By Gary Rotto
SAN DIEGO — I’m back from a self imposed leave-of-absence. As much as I enjoy the opportunity to report on and opine about local events, it was one of those occurences where a family event needed to take precedence.
So the confluence of factors – namely being a single dad and having my only child come of the age to become a Bat Mitzvah – meant a hiatus from my column.
So on a sun splashed morning, my daughter stood before family and friends leading Shabbat Shacharit, reading from the Torah and Haftorah, providing her insights into the text. This after getting her feet wet the night before by presenting a talk on Holocaust poetry – Is it appropriate to write poetry about such a horrific event?
I knew that she would thrive on this occasion – the issue was would I make it. Our congregation is the small and close Congregation Dor Hadash, the only Reconstructionist congregation in San Diego. And the challenges before our family and congregation were two fold: that as of April, our landlord still had not engaged in negotiations to renew our lease, so we had no idea where we would be in the Fall. And our rabbi decided to not renew her contract. Leaderless and homeless, I decided to book the old Beth Israel in Old Town.
This meant taking care of all the logistical arrangements – from transporting a Torah to the site, to printing the Torah and Haftorah portion in a booklet (so that we didn’t have to schlep the Chumashim around town), to bring serving accessories and tables for the oneg, and so forth.
I did take one other logical step: I joined the Rabbinic Search Committee. Besides the fact that the congregation has been asking me to become more involved, I wanted to see who would possibly officiate at this special occasion. And we ended up with an incredible spiritual leader – Rabbi Yael Ridberg. So my daughter had the benefit of her experience for two months to complete the course of study begun by Rabbi Yaffa Shira Sultan and my daughter’s “Bat Mitzvah Guide” Holly Bauman.
My nervousness was not for my daughter, but rather that everything would come together – that the families would arrive on time for the photo session on Friday afternoon, that we could finalize who was actually coming to the Friday Night Dinner, that my father would be well enough to read a Torah portion and that the Saturday night kids party would come off without a hitch. And then there were the last minute details: my daughter decided that she would like to have everyone dance the Hora at the Saturday Oneg Shabbat and be lifted in a chair; that the sound and photos in the montage that I put together would actually sync. Oh, and a little fact that this was a Shabbat for which the next B’nai Mitzvah class was required to attend. To which I silently had to ask: Do we have enough seats to accommodate everyone? It was a Yikes moment.
With the help of great friends and family, everything was in place. And the Shabbat was beautiful. During our walk through, Rabbi Yael noted the great acoustics of the synagogue. Indeed, voices rose to fill the grand, simple structure. The essence of Shabbat, the joy and peacefulness filled all of us. The sounds of the mundane, the trash truck picking up on Saturday, the lone motorcyclist speeding past, blended with our voices as we sung the psalms of Hallel. And having my friend, the Sima in Sima’s Gourmet Catering, as our caterer provided an extra measure of comfort. (It was one major thing that I didn’t need to even think about as she has everything wired from the challah for ha motzi to the tables and chairs rental to the actual faire.)
On occasions like these, the event passes as a flash. But I can recall so many minor mistakes that create memorable private moments – like losing my trope with about six words to go and forgetting where the Sof Pasuk (ending notes) were to be used when I was supposed to finish my chanting of the Torah; like seeing all of my Kelila’s friends milling around on the bimah and chatting with her after the group aliyah.
But most importantly, I wanted my daughter to have the Shabbat, the Bat Mitzvah ceremony that she wanted. It was not for anyone else, but for her. So from selecting the readings that were integrated into the services, to assigning the honors to her friends, to having family read the Torah portions, to promising her that only people she actually knew would be invited (as opposed to the 100 distant relatives who were at my Bar Mitzvah and I would not ever see again), it was her call. I added one thing: having Kelila up in the chair during the hora (but I insisted not me or her mom as the focus should be on her). And the Saturday night event for her friends ran like clockwork – a party bus that made stops for dinner, fireworks at Qualcomm Stadium, a roller coaster ride at Mission Beach and dessert at Krispy Kreme.
So as I reflect on the Shabbat and the weekend, I have one hope: that every parent should feel not only so proud, but feel so privileged to be the parent of their child.
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Rotto is a freelance writer based in San Diego