Superpowers

Toby with one of his little buddies at Pastures.

Weeks before Toby's Bar Mitzvah, I began to ponder what I would say to him during the "parents' speech" moment in the service. You see, after the prayers and blessings and passing of the Torah through the generations, after the sermon and the Torah reading and the blessing from the rabbi, there comes a moment when everyone pulls out a hankie and the parents of the Bar or Bat Mitzvah march up to the podium to speak about their beloved child. I have rarely heard a parent not say something eloquent. I am almost always moved by their tender reminiscences, their insights into their child, and their quavering voices. It's a momentous occasion and calls for an exceptional speech. I wanted to do Toby proud.

Mark and I are good editors for each other. We've always weighed in on each others' writing. We also have a tendency to say the same thing when we are working, separately, on a speech for a particular occasion. It happened when we both wrote eulogies for Mark's father's funeral. It's happened other times as well. So, when I asked him, "Have you thought about what you're going to say on Toby's Bar Mitzvah?" I shouldn't have been surprised when he suggested we write a speech together.

"We're just going to end up saying the same thing anyways. Let's just start off together," he said. And that seemed like an excellent idea.

Writing it was fun. We quickly got into a groove. I wrote a big chunk. He went in, edited and wrote some more. I went back in, edited and added more. He edited. We polished together. We practiced. We honed. We're a good team.

We kept it a secret. We knew all of our kids would be surprised by the theme. What we didn't expect was the response we would get from Toby, his brothers, our niece, and many, many friends and relatives. Toby said, "Wow." From Harry, "Why didn't you give that speech to me for my Bar Mitzvah?!" My niece, apparently, turned to her father and said, "Top that." (Her Bat Mitzvah is in April!) Over all, the reaction was: What a wonderful way to honor Toby.

That was our intent. It's a very satisfying thing to be able to say out loud, in front of hundreds, what you know about your child. It's also very satisfying to tell it to your child, in such a moment...standing on the threshold of young adulthood...time stops and you grab his attention.

This is what we said:

SUPERPOWERS

Susie:

     Toby, we are both so proud of you and what you have accomplished today. This year, preparing for this day has been an incredible journey. You worked incredibly hard, you never complained, you felt the weight of your responsibilities. You came at it with your typical sunny attitude. And you’ve shown us what perseverance, hard work, and practice, practice, perfect practice can accomplish. You’ve given us insights into the Torah and leadership. And you’ve led us in a beautiful Shabbat service. All major accomplishments. We’re so proud.

Mark:

     As much as this might be a moment, when you stand before us and we have your attention, to teach you something important that we know, to share with you some little life secrets that parents are the keepers of, before we send you on your way into adulthood, Toby, we have to say that what we want to tell you right now is that you have everything you need to know right there inside you. You were born knowing what to do to lead a full and rich and joyful life.

Susie:

     We were thinking we could talk right now about your leadership qualities, since that was your focus for your sermon. But, really, you already did a great job with that. However, being the third of three brothers, we think it’s really important for you to know how you stand out in the crowd. What makes you special, what makes you YOU. And, indeed, what qualities you have that will carry with you into your adult life. We believe you have some other strengths that we ALL can learn from.

Mark:

     But, we’ve decided to think of them as superpowers, because we both know how important superpowers are to you, and to your brothers, and to your friends. And really, we want to talk about your superpowers because we think you should know what they are.

 

Susie:

      1. The superpower of Golden-heartedness: Toby, I have always called you “my golden-hearted boy.” This, I think, is your greatest power. With it, you live in the world with almost-nonstop positivity. The words from the Torah that you put on your tallit, “Gimilut chasadim,” acts of loving kindness, is how you choose to live your life. You are cheerful and optimistic on the darkest days, the hardest moments. I can recall so many times your smile lit the room and made things easier for us and those around you. That is a gift, a superpower, to be certain. With your golden heart you see the best in people, you believe in them, you befriend them, and you enjoy them. You are tender with small children and loving with your elders. Toby, with your golden-hearted superpower you bring boundless amounts of good into the world. As far as we know, there’s no limit for this power. So, go out into the world and spread it around. The world really needs you.

