Family

No Bar Mitzvah For You

Why my son isn’t studying for his bar mitzvah. Read More

By / January 17, 2012
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My older son, Jack, turned 13 on January 8, 2012. He shares his birthday with Elvis Presley, David Bowie, and Stephen Hawking, and I often say that’s why he’s a musical genius. Jack isn’t all that different from other 13-year-olds: he’s deeply into video games (Oh Zelda, you bitch…you are stealing my baby from me), devours the Percy Jackson books, won’t hug me in public but will in private, and is newly obsessed with “The Simpsons”. He plays the violin, makes the Honor Roll, has a group of nice friends, and is a great role model for his younger brother, Ben. A sweet, smart, pure soul, Jack is everything a mother, Jewish or not, could want.

The one thing Jack isn’t doing is studying for his bar mitzvah.

Jack’s father, my ex-husband, isn’t Jewish. We have never been a religious family, and to simply have a bar mitzvah for the sake of having one would be hypocritical. And to me, it would also be disrespectful to those who are committed to their faith. When I asked Jack what he thought about not having a bar mitzvah, he shrugged and said, “Our family doesn’t really do stuff like that.” He went on to say it would be “pretty bad” to pretend to believe in something just to get presents. I like to think I’m doing something right with this kid.

My mother, ever the Ultimate Jewish Mother, made sly references to his no-bar mitzvah as the big birthday approached. She knew from the moment he was born that there would be no bris (let’s just say we had it taken care of in the nursery, sans mohel), no bar mitzvah. She knew that her daughter was a Bad Jew and that my kids would grow up with the least amount of traditions as possible. Hey, we have a menorah! And we totally use it every year, I promise!

My indifference towards organized religion began with my own Bat Mitzvah, the emotional equivalent of a mixed martial arts event for me. I went to Hebrew School, because that’s what you did if you were a Jewish kid in suburban New Jersey. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, from 4th to 7th grades, I struggled to learn Hebrew and generally be a Good Jewish Girl. I tried to care about it because that’s what you were supposed to do. Everyone else made it all seem really important, and I didn’t want to let anyone down.

I cannot look at the photo album from my Bat Mitzvah (which I know my mother’s got stored away and has my permission to burn). Everyone just looks hideous–it was 1982, probably one of the very worst years for hair, makeup, and fashion combined—but the real problem was that it fell during my tumultuous 7th grade year. I had been dealing with some brutal bullying and worried that I wouldn’t have a single friend at my party. In fact, my only real friend, Julia, was having her Bat Mitzvah—with me—on the same day. Since you can’t ask relatives to schlep out to Jersey for more than one thing in a month’s time, there was no way I could have my ceremony one day and the party the next so I could have one real friend there. I was not thrilled about preparing for the big day, though since I knew my parents were shelling out the huge bucks for it, I certainly feigned enthusiasm aplenty.

Once ensconced in my room, I would unenthusiastically listen to the cassette of the Rabbi chanting my Torah and Haftorah portions, which I was required to memorize. I had to participate in the Friday night Sabbath Service and lead the Saturday morning Sabbath Service along with Julia. I tried to look at it as a play I’d need to learn lines for…a play I didn’t really want to be in. Since losing all of my friends at school, I’d retreated to my room, read all of my books over and over, and gained weight. My skin was broken out, and I had a mouth full of shiny metal braces. I couldn’t have hated myself more. The last thing I wanted to do was stand in front of a sanctuary full of judge-y relatives tsking over my weight gain and bad skin, followed by the obligatory, “Such a pretty face.”

Along with puberty beating the crap out of me, I’d also begun questioning the existence of a supreme being because I kept having so many bad experiences. You know, the old “How can there be a God who would let XYZ happen” line of thinking. Not only did I have the kids at school to worry about, there was the daily verbal abuse from my father. I lived inside of a bubble made of my own dark thoughts where I mentally beat myself up on a daily basis. I mostly saw myself as a good person, someone who never instigated and only reacted when pushed. The world can beat up on a person like that, because we’re easily hurt. I was terrified of making any mistakes in front of anyone, lest they have more fodder to use against me. It’s a trait I sadly carried into my adulthood and one I only recently learned to get over.

