I only went to four B’nai Mitzvah, but it felt like fourteen. One side of my family is Jewish, and I also knew quite a few Jews growing up, but the real reason it feels like fourteen is because I found the parties interminable. I never attended any until I was around the age when my peers had them; my two Jewish cousins lived far away, and we didn’t attend synagogue nor were we otherwise that connected to that scene.
#1 was the dual Bat Mitzvah of two sisters who were about a year apart in age. I was a classmate of the younger sister. As soon as the invitation arrived, something was triggered in me. “I’m not going,” I announced (which was interesting, as while I knew what a B’nai Mitzvah was, I had no reason to have any particular opinion) to which my father responded, “Nah, you’ll start getting invited to a lot of things like this soon…”
The ceremony was interesting in the way that the girls took turns, and the Rabbi told a story about an American/Israeli who was recently abducted by Hamas members while hitch-hiking, and then was subsequently killed as commandos stormed the building to free him. He also told the story of Abraham and Isaac, which I would later realize to be ludicrous… anyway…
The party was painful. (Cleverly, as both girls played tennis, the theme was “Doubles.”) My stomach dropped at the sight of the dance floor and the sound of the music. I found myself wandering the room, hiding out in a long, narrow room behind the dance floor, and making many restroom visits. I remember hearing Boys II Men’s “I’ll Make Love to You” and wondering if it was appropriate. One kid asked me to dance while I was sitting in a chair near the dance floor, staring into space. I muttered a decline, tried to unclog my nose, and scurried away. When my mother arrived, I implored her to “get me out of here.”
#2 was another classmate. He was from a mixed family as well, and their Reform congregation met in an office building, with a woman Rabbi, and he got to do some of his ceremony to the tune of “Scarborough Faire/Canticle.” His (Christian) Sunday School teacher spoke of her pride in him, which would have given Martin Luther a stroke. The party was in one of those conference/party rooms at a hotel, and I was able to faux-dance this time, but I still wasn’t happy. I remember that, before the dancing started, the DJ played “Mrs. Robinson,” and I wondered if I was the only one noticing the Jesus lyric. I saw a man get up and talk to the DJ, and I think that was the topic! I remember attaching spoons to my face, which some of the adults did (to their own faces) as well. The Bar-Mitzvah-Boy’s grandmother tried to talk to me into dancing with some kid who had no partner, and I politely declined. My parents were appalled that the host family left before all of the guests’ rides had arrived.
#3’s party was at the same (country club) location as #1. The Bar-Mitzvah-Boy was a long-term childhood friend of mine. My parents were at this one, and I remember just a bit of the ceremony. The party was more of the same, but this time the B-M-B was trying to cajole me into having more fun, and my parents were on hand to notice my numerous restroom visits. I lit one of the candles. The party featured a caricaturist. I remember discussing my idea for a science project involving adding a guidance system to a model rocket, which of course never materialized.
#4 was out-of-state, for the daughter of my parents’ friends. I remember next to nothing of the ceremony, but the party had an Archie Comics theme, loosely. I remember my brother really getting into the dancing, and either he or I nearly got backed into by a very large woman during the Hora or something similar. It was either this party or #3 where my father told me to do the “YMCA” dance, because the song was playing and it’s allegedly fun.
For these reasons and others, I never went to a single school dance, and I dreaded mandatory dance parties (connected to band trips and other such activities) for months in advance. In ninth grade I tried to make myself vomit to get out of one such trip, to no avail.
Thankfully, the possibility of my having such an event in my life was never even discussed.