Alef: The NEXT Conversation

To Become an Adult

by Ally Iseman

I’m 25-years-old.

My Hebrew name is Aliza.

My trip to Israel changed my life and how I see myself as a person.

I identify strongly and passionately as a Jew.

I have never had a Bat Mitzvah.

I’ve always been a headstrong person. From a young age I was so stubborn that my parents constantly asked how my sister and I had become so spoiled — the cause certainly couldn’t have been their rather strict manner of bringing up two girls.

As many of my youthful demands were met with the requisite “no,” I began to get used to the idea that my needs, albeit influenced highly by my childish wants, were not worthy or valid of acceptance in my family. This is why, when it came time to start preparing for my Bat Mitzvah, I didn’t even mention the fact that I didn’t want to have one. Not have a Bat Mitzvah? Unheard of!

I was raised very Reform, only going to synagogue on the obligatory High Holy Days… or were they High Holidays? I had no idea. We never kept Shabbat at home, though I have a faint recollection of a few glorious oneg dessert buffets. “Kosher,” “Havdalah,” and “Jewish community” were words alien to my vocabulary and not familiar to my ears. My Jewish life consisted of being forced to go to intermittent services throughout the year and to Hebrew School every Saturday at Temple Beth Ami. No one ever explained to me why I should be moved, touched, or inspired by the confusing muddle of Hebrew words our congregation sang mindlessly, in painful harmony. No one explained why I was memorizing – note: memorizing; not learning, understanding or exploring – these prayers in Saturday school. No one told us about the intricacies of life laced into every letter of each word, the importance of carrying on the traditions of the Jewish people, my people. It was just that: Tradition. You just do it. You do it because someone says so, because we’re supposed to.

That sort of reasoning for how to live never flew with me and still doesn’t, but these days I’m far more keyed-in to my own Jewish experience than I was back then.

I started working on my Torah portion, attempting to memorize Hebrew transliteration and having weekly meetings with my Saturday School teacher to make sure that the memorization was coming along. It wasn’t. Each week I made the same progress – none. Everyone figured I was just slow and all would work out by the time the big day arrived. Party preparations continued, decorations were bought, invitations ordered. All the while I sat in quiet discomfort and growing horror as the day drew nearer.

Finally within a month of my intended Bat Mitzvah, my teacher came to an important realization – I was not just a child slow to learning, but something more important was going on. She called in my parents for a serious discussion about why I wasn’t being a good Jewish girl. All eyes and ears were on me. Why wasn’t I picking this up? What was distracting me? Why couldn’t I just focus and learn the words?

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “My heart’s not in it!” I blurted out. “I don’t know what this is all for, it doesn’t feel right,” the words kept coming. I continued to explain to my parents that I knew deep down this experience was supposed to mean something, but all I felt was hollow. I didn’t want to say a bunch of words that didn’t mean anything to me. It was the most honest I had ever been with myself and with my parents.

Needless to say it wasn’t the response they had anticipated. They had expected a childishly simple, stubborn refusal, but had been met with a theologically distraught preteen, deeply in-touch with her sense of spirituality, at least more so than you would expect of a 12-year-old. They recognized my plight and to my surprise, allowed me to make the decision to not go through with my Bat Mitzvah. That it was even an option – despite the already-purchased goods, the many catering meetings behind us, and the fact that everyone else in my class was going to have their moment on the bimah – empowered me in a way I had never felt before. I made my decision. I was valid. I was an adult.

Who’s to say I didn’t have my Bat Mitzvah in that very moment? I sure felt like a Jewish adult after that day.

Read more posts from Issue #13: Bar Mitzvah Season.

Photo by Chajm, licensed under Creative Commons.

Tags: bat mitzvah, coming of age, conversation, jew, jewish

Posted by Emily.Comisar@birthrightisraelnext.org, Thursday, May 6th, 2010, 7:43 am, Bar Mitzvah Season.