Okay. I have to tell this Bat Mitzvah story. It’s long. You may be excused to go find the punch and cookies table if you’re not interested.
For people who, for any number of reasons, didn’t become b’nai mitzvah when they were kids, they can do it later in life, really, at any age–there’s no limit. (Digression: There’s a great episode of the Dick Van Dyke show where Rob is convinced Buddy Sorrell is having an affair, because he starts sneaking around, turning down invitations, and getting calls from a woman. Turns out the woman is the Rabbi’s wife, and he has been preparing for his bar mitzvah. Very sweet and heart-warming. Another great Fraiser episode where Frasier asks Noel, the Trekker at the radio station to teach him something to say in Hebrew at his son Frederick’s bar mitzvah, and he does-- but in Klingon, not Hebrew. One of the kids in the congregation was REALLY impressed.)
Back to my story.
A single, elderly woman (a physician in her mid-70s) in our congregation decided to study for her bat mitzvah several years ago. We have an ongoing class for adult students, so this was no big deal. She worked at it for a year or so and was ready to lead the service, read her Torah portion, etc., etc. She invited a few close friends to the Friday night service, and typically the place is NOT crowded on an ordinary Friday.
Meanwhile, unrelated, a controversy had erupted in the local religious community. I won’t go into detail, but the Jewish community was the recipient of some insulting, condescending, and challenging comments by some insensitive loudmouths associated with a big religious sect… It wasn’t WWIII or anything, but the Jewish population here in South Texas is a minuscule minority, and it smarted.
Anyhoo, the very prominent and well-beloved (by all) pastor of the largest Southern Baptist church in town asked to come to a Friday night service and address the congregation to offer his personal apology for the insensitive and out-of-line comments of some of his colleagues.
Well, you guessed it. It was the night of this lady’s bar mitzvah.
Where she thought she would be addressing a mostly-empty room, populated by a sprinkling of her closest friends and maybe a niece or two, she steps to the podium to face a crowd of 2,000. The place was packed to the rafters with TV cameras and reporters lining the walls. It looked like Yom Kippur (which is when everyone turns out.)
Her cake-and-punch reception turned into a receiving line where every Temple member wanted to shake the hand of the pastor who had taken the time to come, and of course, they shook her hand, too. It was a great evening.