The True Story of my Wild, Wacky, and Worrisome Bat Mitzvah

This is completely true and a great story to listen to. (Okay, not really completely true, I can't remember everything, but really, as long as it's good who cares?) The names of all the people are thinly disguised, so if any of my pals are reading it, I permit you to laugh. Anyway. The story.


If there's anyway to start this, it would be in second grade because that would be the first time I ever set foot in the synagogue I would forever remember as the place I wasted my Wednesday afternoons for five years.

It was unnaturally cold for a September afternoon, a brisk fall breeze scooting dead leaves across the blacktop parking lot which was oddly empty, if Rosh Hashanah was as big a Jewish holiday as Dad said so. My little sister Marina, who was in Kindergarten at the time, held my mom's hand while my hand was clasped in the large palm of my father.

We crossed the lot in quick steps, nearing the glass doors looking in on a foyer even emptier than the parking lot. We pusheed through into the foyer and looked around for any sign of life. "This doesn't look good," my mother intoned. She wasn't Jewish, but she still knew more than me. "No kidding," I said, already developing my killer sarcasm.

Dad let go of Marina's hand and looked for the administrative office. "Are you sure that today is Rashy Shanna?" Marina said. "Yes," I sighed, "and it's Rosh Hashanah, not Rashy Shanna."

Suddenly I heard voices: one my dad's, and two I didn't recognize. Mom, Marina, and I wandered over to where the voices had come from. "...Hashanah service starts half an hour later." I caught a snippet of the conversation. Mom and I walked into the office, but Marina held back. I gave her a look and pulled her arm.

I lokked around.. In the room was Dad, a curly haired lady, what I presumed was the curly haired lady's husband, and a girl of about one who intermittently emitted sharp, high-pitched screams.

The curly haired lady stood up and extended a hand for Mom to shake. "Good afternoon, she started, "my name is Rabbi Springer." Mom shook the rabbi's hand. "I'm the junior rabbi at this synagogue,so I won't work here next year." Shame. She seemed nice.

Marina, who had been scanning the office, pointed to one of the shelves over the desk that the rabbi sat at. "What's that?" I followed her finger and saw her pointing at a china teapot and cream pitcher, all made to resemble Noah's ark.

Rabbi Springer lokked up and saw them. "Oh, those," shesmiled. "I have been trying to get rid of them for years now." She noticed Marina's expression. "Do you want them?" Without waiting for an answer, she reached p and gave the cream pitcher to Marina and the teapot to me.

Mom nudged me. "ThankyouRabbiSpringer!" Marina and I shouted out in unison. Mom then proceeded to take them from us. "just so you don't lose them," she muttered. Frankly, I have no idea how you could lose something like that in an office this small.

I bent down to Marina's ear and whispered, "If I'm right, we came here thirty minutes early." She whispered back, "How long is that going to be?" I grimaced and muttered, "A while." So we waited. And waited.

Finally the foyer started to fill up with people and the loud noise of their conversations, so we exited the office and joined the throng of people entering what they called the sanctuary. It was a large twelve-sided room, and green was obviously the color theme. I walked up the green carpet, picked up a green prayerbook, and sat in a green-cusioned seat next to Dad.

Rabbi Srpinger and another rabbi, Rabbi Bodowski, took the podium and started with an opening speech. "Welcome to the new year. At this time we find ourselves blah blah blah. Blah blahblahblah, blah blah blah." Bo-ring.

Dad signaled at me to open the prayerbook, but it was full of scribbles I couldn't understand (yes, I can read, but I'm talking about Hebrew. It's a completely different language.)

I heard the rabbi say, "We open today with Mah Tovu." What? I wondered to myself. The rest of the congregation, though, started singing words I couldn't understand. It went like this: "Ma tovu, ohalehah ya'acov, ohalehah ya'acov, mishkenotehah yisrael."

The singing went on for what seemed like hours, but then things got interesting when someone started to blow a ram's horn, but then it got boring again. You can only hear the sound of that blowing for a limited time before it gets annoying.

After the service was over, and we were strapped into the car and on the I-38, only then did I dare to ask the question. "Mommy, Daddy, why did we go to that place?" Mom glanced at Dad from the passenger seat. "I know we should have told you sooner, honey, but you and Marina have just been signed up for Hebrew School."

