Being very adult about b’nai mitzvah class
What it’s like to help grown-ups prepare for their delayed rite of passage
When Congregation Shomrei Emunah, my Conservative synagogue in Montclair, offered an adult b’nai mitzvah class, I knew I wanted to participate. But I had already become a bat mitzvah in 1966, when I chanted the haftarah on a Friday night at my Conservative synagogue in Brooklyn. A girl reading Torah or haftarah on Shabbat morning? Back then it would have been like a man landing on the moon.
By today’s standards, my Friday night bat mitzvah might not even be kosher, I thought. Perhaps I could sign up for Rabbi Julie’s class and update my expired certificate, much as I would renew a driver’s license.
In fact, though, I realized that there was a better way for me to engage in this 18-month program. I would come out of retirement and use my 40 years of experience preparing 12- and 13-year-olds for their b’nai mitzvah. I would apply some of those skills to working with adults. Once I recognized that my mini-cassette recorder was a relic and that I couldn’t rely on parents to keep their children focused, I believed I was ready to participate in the b’nai mitzvah class of 2025.
I came on board after the 11 students in the introduction to Judaism class had learned the aleph bet from scratch, or honed their rusty Hebrew skills with Rabbi Julie and other teachers. I joined a group of volunteer tutors to work individually with the students. We reviewed the basic prayers previously covered in the class. Primarily, we concentrated on the Torah blessings and Torah cantillation. Then we forged our way through one aliyah. In addition, the students learned how to lead the Torah service, and some learned how to chant the haftarah.
Ironically, I had the privilege of working with Fran and June, whose three children I had tutored over the past 25 years. I felt like I was completing a circle. So what if the circle was going counterclockwise?
Fran and June had enrolled in the program, not knowing exactly what to expect or how rigorous and rewarding the journey would be. Truthfully, no one knew what to expect — not the rabbi nor the students or tutors. It was uncharted territory, the first time such a class had been offered in the 120-year history of our synagogue. It was time to shake things up a little!
Sure, on paper, the requirements were clear: attend both Shabbat services (with a “buddy” who would patiently guide you through the siddur) and classes before or after services. Of course, practice was essential. And I do mean PRACTICE!
Were these goals realistic? We would soon find out.
The first challenge for me was scheduling regular lessons. We usually succeeded in planning a week or two in advance. Sometimes, however, we discovered that flexibility and spontaneity were our best friends. “Are you free for a lesson today?” I texted. “No pressure!”
We met in person and on FaceTime, during the day or in the evening. We met before work, after pickleball, or before a tennis tournament. We juggled doctors’ appointments, babysitting grandchildren and providing eldercare, picking up college kids at the airport or visiting them on campus. Travel and visits to vacation homes further complicated schedules.
When June listened to my voice recordings on the beach in Uruguay, and Fran listened to them while preparing Thanksgiving dinner for 40 people, I knew there was no turning back.
As their reading improved, and new melodies swirled around in their heads like a gentle breeze, all the students became more comfortable with the service. In shul, they discovered that they could follow the prayers (albeit slowly) and sing along with the congregation. The choreography of the Torah service suddenly made sense. As one student jokingly remarked, “Services aren’t torture anymore!” Could there be a better compliment?
During our lessons, we discussed favorite prayers. What did they mean? Did we have a particular melody or a moment in the service that made our hearts soar? Perhaps it was no accident that the Torah portion we were studying was from the Book of BaMidbar (wandering through the desert). It was bashert — meant to be — as we, ourselves, wandered to find our rightful place in the continuum of the Jewish people.
Our conversations ranged from the holiness of the Torah to the practical. Whom did you invite, who would be livestreaming from around the country and from different time zones, what would you wear, and what’s the menu for the kiddush?
Finally, the big day was here. Well-wishers came from near and far. When congregants from Shomrei Emunah arrived early or on time, we understood this was indeed an auspicious occasion.
It was appropriate for the b’nai mitzvah to sit together and lead some prayers as a group. After all, they had been sharing this journey for a long time. The Shema and V’ahavta never sounded so rapturous.
But this determined group was composed of individuals, each with a unique story about what brought them to this day.
One grew up Orthodox; as a young girl, she was denied this rite of passage. Some were children of Holocaust survivors and wanted to say Hineni — here I am. Others were raised in secular Jewish homes but were now discovering the power of prayer. For one, October 7, 2023, had sparked a connection to her Judaism. Although proud of their children and grandchildren who became b’nai mitzvah at age 13, a few believed it was finally their turn to make this commitment to Judaism and the Jewish people. And for the three converts in the class? Becoming a bat mitzvah meant embracing their new religion and continuing their Jewish learning.
The congregation held its collective breath as each b’nai mitzvah was called to the Torah for the first time. Some had to brush the cobwebs off their Hebrew names because they had never been used. For others, their Hebrew name was as new as a shiny coin.
Each one chanted exquisitely from the Torah, making it look easy. Never mind the months of hard work, the frustration, and the self-doubt. Perseverance, pride, and pure joy permeated the air.
As Rabbi Julie bestowed a personal blessing on each of the b’nai mitzvah, there wasn’t a dry eye in the sanctuary. The tears continued as we wrapped our arms around each other and sang the Shehecheyanu. “Blessed are You, Adonai our God, who has given us life, sustained us and enabled us to meet this moment.”
Weeks later, I still get a lump in my throat thinking of my small role in this monumental endeavor. I congratulate Rabbi Julie and everyone who believed that lifelong learning is not just a catchphrase. It is a way of life. They affirmed that you could bend a tradition and dream big.
To Sylvia, Amanda, Lisa, Fran, Audrey, Nick, Kelli, Joyce, Katie, Anita, and June, mazel tov on bending a tradition, dreaming big, and becoming a Jewish adult when you are 40 or in your 80s.
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