Bat mitzvah preparations have begun in earnest at our home. That means my 12-year-old daughter hides in her bedroom once a week, meets with her amazing tutor on Zoom, and comes out knowing something her mom doesn’t.
This process takes a full year and is multifaceted. She learns to read Hebrew and sing metaphors (or musical notes associated with Hebrew letters). She will write a Dorval Torah, a short sermon or interpretation of the Torah, which she will read aloud in front of the entire congregation. She will also be involved in some kind of mitzvah project, or world repair, that is part of the Jewish call to tikkun olam. In other words, she will use her interests to work on some kind of volunteer project.
Her first meeting with her tutor didn’t go well, just as I had warned her tutor it might. My daughter was asked to read something in Hebrew, and when she couldn’t do it, she started crying. Judging by the pile of tissues next to my desk after the fact, I cried for the rest of the session. Not only did the challenge itself seem insurmountable; It turns out that the ultimate goal, the privilege of reciting the Torah in front of hundreds of eyes, scared this shy child even more. Once the session was over, she came out and cried until she had ice cream and enough talk to move on to the next episode. A beautiful summerher body bent forward against mine, forever my baby.
When she came out of our second session smiling, I said, “I’m so excited! “If you cry on the first day, you’ll have no choice but to turn up, right?” She laughed, and I laughed, but I said this knowing that there would be more tears (for both of us). Still, I wanted to give her hope. Isn’t that what we all want when we embark on a long, slow journey that feels like there is no end in sight?
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My parents are fervently anti-religious Jews, so the words “bat mitzvah” were never uttered in their house from an early age (I didn’t even know about them until my seventh-grade invitation arrived). That being said, I married a Jewish man. Since we moved to Los Angeles nine years ago, our family life has been led and organized by a Jewish man. Jewish communityNo one was more surprised by this than I was. Religion hasn’t helped me much in my 37 years on earth. But as the years have passed since we’ve been here, I’ve come to rely not only on my friends in the shul, but also on the rituals, traditions, and culture. rabbinical guidance When it came to deciding whether or not to keep our daughter bat mitzvah in the face of a crumbling world, there was no question for us that she should.
When we first moved here and saw young teenagers leading a fairly significant portion of Shabbat services, I was semi-shocked that they could do it. It was very difficult and they had to learn so much Hebrew and interpret such difficult texts. This feat became even more impressive as my own daughter approached the challenge. The former 13-year-old seemed very adult compared to the preschooler who sat on my lap during the service. Not so much now.
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One of the great joys of having children is being in awe of them, but as I watch this year-long learning process unfold, I am impressed by more than just her grit and tenacity. I am touched by the fact that my preteen is being forced to participate in something that is completely abhorrent to our fast-moving culture.
Preparing for a bat mitzvah is very time consuming. It’s difficult, unwieldy, and not immediately useful. In this respect, it’s different from learning French before a trip to Paris or learning to drive a stick shift. Optimization is not possible. It doesn’t fit into a reel or a meme. There are no short-term rewards other than the thrill of memorizing (or reading or interpreting) new texts each week. There are no shortcuts at all, and there’s nothing you can do with hacks or apps.
It’s cumulative, like only the best things in life exist. For example, parenting, friendship, marriage, etc.
And it got me thinking deeply about what’s similar in my own life. It is a pursuit that requires patience, perseverance, and ingenuity. It’s a hobby where the rewards are small at first, but magically add up.
For me, this is writing a novel, but it could also be growing a garden, learning to knit, running long distances, or building an intentional community.
In my experience, writing a novel often feels as slow and pointless as learning lines in ancient Hebrew, but it gives me something that nothing else can. It’s the satisfaction of having accomplished something difficult. It reminds me that I can and should push my limits. that that Good things often lie there.
Abigail Rasminsky is a writer and editor based in Los Angeles. She teaches creative writing at the Keck School of Medicine of the University of Southern California and writes a weekly newsletter. person + body. She also writes for Cup of Joe on many topics, including marriage, preteens, perimenopause, and only children.
PS What surprised you most about raising a preteen? Are you religious?
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Source: Cup of Jo – cupofjo.com
