What was your most memorable bar- or bat mitzvah, and why? We asked our readers, and here are their responses.
Forgotten at the bimah
I became a bat mitzvah at the age of 13 in June 1961 at Temple Beth Abraham in Oakland. As is traditional, I studied my trope for several months before this rite of passage. Not so traditional but quite memorable and funny in retrospect was the fanfare that accompanied this day.
My musically talented father was performing with the Oakland Symphony Choir at the time. With the synagogue’s permission, he invited his fellow choir members — 80 people strong — to perform at my bat mitzvah. In advance of this “event,” the Oakland Tribune ran a feature with photos — and it began to take on a life of its own.
Soon, two harpists and a pianist were commissioned to accompany the choir. Also, the rabbi, a well-known scholar and orator, would be giving his sermon on the “John Birch Society,” a hot-button topic at that time.
My mother, concerned with the magnitude of the event, did her best to only invite a small number of family and friends. However, on this Friday night, people began filing, nonstop, into the synagogue. Although the synagogue had a large seating capacity, the bottom floor quickly filled up and the balcony soon became “standing-room-only.”
When my chanting, the musical performance and speaking all concluded, everyone streamed out of the sanctuary. Instead of my experiencing the customary walk down the middle aisle alone with the rabbi and cantor after the service, I was “forgotten at the bimah.”
Sharon Brown | Walnut Creek
Never too late
It all began as we were sitting in Cantor Hans Cohn’s sukkah in 1975 shortly after our daughter Adrienne’s return to the United States after living and working in England for more than a year and a half. She had taken a break from her chemistry studies at U.C. Davis to join us in England where my husband, Herb, was working on assignment for his Palo Alto-based company.
We were members of Temple Beth Jacob in Redwood City and were delighted to discover that one of our neighbors at our new home was Cantor Hans Cohn. While we were enjoying our refreshments, he showed us the many photographs from his b’nai mitzvah classes during his years at TBJ.
Adrienne remarked that she was sorry that she had never been able to have a bat mitzvah, and Hans replied that it was never too late. This was a project that required innovation because at that time only 13-year-olds were given the opportunity, after spending years of training in Hebrew school.
With encouragement from Rabbi David Teitelbaum and many private sessions with Cantor Cohn, Adrienne prepared for her bat mitzvah enthusiastically and rapidly, even attending classes with the 13-year-olds, who were delighted to have her join them.
The event in May 1976 was a wonderful experience shared by the entire congregation. The Jewish Bulletin sent a reporter to interview Adrienne and her picture appeared on its front page.
Adrienne continues to use her training, and chanted a Torah portion at each of her children’s b’nai mitzvah at Beth Jacob.
Alice Fischgrund | Palo Alto
No power, no problem
My son Ari’s December 2002 bar mitzvah took place during one of the wettest winters in recent Bay Area memory.
As the bar mitzvah weekend approached, we worried whether our out-of-town guests would be able to land at the airports. A shopping trip to Costco on the Friday before the bar mitzvah became an epic battle against nature as I struggled to protect myself and my six-dozen roses from the driving rain on the long walk to the car.
On Saturday morning, the sun started to peek through the clouds as we headed for our synagogue, Congregation Beth El in Berkeley, and my husband and I interpreted it as a good omen.
The sanctuary lights flickered periodically during the service, portending a power outage, but we paid them no heed. We were focusing instead on Ari as he sailed through his bar mitzvah with flying colors.
But just as the luncheon was finishing, the caterer got a call on her cell phone from the manager of Tilden Park’s Brazilian Room, announcing that they had just experienced a catastrophic rain-induced blackout, and that most likely the power wouldn’t come back on for three whole days! Per the fine print in the facility contract, they wanted to cancel our Saturday night celebration.
Somehow our resourceful caterer convinced the facility manager that the show must go on, power or not. Since the Brazilian Room had a gas grill, cooking wouldn’t be a problem.
But what about the music? And what about room lights? I immediately called the DJ and told him to find a generator, no matter what the cost. Then I dashed off to Pier 1, and bought every table-top glass lantern I could find along with tea light candles.
When our friends and relatives arrived that evening, they found a very atmospheric scene: a pitch-black room illuminated only by dozens of tea lights twinkling in gaily colored lanterns.
Most of our guests were oblivious to the fact that the power was out. And when it was all over, Ari gushed that it was the best bar mitzvah party he had ever been to.
Brenda Kahn | Berkeley
Altered by 9/11
Our daughter Jacqueline Rae became a bat mitzvah in September 2001, days after 9/11. The event we had first imagined was changed; some of our closest friends could not bring themselves to travel to the Bay Area, and there was, as we can all imagine, a great sadness in the air.