And so I had a Bat Mitzvah, for no other reason than it was expected of me. I knew from others’ experiences that I’d get a lot of checks that my parents would then sock away for college. I chose the invitations based on the theme, Unicorns and Rainbows (1982!). I insisted the band be the one my music teacher, Mr. Hernandez, led on the weekends to earn extra money. The entire year is mostly gone to me now, repressed because of the pain caused by the jerks at school. My memories of my Bat Mitzvah are quick flashes: My father’s bad Mike Brady perm and handlebar mustache that made him look like a porn movie version of the Frito Bandito. Trying and failing to cover the zits on my chin with makeup. How pretty my mom looked in her blue knit dress. Pretending to enjoy the attention while slowly dying inside and hoping I’d get enough money out of it to make it all somewhat worthwhile.

I’m not saying Jack would have a similar experience to mine. He’s a lot like me in a lot of ways, but he’s no social pariah. He would have one rocking party. If he wanted to, he could tackle learning Hebrew and all that goes with the bar mitzvah training. He’s smart enough to make his own decisions about how he wants to occupy his out-of-school hours. To him, that’s violin and Tae Kwon Do lessons, reading and video games, friends and family. He’s not interested, and therefore, I’m not pushing him. A non-pushy Jewish mother!? Yes, we exist.

Jack will become a man whether or not he stands on a bema and reads from the Torah. His physical and emotional transformations will occur regardless of faith or the lack thereof. I stand back in amazement as he continues to evolve right in front of me. Jack is no more a believer than I, and has theories of his own to back it up. He is no spoon-fed regurgitator of his parents’ belief systems. Jack is his own person, way more self-aware and confident than I was at that age. We have discussions about everything, and he takes what I say and considers it before responding. It may not always stay that way as we begin to co-navigate the teen years. But there’s one thing I know for sure:  Jack will never turn to me and say, “I wish you had forced me to go to Hebrew School!”

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  • Allie

    I grew up Catholic and married a Jewish man. We are raising our children Jewish. Our oldest child just had his Bar Mitzvah a month ago. All I have to say is AMAZING! The experience has cemented his role in the Jewish community. He has learned to enjoy the service.

    As a child, he didn’t want to go to Hebrew school, what child does. As a parent, we knew it was important to guide him to this path. It was the right path for us.

  • Jill

    I had a similar situation with my bat mitzvah. I didn’t want one, did not enjoy Hebrew school, and when I asked my classmates for their addresses so I could send them invitations, I suddenly found that I lost all of my friends in one day. Apparently they didn’t know I was Jewish and they shunned me. My son just started Hebrew school at age 10. My husband (he’s Jewish) and I just didn’t care. But, it seemed that my son did care. He really wanted to go. Of course, this is a kid who wants to do everything. He’s a busy guy. And, he had the grandparents whispering in his ears about going to Hebrew school, I’m sure. But, we still weren’t going to send him. Until my father-in-law offered to pay to take us to Israel for his bar mitzvah. How could we say no to that? And, it meant that I didn’t have to plan a huge outrageous party. So, now he’s in Hebrew school, making Jewish friends having a really great time…and it’s only for 2 years so it’s not too painful…and we have an amazing family trip to look forward to.

  • josh

    You made the right choice here, I hope you haven’t lost any sleep over it. I went through the exact same situation that you just described: non practicing and given choice to study for bar mitzvah, decided against it…a decade later and i haven’t woken up with a sudden desire to be kosher. You sound like a great parent, not just because of this decision, but also because of the thought process you went through to come to it.

  • amyamy

    Tara –

    Here’s the reason to take the lead, as the mother, and enroll the kids whether or not they decide they want this as an activity.

    Jewish life is not an activity; it’s part of one’s identity. I can tell you what happens to the kids who decide, in college or later, that yeah, this is something they’re interested in.

