas. I bragged about becoming a bubbe to Michael’s grandchildren. When I returned to my seat, Michael gripped my hand and beamed with pride.
As we ate cookies at the oneg Shabbat, a member who recently celebrated her adult bat mitzvah told me how I inspired her to continue studying.
Her comments prompted me to contact Rabbi Larry Raphael, director of Adult Jewish Growth of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, about the trend in adult bar/bat mitzvahs.
“These programs are booming throughout the country,” he said. “We are preparing a curriculum and guidelines for congregations. An increasing number of adults, especially women, are interested in learning, and this is a meaningful way to explore and celebrate.”
My bat mitzvah was not a one-time event, but a signpost pointing me to new people and places and anchoring me back to my namesake. Maybe in 13 years there’ll be another story to tell.