Yet, it was also a time when this meaningful “rite of passage” became all the more poignant and moving, simply because people needed to come together and for a few hours, take a break from it all and feel connected to our faith, to our future and to the fellowship of Congregation Beth El in Berkeley.
It was a tribute to Jacqueline that she managed to speak beautifully and poetically about how she and the nation had changed in the days before her bat mitzvah and how being together enabled her to feel a sense of healing and, to some degree, a deep, inner happiness knowing she had come so far.
That evening, without really telling us her plan, she purchased a large, rose-colored candle and placed it in a black geometric stand. It was the first candle she lit, and it was for the lives lost in 9/11 — they would never again have a chance to celebrate, as we did, with joy in our hearts on that warm September night.
Arlene Burbank | Kensington
The right blend in Berkeley
The first b’nai mitzvah I attended was the bat mitzvah of my daughter in Berkeley. Coming from the assimilated, not-too-Jewish St. Louis atmosphere of children of Russian immigrants, I never knew that such an important Jewish ceremony could be granted to girls. Coming also from a five-year aliyah in Israel, where only boys could have a bar mitzvah, I was surprised that here — hear ye! hear ye! — girls could do everything that boys do: read directly from the Torah, chant the Haftarah and conduct the services on Friday night and Saturday.
Growing up in St. Louis, I was one of three sisters. The first possible bar mitzvah would have been my cousin’s, but because my aunt and uncle were the “wealthy” ones living in University City (“U-City,” called “Jew-City”) and had adopted the custom of hanging stockings on Christmas Eve, I don’t remember the bar mitzvah as being given great importance.
In June 1974, we moved the family from Westbury, Long Island, to Berkeley. I discovered that Berkeley was a haven of synagogues with the right blend of Jewishness, adherence to tradition and gender equality. We joined Congregation Beth El and prepped for b’nai mitzvah.
At our daughter’s bat mitzvah, the rabbi presented her with candlesticks. When they dropped from her hands and rolled down the bimah, she got into a laughing fit. The rabbi was quick to respond: “May you always laugh in the face of adversity!” It was the start of a beautiful friendship with California’s Jewish culture.
Mae Ziglin Meidav | Berkeley
Foiled in Philadelphia
It was 1958 and our small, working-class shul’s Conservative rabbi decided to initiate bat mitzvahs. I’d always felt deprived after attending those of my friends who had moved on to more affluent areas of Philadelphia. I wanted to be the center of attention as I sang and chanted on the bimah. I wanted the admiring sighs of relatives after finishing my portion of the Haftarah. I wanted the gifts.
It turned out that I would be our synagogue’s first bat mitzvah. And it turned out that I was to share the stage with Lisa H. We sat next to each other during orchestra practice and she was always scowling at me and my friends when we flirted with boys or cracked jokes. When we were younger, in an era before the word “play date” was coined, her mother would arrange get-togethers for us. Lisa’s idea of playing was to draw an imaginary line down the center of her bedroom. She then would give me toys for my side while she played opposite me. At some point, we stopped getting together. Maybe my mother tired of my complaints. Maybe Lisa decided it was more fun to have the entire room to herself.
Now here we were several years later and I was being asked to prepare for my bat mitzvah with Lisa. Alas, I gave up my dreams of bat mitzvah glory. Even if there was no imaginary dividing line, I could not bear sharing half of the bimah with her.
Judith Felix Moorman | Occidental
Remarkable, memorable and poignant
In winter 1994, seven adults gathered in the cantor’s room to learn about being an adult b’nai mitzvah. What is remarkable, memorable and poignant is not only the commitment and work we all did to make it to the ceremony, but the bonding that has occurred since then. For years after the event, we met monthly, then every few months, and last July we celebrated our 10th anniversary.
What is remarkable is that we had this opportunity to meet, share parts of our lives and support each other as we explored our Judaism.
What is memorable is that I can still hear the stories we told from the bimah on that beautiful June 1994 morning, about why we were choosing to participate. Each of our stories moved our families, friends and us to tears and laughter.
What is poignant are the changes in all of our lives that have occurred since. We have added four more children to the group, lost some loved ones in our “real” families. We have acquired partners and houses, but we have all stayed in the Bay Area and been there for each other through these life events.
To this day, I know that if I called any of these amazing people, they would help in a heartbeat. I believe they know the same from me.
Thank you Shabana, Diane, Donna, Eric and John (and our partners); who give me strength and grounding to this day and to Cantor Feldman and Sherith Israel for this amazing experience.
Sue Schechter | San Francisco