    They go to shul, and shul is unwelcoming because they feel like strangers. Like goyim. They don’t know how to do anything. They can’t read Hebrew, they can’t daven, they don’t know how anything goes. Nobody is reaching out to them and looking to their “faith”, because this is a Christian trope, and it’s not how Jewish communities go. Jewish communities are like families: you’re in or you’re out. We don’t proselytize, remember? There’s no smiling chaplain reaching out to pull you in.

    So the young (or older) adults leave, feeling bruised, and if the desire persists, they go to Chabad, the only Jews who do proselytize — at less observant Jews. At Chabad, they’ll be taught all about the Rebbe who is Moshiach, and they’ll also be introduced gently and with cholent to Jewish life. If they’re not too stable, they’ll be as susceptible as people are to any cult, and the women will wear long sleeves and skirts and suddenly be knocking themselves out keeping kosher and all the rest, and dating hairy obese young men who subjugate them. It doesn’t usually last, but sometimes it does.

    From there, usually, they make their way back over to an American shul, or synagogue, or temple. But — and it’s a very important but — they always feel like they’re doing it wrong. Even after a decade, they feel like their status is provisional, not like real Jews. Because others there just know how to do it. Were born with it, grew up with it. It’s a terrible thing to hear from these returnees, too, that insecurity and uncertainty. These are the people who become pillars, who give their children strong Jewish educations, who are obviously Jews. And yet they’re deeply insecure. It’s terrible because for a Jew, a shul anywhere in the world should be home. A Jewish community should be home. Who else will make our home? Ask the children of survivors. So there, where they should feel and want to feel at home…it’s very difficult. They feel like adult adoptees, or converts.

    You can go to shul, should you feel so inclined, and you won’t feel that insecurity. Yeah, yeah, there’s always someone who knows more, and maybe they do something different from what you learned. But it won’t be that different, and you know you’re a Jew. That’s what your parents gave you, and that’s what your boys aren’t getting.

    That non-Jew I was married to: Eleventh-generation American. Grandfather helped found Marblehead. I went the whole Goodbye Columbus nine yards. And you know what? He envied me my sense of background, my roots. I was astonished. Granted, he was nuts, but I never expected to hear this from a Real American(TM). The fact is, though, he grew up American Vaguely Christian Nothing, in an atomized culture where people knock around connected to nothing. So yes, now I see it. You didn’t grow up that way. I know French Jewish kids growing up that way, but you’d be amazed how much yiddishkeit makes the jump, and besides they’ve got nonsense philosophy and revolutionary history and other forms of Serious Culture, not video games. They aren’t growing up American Vaguely Christian Nothing.

    I won’t noodge you again, but think about it.

    amyamy

  • http://blog.taradublinonline.com TaraDublin

    All I can say is that I do what’s right for my family right now. Should Jack ever come to me and say he wants to learn more, of course I’ll encourage him. Right now he has zero interest and I’m not pushing him. I know my sons and I know that I need to listen to them just as much I they need to listen to me.

  • amyamy

    Incidentally, Morganfrost: Go to hell with your “product of a failed marriage” business. You have no idea what you’re talking about, but you’ll come and try to shame a mother. Delicious.

  • amyamy

    Baby, you don’t get it.

    I’m an agnostic divorced from a non-Jew. From the sounds of it, I had a deeper Jewish education than you did: day school, MO grandparents, lots of Young Israel time. I walked away from the MO business when I was twelve and the men sent me to sit behind the screen; from the rest of it at 17. Didn’t go back till I got pregnant 15 years later. No bas mitzvah, of course, because the orthodox don’t.

    My daughter’s been going to shul since she was an infant; she started Hebrew school a couple years ago and now wants modern Hebrew; fine by me (where’s a kids’ primer that’s not God-inflected? What happened to the ethics-oriented UAHC books of the 70s?). At home? Jewish stories all the time. Jewish history, history of Israel, Jews this Jews that. And let me tell you, this isn’t easy where we live; we’re in a little midwestern university town with a little shul that has to mix up all denominations — a healthy thing, if you ask me, but it takes some nerve to bring a kid up Jewish here.