Though I didn't know it at the time, this "Hebrew School" would bore, amaze, surprise, teach, and give me the opportunity for the largest party of my life: The Bat Mitzvah.



This is only the beginning, there is much more to follow. I'm sorry if it got a little boring, the action starts around sixth grade and new dilemmas continue to unfold around me as I progress closer and closer to D-Day: March first. Laugh at my miserable antics while dancing! Roll on the floor as I describe the infamous Pancake Dilemma! etc. etc. Anyway, ttfn!

Keep writing,

EnsignRo

Hello, there! ^^ Thought I'd drop by before school.

My little sister, Marina, who was in Kindergarten at the time, held my mom's hand while my hand was clasped in the large palm of my father.

This doesn't look good," my mother intoned. She wasn't Jewish, but she still knew more than me. "No kidding," I said, already developing my killer sarcasm.

and

"Are you sure that today is Rashy Shanna?" Marina said. "Yes," I sighed, "and it's Rosh Hashanah, not Rashy Shanna."

I notice that you put two quotes spoken by different people in one paragraph. I suggest you split it up like so:

"This doesn't look good," my mother intoned. She wasn't Jewish, but she still knew more than me.

"No kidding," I said, already developing my killer sarcasm.

Suddenly I heard voices: one was my dad's, [s]and[/s] but the other two I didn't recognize.

I [s]lokked[/s] looked around..

One period.

"Good afternoon," she started, [period, not a comma] "[s]my[/s] My name is Rabbi Springer."

Rabbi Springer [s]lokked[/s] looked up and saw them. "Oh, those," she [insert space here] smiled.

Without waiting for an answer, she reached [s]p[/s] and gave the cream pitcher to Marina and the teapot to me.

"[s]just[/s] Just so you don't lose them," she muttered.

It was a large twelve-sided room, and green was obviously the color theme. I walked up the green carpet, picked up a green prayerbook, and sat in a [s]green-cusioned[/s] green-cushioned seat next to Dad

Good job here!

Rabbi Srpinger and another rabbi, Rabbi Bodowski, took the podium, and started with an opening speech.

[s]It went like this:[/s] [put lyrics in italics] "Ma tovu, ohalehah ya'acov, ohalehah ya'acov, mishkenotehah yisrael."

The singing went on for what seemed like hours, but then things got interesting when someone started to blow a ram's horn, but then it got boring again.

Rewrite this so you don't repeat 'but'.

After the service was over, and we were strapped into the car and on [s]the[/s] I-38, only then did I dare to ask the question. "Mommy, Daddy, why did we go to that place?"

Overall, very good. You right very. Kudos on that! I don't know much about Jewish stuff. I read a book about the Jewish religion once (it was an actual reading book) and I didn't like it. This, however, was pretty good. I liked reading it. You're a very good writer and I can't wait to read more!

Keep writing!

Jabber, the One and Only!

Hmm... very good.

Jabber Hut just pointed out just about everything technical about this post, except " "Good afternoon, she started, " needs a " after "afternoon". Also, i'm not positive, but sometimes you can have more than one person speaking in one paragraph. Not positive, though.

Anyway, very good.

This strikes me as something that would work better written as a personal essay instead of with action and dialogue, particularly with the way you opened the story, telling us that it all started with you going to the synagogue for the first time. Tell it the way you would if you were telling a new friend or someone who doesn't know anything about mitzvas. That will make it easier to educate people on the purpose of a mitzva and what the Torah is.

The paragraph when you opened the hebrew prayer book could use some restructuring. Nobody is going to just assume you can't read English. Tell us that you couldn't read it because it was in Hebrew, which you hadn't studied yet so it looked like nothing more than scribbles. Brackets have to be used very carefully.

In my experience, what writers put in them tend add-ons that you can do without but enhance the text. For example, in an article I wrote, I made a funny reference to The Pirates of the Carribean and in the brackets I put "thanks, Barbosa" In this case, we do need to know what you put in the brackets.

Anyway, I hope you post the rest of this. I read so few stories about Jewish people that have nothing to do with our unpleasant history. It's always a relief to see some that are just plain funny.