Urban Iris, June 6 2011
So, this weekend I became a man.
Well, no, virtually, I attended the bar mitzvah of the son of one of my oldest friends in the universe and saw HIM become a man, and we all joined in the experience.
I couldn't text my way through the ceremony the way I got through most of my Season of Important Ceremonies, the First Communion and High School Graduation etc, because the nice rabbi specifically asked us to keep all devices away and not diminish the ceremonial moment. I could have cheated like the teen in front of me, but I had been specifically informed that the God of Israel is a Mighty God, so I did not. I mean, according to Ben's Torah Portion, He afflicted Moses' sister with psoriasis just for talking shit about her in-laws which, WHO AMONG US is not guilty of that?
Since this temple was a Reform, Upgraded 2.0 temple, they had lovely prayer books that spelled out the readings in Hebrew letters, then phonetically, then in English. As the rabbi assured us, that meant that even we goyim were actually studying Torah--which means I am 100% more advanced in Torah study then I was on Friday (which as we all know, from the wisdom of Rebecca Black, is the day before Shabbat. We,we, we so excited!)
I had sort of a moment there, because the ceremony really has this awe to it--there's a passage about how this is a day to stop doing, and focus on being. And when I took a moment to do my meditation practice and just get aware of the wind and rain swept trees, and the congregation and families and generations, and the time-twisting of knowing Ben's mom when we were both thirteen or so, and her son now being here, dealing with the weight of big thoughts and big emotions like his whole relationship to faith, community, his family, and time and tradition...it was like, whoah.
Luckily, I quickly found an escape route from this meaningful line of thought. Some people asked me if I knew the way to the reception hall, and in the hubris of my Googleosity, I said, Lo! I have Googlemapped it, and I have studies the path therin, and you may gettest in your Rent-A-Car and follow me unto the land of Canaan, to sup upon appetizers and a choice of salmon or beef.
So then I got lost. Driving in the car following me was my bar mitzvee's aunt, and grandfather, and little cousin in a pretty yellow dress, and a random cousin and I got them lost in the pouring rain. In Stoughton.
I was so, so sad. I was convinced that we would be lost forever, until I was forced to abandon them in the Ikea of Route 24, or possibly the Jordin's Furniture, where they would have to live on Swedish meatballs and bargain mattresses until the end of their days. And God would definitely afflict me with scales.
But then I stopped into a D'Angelo's Subs, and this sweet comedy team who should really have their own show consisting of a skeptical African-American teen and a kind-hearted African-American matronly type, and they told me all about it, and kindly guided me on my way, despite the fact they were trapped inside a completely empty D'Angelo's in the pouring rain in Stoughton, which would have ruined my good-temper for ever, but not theirs!
Anyways, we got to the hall, and everybody was getting down and all was well (though I am secretly sure that the family back in Buffalo are gonna be talking about How That Woman Got Us Lost until they ascend their own higher plane long years from now. And even then).
Well, but at the party: There was not only an ebullient DC, but two super fit young people, all in black skipping around on adrenaline, and trying to get us to move our right and left pieces in coordination.
Moms and dads, engineers and accountants and finance guys and college chemistry professors and a web editor, were attempting to dance to the Black Eyed Peas and the Sugar Hill Gang, along with some hokey hand-dancing from Grease thrown in. There were Kanye West sunglasses handed out, and furry hats and colored leis.
After all, the parents of the young guest of honor, were the same kids who way back in the 80's had their wedding DJ lead us through a male/female call and response of Meatloaf's Paradise By the Dashboard Light (Oh yeah, Maggie and Dennis, I still have not forgotten that you are the only people in my entire lifetime who could finagle me into singing Meatloaf lyrics...aloud!)
I actually thought about creeping away to the table and hiding behind a glass of wine. And then I thought, you know what would look a lot stupider then me dancing to Sir Mix-a-Lot? Me sitting alone at a reception table watching people dance ridiculously and have fun.
And so I danced. And it was good. By the time we hit the hora, I was laughing so hard, my belly hurt. It was a good place to be. I could say more about friends who came from so far to be there, or about the general awesomeness of the family who's day it was. But I couldn't say enough.