Mark:

      2. The superpower of Voice: Several years ago we took you to the doctor to get your hearing checked. Why? Not because you didn’t respond when we talked to you, no, but because you talked so LOUD all the TIME! We thought, maybe you had a hearing deficit. Well, you were checked and the doctor said, “Nope…he’s just the littlest brother trying to be heard above the din!” Well, today we’re here to tell you: It’s another of your SUPERPOWERS. With your voice you speak up for yourself when needed, to share your ideas or when you aren’t being heard…which is too often when you live in a family of talkers and jokers and opinionated speakers. You also speak up for yourself in situations that might not be so easy, like when you feel you are being wronged, or someone you care about is. With this superpower you look out for yourself and your friends, you get your needs met. A really good example of this is that since you were a young boy (a young superboy) you have never been shy to speak up and ask for what you need in any situation, at a restaurant, or a store, at home, or at a friend’s home. You might have been shorter than the counter at the store, but that didn’t stop you from going forward and asking for help. There are people in this world, Toby, who don’t feel they have a voice, or a right to speak up for what they need. You can use your superpower to help them, to heal the world, and to make a difference. This is an amazing superpower of yours.

Susie:

     3. The superpower of Forgiveness: You forgive faster than anyone we know. Maybe it’s being the baby of the family. Maybe it’s just your nature. Or your superpower. But, your capacity for forgiveness means this: you don’t hang on to the bad stuff for long. You move on. You get over it. And in general have a very sunny view of the world. Forgiveness as a superpower puts you in league with Gandhi and Martin Luther King, Jr. It’s what they preached. It’s what they lived by. That’s not to say, the hurts and harms don’t sometimes get you down, but you don’t stay down for long. You have already taught us what these two men did to make a difference on the planet, what will you do with this superpower?

Mark:

     Before we close, we want to point out something else that comes with being a superhero, though we’re not sure if it is a superpower, per se. And this is, Always Wear A Costume! Superheroes know this. They’re all about their costumes. And you have always been all about your costume too. Hats, snuggies, ties, trenchcoats, you have quite an arsenal.  Since preschool, at your beloved Pastures, you have had definite ideas about what you wore, and chose outfits that were always uniquely you. We think it’s a definite sign…of superheroness.  But as you go on in life remember: no capes.

     What we really want to tell you is this: Take your superpowers out into the world with you. Bring your golden heart, your forgiving heart, and your voice wherever you go. Our family is oh so lucky to have you in it, the third beloved brother, the youngest son. The world is oh so lucky to have you in it.  The world is a better place because you are in it.  And we look forward to seeing you share your gifts with the world.

     We love you.  Always have, always will.

Bar Mitzvah

In a few hours my baby will become a man. Well, at least in the eyes of the Jewish community he will and today that's enough for me.

The Ancients were so right when they chose 13 as the threshold year. I saw it seven years ago with Harry. At 13 something really does shift. A seriousness, a bit more of an awareness of the weight of the world comes over them. Today marks that passage, the beginning of a shift out of the innocence of childhood.

(I must admit, I saw this happen with Ben much earlier, whether because of his nature or because of his life experience. He had decided, at 11, not to go through the Bar Mitzvah process and we supported that, feeling he'd already had his own rite of passage. But all that's another story for another day. Today is Toby's story.)

Toby has worked incredibly hard for this day. I remember several months ago when he and I first sat down at the computer to listen to his parsha, his Torah portion, chanted in Hebrew by the computer voice of "Trope Trainer." (And here's a plug for Trope Trainer: amazing way to learn your parsha! Five stars!) I read along with the musical notation and the Hebrew as the computer voice sang, "Vay'hi mi ma hora..." in its robotic twang. Toby's eyes got bigger and bigger. I remember thinking, "Oh gawd. This is huge. This is HUGE." I wondered if we'd started this process too early. "Why didn't we wait, give him more time? Is he ready for this?"

