Daughter of the Commandment

I had the honor this weekend of attending my baby sister's baby daughter's bas mitzvah.

After a smooth, on-time departure from the house, and a quick, trouble-free drive, I felt good. This would be borne out soon enough. My son Nik, my wife Shellie, and I entered the synagogue, and began a day of moist handshakes and awkward hugs.

Each one was followed by the exclamation, "You look good," or, "You look great," and even one, "Stephen, you look beautiful," from my brother-in-law, Mitch. And the thing of it was I did look beautiful. I was dressed in a freshly pressed and dry-cleaned suit, designer tie, and brand new Hush Puppies. But in my mind, I had to question whether they meant I looked good compared to everyone else, or considering I was in a wheelchair and just had cancer.

My wife whispered in my ear, "You do look great."

I said, "I feel great. Of course, not being constipated helps."

We made our way into the sanctuary where my immediate family was already gathered. The cantor was explaining the "choreography" of the service to those who had a participatory role. We settled in up front and I felt the happiness wrap around me like a woolen prayer shawl. Bright sunshine turned the wall of stained glass behind the altar into a dazzling array of shapes and colors.

I was perusing the printed program, and pointed out to my wife one item on the itinerary which read, "Undressing the Torah." I whispered to my wife, "This is followed by blowing the shofar," but that's a crude, inside Jewish joke.

As the cantor finished his bantering with my family, and the time for services to start drew near, I glanced around, and said to my wife, "There's not much of a turnout."

My wife replied, "I think they're holding everyone in the lobby until the family is done with rehearsal." She had no sooner spoke when the doors opened and a flood of people rushed in. Paige's friends and classmates filled a large section in the back of the auditorium, and I noticed a man with a distinct air of authority standing along the back wall in that area. I assumed he was a chaperon for the kids.

Paige entered with the rabbi after receiving his final instructions to her in the privacy of his study before the start of the ceremony. The reform service was lively, interpersonal, and by Jewish standards, appreciably short.

My brother Bunce, and I were just joking about picking up a prayer book that starts on page one and goes through page 679. You know not only do they go page by page, in Hebrew AND English, but many of the drawn-out songs and phrases are repeated over and over.

The cantor's deep voice was accompanied by guitar and piano. Paige chanted from the Torah. For those who don't know, the Torah is written in Hebrew without vowels or musical notes. Try this in English, or better yet, in French or Russian.

I noticed the "chaperon" station himself in different positions around the perimeter of the temple throughout the service. Like a blast from God's nostrils, I understood this man was indeed a chaperon, but of us adults as well as the children. This was an armed security agent, as the telltale bulge over his left breast confirmed. I guess it should come as no surprise in today's world that that would be common and prudent practice for a bas mitzvah.

Paige offered her interpretation of the Bible passage and how it relates to the present. My sister, Dee, and brother-in-law, Jeff, shared their joy on Paige's accomplishment, and the rabbi charged the bas mitzvah girl with her new duties as a young Jewish woman.

The rabbi pointed out with unbounded glee he had been present for all three of my nieces' baby namings, and now all three of their confirmations. He spoke of the deep bonds between my sister's family and the temple, and the rich Jewish life my nieces grew up in.

After many tears, but many more smiles, the blessing over the wine by my brother-in-law's sister, Julie, and the breaking of the challah by the next girl from the congregation in line for her bas mitzvah were performed, and the lovely service concluded.

We slowly made our way into the reception hall and took a table in back. We were soon joined by my son Ben, daughter-in-law Ashly, her mom Lori, and my four grandchildren. They were seated several rows behind us, and I did not see them during the service. My seven-month-old grandson was deposited on my lap, and I gave him small sips of orange juice off the tip of a spoon. He took a little bit in his mouth, scrunched up his face, rubbed his nose with his fist, and then opened up for more.

The professional photographer hired for the event was standing nearby and asked if he could get a picture. I couldn't see my grandson's face, but just as the photographer snapped the picture, everyone around us started laughing. Apparently at that exact moment, my grandson's face lit up in a big wide-opened smile straight at the camera. The photographer said, "Thank you. You just made my day."

While I sat with the grandkiddies, the adults went to get in the food line. After some amount of time, they brought pack plates full of bagels and cream cheese, heaps of tuna salad, relishes, fresh fruit, and mountains of lox.

My dad's first cousin Sheila, came by the table, and remarked how good I looked. I introduced her to my wife, sons, in-laws and grandchildren, and then we just stared at each other with big smiles.

After a few moments, I broke the silence. I nodded and said, "Yes, can you believe it? After my wayward youth, can you believe I'm sitting here with a wife, children, and grandchildren!"

She continued beaming at us all. "No, I can't," she said, "but God does amazing things."

I looked around the table at all the faces I love so profoundly, and said, "Yes, He does."

I explained to Nik between big bites of food, "Many of these people are my parents' closest friends and relatives. They dated, got married, and had children at the same time, during the mid 1950s to 1960s. I grew up with these people. Our moms were in and out of each other's kitchens, all us kids played and went to school together, and our dads did business, served on the same committees, and belonged to the same community organizations.

I turned to my wife and said, "My God, there are people here who've known me longer than I have!"

My wife had applied a touch of pastel make-up, and wore the butterfly earring and necklace set I gave her for her birthday last week. The Swarovski crystals sparkled with her every movement. Having my family here with my family brought me overwhelming gratitude.

