Stella’s bat mitzvah

I never celebrated becoming a bat mitzvah. In the early 1950s, when it would have been age appropriate, some in my milieu in our Weequahic neighborhood may have, but most didn’t. I honestly cannot remember ever attending a bat mitzvah event in those long ago days, but, then again, perhaps I’ve forgotten a thing or more.

I do remember close and sweaty dancing with many short bar mitzvah boys as we all reached our teenage years precociously, but definitely not promiscuously. Those parties were usually in someone’s finished basement with a phonograph playing slow dance music. Food was generally potato chips and pretzels, washed down with Coke. And additional entertainment was often a ping pong competition which we were all very accomplished at, especially me.

Our son-in-law Michael once described his own bar mitzvah celebration. He is the fifth of six kids, born to a definitely laid-back and brilliant pair of parents, both long gone, but also long remembered. Michael’s bar mitzvah was in 1978 at the Plaza Hotel in Jerusalem, which at the time was one of Jerusalem’s most elegant hotels. He told us that the friends and siblings who bore witness watched as he practiced his moves, sliding down the lobby brass banister. And hence he had become a man!

Our own three daughters all opted for celebrations, although Lori, our second daughter, now longtime spouse of the banister slider, reverted to simpler days by having a party at home, with a deck of cards and some board games for her friends, and food, real food, more than chips, prepared by Ima, me. She had also preplanned dessert when she was about 8. It had to be chocolate cake. Mission accomplished! When it was over, she told us it was the best party ever, so we proclaimed it a success, without need for a second mortgage.

But here we are now, in a flash forward moment, having just celebrated the bat mitzvah of Stella Ivy, our youngest grandchild. Like all the women in our family, Stella had her own opinions about how to commemorate her big day. For me, it was enough to be flying forward in time, with no apparent hiatus at all, to a moment that sprang up seemingly instantly. Where did those years go anyway? Hadn’t we just segued from her father’s bar mitzvah, with its calligraphed invites and reception designed to break the bank, where he aced the entire reading of Parshat Noach, following an emergency very urgent early early morning visit by his orthodontist to fix a newly displaced wire that was going to prevent the shul from hearing about Noach’s exploits as well as the entire Musaf service. Stella didn’t want any of that. But not because she’s frugal. Indeed her plans were much more expansive and expensive.

Stella wanted to do away with the enormous guest list at the fabulous caterer and abandon the DJ. Stella wanted to celebrate with a little (read: very long, luxurious, and large) trip halfway around the world, to Africa and Europe.

Let me give you a bit of a background as to where Stella got this wanderlust. Our son, her father, finished up at Columbia, where he had earned some degrees having to do with computer science. Unmarried and eager to see the world, he decided pretty soon thereafter to quit his lucrative job and take off for parts unknown.

Anyone who knows me also knows that I am not a relaxed mother. A more apt description is hysterical. A day without hearing from a member of our tribe (our children!) is a day without peace in the family. I liked it when our son was safe at home in his nice apartment in Gramercy Park. I’m the longterm client of the phrase “Do you know where your children are?” as seen on the 10 p.m. news on Channel 5. I like to answer yes.

He sold that NYC apartment and left to travel the world. I got email from far flung places. One was posted on a ferry in Indonesia, as an example. When he hit Argentina, he fell in love with the place and bought an apartment in Recoleta, an elegant neighborhood in Buenos Aires. That’s where he learned that speaking Spanish was not instinctive to him. At all. We visited Argentina twice and could understand his love for the place. Kosher steaks cost a pittance. People were tangoing in the streets, a surprise was around every corner. Forgotten were some of the more intimidating aspects. There were lots of Jews, even a kosher McDonalds, and it suited us fine. Nevertheless, when he sold the apartment and returned to New York, we were happy to have him a river (think Hudson) instead of a hemisphere away.

There he met the woman of his dreams, and mine as well. She was stunning, as well traveled as he, and had a very successful, high-powered career. And Jewish, of course!!! They quickly got married and soon presented us with Stella’s big sister, the amazing and talented Sam. That daughter-in-law has never disappointed. She’s perfect!

The years flew by. Sam opted for a big bat mitzvah celebration, and a good time was had by all. Stella was a mere two years behind her, so the family planning quickly evolved to what she would choose to do for her own celebration.

You already know that she comes from a pair of wandering Jews. And she had already done her fair share of journeys. Israel was her favorite destination, with numerous other places not far behind. I certainly could not have guessed that she would want a trip to the Serengeti, the major park in Tanzania, world-famous for the Great Wildlife Migration. Suffice it to say that that’s where she chose to visit and their family planned an incredible trip, plus stops in quite a few other world centers. Yes, they saw the wildebeests and had close encounters with lions. It was a trip to remember.

But Stella still had to celebrate with the extended family. I loved that celebration. It was intimate and informal, and Stella read her Torah parasha to perfection. We are so very proud of her. She did a perfectly amazing job and was relaxed and charming throughout. When she was finished, she spontaneously yelled, “I did it!” to the acclaim and huzzas of all of her near and dear ones.

She was dressed like a princess, with a glittery dress and beautiful coif. And, did you know, this generation seems to have added a wonderful touch to fancy garb? They’re called sneakers! This is a fashion statement that people like me, people who absolutely are miserable in shoes, especially tight fancy shoes, celebrate!

And that is the story of Stella’s bat mitzvah. The word Stella means a star. And that young woman certainly is. Mazel tov!

Rosanne Skopp of West Orange is a wife, mother of four, grandmother of 14, and great-grandmother of eight. She is a graduate of Rutgers University and a dual citizen of the United States and Israel. She is a lifelong blogger, writing blogs before anyone knew what a blog was! She welcomes email at rosanne.skopp@gmail.com

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