This is a rite of passage and since the beginning of my people's history, or at least early on, it was marked by this event: a boy of 13 standing at the front of his community, reading from the holy scrolls telling his people's story, leading them in the Sabbath prayers before God, learning and then carrying on the tradition of his father, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers, and going forth to be a responsible part of that community, that tribe. (In recent times girls have been given the opportunity to also hold that place, and that's called Bat Mitzvah.)

Today Toby will lead our Shabbat service, give the sermon based on the week's Torah portion (the same section being read by Jews in every synagogue on the planet), and read that portion from the Torah. This last part, is no doubt the hardest, as the Torah must be chanted, in a particular melody, and it is written in Hebrew with no vowels and no punctuation.

Toby has been working on the entire process for years, but specifically with tutoring and daily practice for months. That day we sat and listened to the computer program chanting his part to us, we both woke up. This is BIG. This is going to take hard work. I think we both gulped.

But he did it. He worked so hard, harder than he's ever worked on anything. He never complained, well rarely, anyways. I didn't have to cajole or bribe him. This was his work to do. And he came to it willingly with determination.

A month ago he was ready. He knew all the prayers, had his sermon down, and could chant his Torah portion perfectly.

"You could have your Bar Mitzvah tomorrow!" I told him.

"I'm not emotionally prepared," he said to me.

For days this week he's had trouble sleeping. Was so nervous he couldn't eat. He put my hand on his chest yesterday after he woke up to feel his pounding heart. Last night at Friday night services (in which he was to chant only two prayers) he told me he thought he was going to faint. But once he stepped onto the stage (called the bimah in Hebrew) and started to sing the first words in Hebrew, I could see he had confidence. I could see he was emotionally prepared.

And last night at 10 pm he came upstairs to say goodnight, happy, content, and so very calm. It was wonderful to see him back in himself again. And knowing he would have a good night's sleep, I was able to have one, too.

Today isn't just his big day, I might add. It's also a big day for each of us in our family. For me and Mark it's a love fest. Friends and family are coming from afar to witness this event. It is a rite of passage in an age when that has mostly been lost in our culture. For many of our friends this is their first time attending a Bar Mitzvah and they are excited to be there. Tribal rituals are fascinating, and moving, and so important. I feel so lucky that my tribe still has them.

For the grandmas (and aunts and uncles and cousins), there's, as they say in Yiddish: nachus, or kvelling, or good ole soul-stirring pride and joy. For the big brothers there's a certain awe in their little brother. He's big now. He's catching up.

It's truly an event as big or even bigger than a wedding, in some ways. Not just because there's a religious service and then a big party (actually two parties!), presents, and cake, and singing and dancing. It's big because it's about something that Mark and I created together: our family. When we got married, it was a blissful, amazing day, full of our best friends and family, speeches, hugs, dancing. But when Harry had his Bar Mitzvah over six years ago it was so much bigger. It was the friend pool we had grown as a couple and a family. Our family was bigger. Our community was bigger. Today it's even more so, because we're that much farther along in our lives together.

I almost forgot to mention that one thing making this day significant is that I will be officiating, as the cantorial soloist, or spiritual musical leader, at Toby's service. It's something I've done many times over the past year as our synagogue searched for a new "official" cantor. It's something I've really enjoyed doing. But, since we have a new cantor now, I hadn't planned to lead Toby's Bar Mitzvah. And then a few months ago he told me he wanted me to do it.

I declined. "But Cantor David has such a beautiful voice and he's so nice!"

"You have a beautiful voice, Mom," he told me. Did I mention how sweet this boy is?

"But, it's his job!" I protested.

"Why would you do it for other kids and not for me?" he asked, getting to the heart of the matter.

And a week later I was on the bimah (filling in for Cantor David who couldn't officiate at that Bat Mitzvah because his wife had just had a baby) and I looked at Toby sitting with his class and thought, "Yeah, why would I do this for another child and not for my own son?"

"Okay, I'll do it," I told him later that day. And he beamed.

So, today is our show. My youngest son's and mine. It'll really mostly be us up on the bimah, chanting, singing and marking a rite of passage in view of all our loved ones.

Here's to a blessed day!