Next up was the inevitable montage of Paige's life in still photos shown on a large screen. I usually find sitting through these endless reminiscences to be an exercise in tedium, but I had to continually remind myself that I wasn't looking at pictures of my baby sister Dee.

As the montage ended, I reluctantly felt it was time to go. I had been up since six that morning, and it was now after one-thirty in the afternoon. My body was sending me signals. The one thing I hadn't done yet, and had to do, was congratulate Paige herself. As if on cue, Paige and one of her friends were walking by our table. "Hi Paige!" I called out, but she went right on past.

"Oh no!" I exclaimed. “I've become the old uncle the nieces walk right past without seeing.”

We gathered up our things, made arrangements with Ben to join them for Easter dinner, and headed out. The problem was we were at a table in the far corner of the reception hall, so I steeled myself for the gauntlet of good-byes.

Shellie was a little ahead, and kept checking back on my progress. Nik was threading my wheelchair through the obstacle course of people standing in clusters, and chairs pulled out helter-skelter from the densely packed tables.

I stopped to talk to my sister-in-law Dana. We had been friends in high school, and close friends in college. I was in unrequited love with her before she married my brother.

"Hi Dana," I said.

"Hi Steve. Are you leaving already?"

"Ya, I've been in the wheelchair for eight hours and we still have an hour and a half ride home. I'm starting to crash."

"Well, we all get tired and want to take a nap," she said.

The thought struck me, oh, she thinks I mean "crash" like in, "I'm gonna crash for the night."

"No, no," I said. "I don't mean tired. My body starts to crash. I get horrible back pain, blinding abdominal spasms, nausea, increased sensitivity to the pain in my lower half, and once I cross a certain line, the symptoms increase exponentially."

"Okay, I won't keep you then." Her face brightened up, "But you look great."

We continued toward the exit, pausing briefly to say hello and good-bye to casual friends and relations. Suddenly I caught the eye of one of my mom's closest friends.

"Nik, take me over to that table," I said and pointed. I could hear him thinking behind me, "Not another one."

"Hi Renee," I said as we came up to the table. "Believe it or not, I was just thinking about you. Your daughter Barbara and I just became friends on Facebook, so we've been catching up a little."

"Well, it's nice we get to see each other at all the Dunn family functions," said Renee.

I said, "You know, this was the last of the bar and bas mitzvahs. Next come the weddings."

"I guess we'll see you there," said Renee.

We all laughed, and Renee's husband pointed at me and said, "It's a date!" I could feel Nik groaning behind me.

We made our way to where my parents and sister's families were seated. Behind them a large crowd had formed.

My beloved sister Debbie Dunn Weiss is a master confectioner. Part of Aunt Debs' gift to the nieces and nephews is a magnificent sweet table. Long buffets were laden with lemon squares, sponge cakes, cupcakes, chocolate dipped Oreo cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, caramel apples, and a colorful display of jars of penny candies.

While I chatted with my mom and dad, Nik and Shellie filled a bag with treats to take home. I thought we were good to go, but my sister jumped up and said, "You can't leave. We need to take a family photo!"

This time Nik's groan was audible, and I couldn't blame him. A photo of my immediate family entails a military style round up and positioning of no less than twenty-six people including the center of attention.

I sat in front of the backdrop as one by one, four generations of my family gathered around me. I know how important and miraculous the record of such an opportunity is.

What made this extra special was that I was unable to attend my niece, Lexi's, bas mitzvah a few years earlier. I'd have to look at a calendar to figure out what medical condition I was sick with, but I remember waiting until the last possible moment to make the decision whether I could go or not.

I felt so bad not being there for Lexi, but more for myself. And I can only imagine what my father felt when he was forced to miss Maddie's (Dee's firstborn) bas mitzvah, a few years prior to that. He was in the hospital, and there was talk of transporting him by ambulance to the synagogue, keeping him strapped to a gurney for the service, and transporting him back immediately after. It was just not possible.

After the last few, Hi Steve. Remember me's, and You look great's in the foyer, we made it into the car. "Not bad," I said glancing at the dashboard clock. "We started heading out at one-thirty, I was shooting for two, and it's now a quarter to three."

"Jewish time," remarked my wife.

The ride was uneventful and we were all glad to be home. We greeted the cats and got me settled into bed. I opened my email, and there was a message from my local Pastor. I had sent her the link to my Passover/Easter blog, and she wanted my permission to use it in church. I told her I'd be honored.

I commented to my wife, "Today I was at my niece's bas mitzvah; I'm editing an inspirational story for a friend from my writers group; Tuesday I have an in-home visit with the Pastor who is using my thoughts in her Easter message to the congregation; Wednesday I have a Bible study group that I was invited to join, in spite of, or because of, my outspoken opinions; there's a Maundy Thursday service the next evening; Friday is the first night of Passover and the Seder at my sister's house; and Sunday is Easter that we'll be spending in church and with the grandkids."

And this does not even include our annual viewings of The Ten Commandments, Ben-Hur (what would Easter and Passover be without Charlton Heston?), The Greatest Story Ever Told, King of Kings, Godspell, and Jesus Christ Superstar.

I said, "I've got a richer spiritual life than the Pope."

I then said, "Would it be too egotistical to say that God's purpose for me is to bring His Word to humanity through my writing, that He chose the world's biggest Doubting Thomas to do so, and that in order to achieve His goal He crippled me? Which is doubly ironic because Jesus healed the lame."

"Yes," she said.

"Okay, maybe," I said, "but you've got to admit one thing - I look great."