    I do this because I figure it’s not my business to make the kid’s decision for her. If she wants it, she has to know what it is. If she doesn’t want it, she should know what she’s walking away from. And besides, where else around here will she hear what Jews sound like? How would she know?

    I also find — as you must have found, writing as you are for Jewcy — that one does not walk away, cannot walk away, in the end, because our context is a Christian world. And despite what the ecumenical-minded Protestants would like to believe, no, we do not all believe the same things. We do not all hold the same ethics, the same modes of thought, the same values.

    As a 40something woman, I find that when I read IB Singer he’s telling me stories I already know. Not because I’ve read them, but because I live them. He’s writing the Jewish mind, the Jewish writer. When I read Malamud, I know that world, too. Bellow, I know his tune, his rhetoric, his people’s frenetic choices. I find I am a Jew. It has nothing to do with Hashem.

    It is a Christian misconception to think that Judaism, Jewishness, yiddishkeit, is about faith, belief. When I got pregnant and had to think about these things again, and was annoyed beyond belief about going back to shul, I went to talk to the rabbi. I said: Look, I’m coming, and I’ll bring the kid, but it doesn’t mean I’m some frummy who believes. He was amused. (We have an excellent rabbi.) And he shrugged. This was exactly the right response, and I knew it right away and felt like a schmuck. Okay, I said. And we were all set. When I had no money, he shrugged and said, “Don’t pay.” Which is the right attitude, despite the legions who’ll come after poor Jews with hardship forms and magnifying glasses to see if the lint in your pockets is actually money. Don’t pay, and someday when you have, give.

    Do I struggle with this? Of course. I know I’m giving my daughter an identity that may someday get her killed. I can’t stand the Reform-inflected suburban-money blind-eye shit that appears to have taken over the Jewish world. (Princess camp that costs more than college, I can’t get over it.) Lot of these fucks are so busy looking good to themselves and the world that they could trip over Jews in need and never notice. I teach her to be a Jew anyway, and she does what she will with it. And you know what? That’s in Singer too. It doesn’t appear to change. In the meantime, she surprises me with the strength of her Jewish identity and how proud she is of it; frankly, it makes me nervous, but I figure that’s my own business. She asks questions and that’s the important thing.

    And I cannot deny that I’m a little overcome when I hear her daven. Again, this is not about Hashem; it’s about being a Jew. I hear a strength in her voice, and I know that someday she’ll be up on the bimah, solemn and sweet and shy, and she’ll give a d’var torah she’ll have put serious thought into. And the community will listen carefully, weighing her mind and sensing who she is, who she might become, whether or not she will be able to lead. I think she will. I think she’ll have that strength.

    My shul is about half people who “grew up nothing”, as they say, and went groping back to Judaism anyway. My lack of faithiness bothers some of my friends there, and one day my best friend there asked me why I come. So I gave her the old answer: “Abramowitz goes to talk to God, and I go to talk to Abramowitz: in other words, you.” She liked that. But the truth is there’s more. You hang around and you’re going to read, and listen to the words, and think about the words, the poetry. It has meaning and a sense. What are they? God knows. But I suspect I’ll be going long after my daughter’s grown, so long as I can stand those other Jews.

    Anyway. Take your boy. You’re allowed to change your mind. Teach him what a Jew is. If he doesn’t want it, let him decide. And know also that the odds are pretty decent that someday he’ll wish you’d sent him to Hebrew school.

  • Morganfrost

    “Jack will never turn to me and say, ‘I wish you had forced me to go to Hebrew School!’”

    You don’t really know what he’s going to say to you, do you? He’s the product of a failed marriage and appears to have had no spiritual upbringing whatsoever (I was unable to ascertain any point to this article beyond that, unless it was to congratulate yourself for not being stereotypically “pushy”).

    People are– and should be– free to choose their level of observance. But it’s unfortunate for a Jewish child to grow up without having been given the background in his own history and tradition to make that choice.