My bat mitzvah speech

Note: It’s not the d’var Torah. I didn’t get a chance to do that one. I’d like to write it up and post it at a later date, because I have a lot to say about Chayyei Sarah. This is my speech from the end of the haftarah portion, before the Musaf service.

Before I say anything else, I just wanted to tell you there was a typo on the invitations. I’m turning forty this month, not fifty. I’m trying to work out the math so it wouldn’t make me seven years younger than my younger brother. Anyone who can help with that, see me after.

Five years ago, three things happened that completely changed the direction of my life. In the spring of 2002, my weblog changed from what was essentially a journal and links to other weblogs, to a place where I write about Jewish and Israeli issues. Five years ago, I had two hundred readers a day. Today, between three and five thousand readers check in at least once a day to find out what’s going on in Israel, and see how many different ways I can be outraged at the world’s bias against the Jewish state. My blog circle is now called the JBlogosphere, short for Jewish Blogosphere. People I have never physically met, or even spoken to on the phone, are counted among my friends. Some of them are here today, helping me celebrate this happy occasion.

The JBlogosphere is a wonderful place. For the past three and a half weeks, I’ve been tutored in my haftarah by a gentleman who blogs by the name of Elisson. I have never met Elisson. I’d only spoken to him once before on the phone, when he visited a mutual blogging friend. But when I put up a post on my weblog asking for help, he was one of the first to offer assistance. I am extremely grateful for his help, and fortunate to count Elisson as one of my blogging buddies. I would not have been able to chant my haftarah without Elisson’s help.

The second event in 2002 was my move to Richmond. I knew exactly one family then—the C’s—who are sitting here today. It was my visits to them that made me fall in love with Richmond enough to move here.

Sorena used to attend Richmond Montessori. It was a natural progression to check out the synagogue next door. That first Friday night, I was welcomed warmly, by Rabbi Shapiro and people like the B’s and the S’s. I struck up a friendship with one person in particular, who effected the third major change in my life that year. During one summer Oneg, Andy K. asked if I could read and write Hebrew. They were looking for teachers for the religious school, he told me. He introduced me to Robyn S., who practically dragged me over to Dan R., and the rest, as they say, is history.

I don’t write about my class much on my weblog. But I did write about that first day. Here’s an excerpt:

Round one goes to my students. I was not expecting to have more trouble from the girls than from the boys.

I will never allow honey in my classroom ever again. It got tracked onto the girls’ table and half a dozen books. I was still cleaning up honey after class was over. Then the kids got taken out for music and some time with the Rabbi to learn a few prayers. By the time that was over, I had thirty-five minutes left and had taught them, essentially, never run down the stairway to the classroom, don’t interrupt when someone else is speaking (that one didn’t take well at all), and, well, that was about it. Unless you count, “This one’s a sucker, let’s see what we can get away with around her.”

But I won the second battle. I had had enough. The last half-hour, those kids were mine. I got them to quiet down enough to be told by one “I don’t think you’re as nice a teacher as Mrs. S.”

Robyn S. was their third-grade teacher. That student is here today, but will remain anonymous. I have one more excerpt on that first day of school in September, 2002:

When did it become okay for kids to gripe about every single thing that happens in a classroom? They griped about the color of their folders, they griped about the sharpness or dullness of their pencils, they griped about how cold it was when we first entered the classroom—about the only thing they didn’t gripe about was the fact that it was Tuesday, and give them time, and they’ll probably gripe about that, too.

Sometimes, they do gripe about Tuesdays. But not so much. And I’ve learned to get folders of the same color. In fact, I’ve learned a lot of things from my students. Every year, they surprise me with what they know, and what they like to learn. Because children love to learn, and if you present them with things to learn in a fashion that they find interesting, amusing, or entertaining, they will absorb what you teach them and retain it forever. Some of my proudest moments as a teacher are hearing from parents that what I taught their child in Daled class was being used years later. Some of that credit belongs to Dan R., the former director of Education at [my synagogue], who set the curriculum that we teach today.

When people ask my what my job is, I say that I teach little Jews to become big Jews. It’s not the job that pays the rent—I have a nice new job that does that, thanks in part to two of my blog readers, Janet and Chris, who are also sitting here today. But teaching is my most important job.

I have come to love teaching almost as much as I love children. And that’s saying a lot, because I adore children. I like them from infancy through high school and beyond. You will more often find me at an Oneg or Kiddush talking to the young people than to their parents. It isn’t that I don’t like their parents. It’s just that kids tend to be more fun.

These three life-changing events that I mention are all tied into one overarching theme. I never really belonged to the Jewish community in New Jersey. I made several unsuccessful forays into Jewish life, and then pretty much gave up. But here in Richmond, I found my community, and my niche. Looking around, about twenty people in this room are friends and family from out of town. The rest of you are my fellow Congregants, who have welcomed me into your hearts and into your community.