"Beep! Beep!" shrieked the alarm clock,
annoyingly reminding Samara that it was five thirty in the wee morning of her
twelfth birthday. Time had expired with the day of reckoning resting upon her.
No longer able to idly sit by as an innocent bystander and watch time creep
slowly by, Samara was keenly aware that the silence floating ethereally through
her family home, illuminated by the pearly glow of the moon, would be
shattered by her explosive birthday plans. Samara had been waging a
calculated yet failing war against her parents’ efforts to thrust a Bat Mitzvah
upon her. D-Day, as her seventh rescheduled Bat Mitzvah date, was seven months
away, narrowing the field of time during which she could succeed in kiboshing
the dreaded event. It was not that Samara did not want to be Jewish, but
rather she did not believe in god or religious rituals. Rather, she wanted to
go to public school, eat pork and date whomever she pleased, not things in
which her modern orthodox parents believed.
Despite her failures in having the celebration
cancelled, Samara’s creative imagination had proven to be her most competent
ally in her rebellion against the rite of passage. During her eleventh year of
life, Samara mounted several battle campaigns. First, she faked laryngitis at
her Bat Mitzvah preparation classes. Then, she redacted her Torah portion in
her notebook redacting all text claiming that the C.I.A. advised her to tell
the Rabbi that it contained top secret information and there was no way she
could recite it in public. When those efforts resulted in little more than
verbal admonishments from her teacher, Rabbi, principal and parents, Samara
upped the ante: she ordered Hawaiian pizza with ham to the principal's office on
Teacher Appreciation Day, skipped out of gym class to plaster the school's
walls and lockers with "Jesus Saves" bumper stickers, and organized
having Father McCreedie from the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and Imam Hosseini
from Mosque of the Golden Dome preside over the Bat Mitzvah as a peace
initiative. Finally, when her parents went on vacation for six weeks to Europe,
Samara cancelled the date of her Bat Mitzvah evincing Newton's Third Law of
Motion, which resulted in her expulsion from her Hebrew day school. Samara's
twelfth birthday also marked her first day at a new Hebrew school, which
obligingly admitted her after much begging and pleading on her parents’ part.
At seven o'clock in the morning, Samara's parents descended
upon the kitchen after realizing that their daughter had fled the house, so as to
avoid their well-rehearsed "be on your best behaviour" speech, but
left behind a seemingly lovingly made quiche for their kosher breakfast. Both
of her parents tucked into the meal with vigour ravenous from a night of
fasting in observance of one of the many Jewish holidays Samara tried to
ignore. Her parents ate more than half of the food their daughter had left for
them before taking notice of an envelope addressed to them in Samara’s
handwriting. After neatly wiping her mouth, Samara's mother put down her fork,
opened the envelope and turned green upon reading the letter. Samara had spiked
the quiche with lobster and prosciutto, the taste of which was cleverly masked
by the sweet siren call of sugar. For good measure, the offensive quiche was
served on the dishes reserved for milk-based foods. Samara’s parents, ever the
pious people, chose to believe that the incident was not a sign of what was to
come that day.
"Class, please welcome Samara to Jewish Hebrew
Day Academy," the teacher instructed. "Not only is she new to our
class, but today is her twelfth birthday and marks the year of her Bat Mitzvah.
Samara, are you excited to be standing at the precipice of womanhood?"
"I'm as excited to be bat mitzvahed as I
was when I got my period during swim class and aptly renamed Jaws as a
result," Samara stated deadpan to classroom laughter. Her teacher clearly
was not impressed.
"Since you've joined us in the midst of your
Bat Mitzvah preparation, you will have to update us on what you've done to date
to prepare for your big day. Also, since you have joined us on a Friday, your
parents were told that you would be responsible to lead our school's
mini-Shabbat service today and provide Shabbat lunch at lunchtime. Did you make
the necessary preparations?"
"Everything is good to go," Samara sang
sweetly.
"Now, please come to the front of the class to
tell us everything about your Bat Mitzvah," the teacher instructed.
Samara strolled to the front of the class prepared
to launch Operation Shock and Awe.
“For my good deed project, or mitzvah project as you
call it, I planted 18 trees in Israel in the name of the first synagogue where
my Bat Mitzvah was supposed to take place,” Samara began.
“What do you mean, ‘where it was supposed to take
place?” the teacher asked.
“My first date was cancelled,” Samara advised.
“That’s a wonderful good deed,” said the teacher,
“but why would the synagogue cancel your date?”
“I planted the trees in the synagogue’s name in
honour of Mahmoud Ahmadinejad,” Samara stated to a snickering class.
“Class, stop laughing at once!” the teacher ordered.
“A cancelled Bat Mitzvah is no a laughing matter. Samara, perhaps they simply
did not understand your attempt to endorse peace between Iran and Israel.
Please tell us about your charity project. I understand that you chose to raise
funds at a Jewish National Fund dinner?”
“That’s right. It was a fantastic night. The
fundraiser was being held at the new synagogue where my second Bat Mitzvah date
was scheduled. The synagogue’s ballroom was staged to look like a 1950s glamorous
Hollywood party. The goal of the night was to raise money for Israel’s army
through the sale of war bonds. All of the Bat Mitzvah girls were dressed up as
‘cigarette’ sales girls, but instead of cigarettes, war bonds were the goods
being sold,” Samara explained.
“How much money did you raise that night?” a
classmate inquired.
“None,” Samara replied.
“That’s too bad,” said the teacher. “Did the other
Bat Mitzvah girls have similar trouble selling bonds?”
“Not at all! I think they raised a combined total of
twenty thousand bucks,” Samara explained.
“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t anyone buy Israeli
war bonds from you?” the teacher asked.
“I was selling Hamas war bonds,” Samara stated.
The bell rang announcing the commencement of Shabbat
services. Samara ran out of the class with the throng of girls and boys racing
for the sanctuary before the teacher could say another word.
Samara recruited two of her new classmates, who had
enjoyed her morning comedy routine, to hand out programs for the liturgical
services. Samara took her place next to Rabbi Dorkin who introduced Samara and
gave her the podium to commence the prayer session. Before the students could
open their prayer programs, dancing Christmas elves burst down the sanctuary’s
aisles and on to the stage accompanying a singing Samara:
"On the first day of Chanukah, my Rabbi gave to
me, a nose job to sound less jappy.”
“On the second day of Chanukah, my Rabbi gave to me,
two diamond studs, and a nose job to sound less jappy.”
Rabbi Dorkin, Samara’s teacher and the principal
promptly rushed to the podium putting an end to the heretical performance.
After the roaring laughter of the student body died down, traditional services
resumed. Samara received a stern post-services warning not to pull any more
stunts by the principal and ordered to return to class. Upon her return to
class, Samara was greeted by the sweet smell emanating from the box marked with
the “COR” kosher symbol sitting on her teachers desk containing the Shabbat
lunch she had ordered.
“This food smells delicious,” the teacher offered
kindly, as Samara handed out the meals, hoping that there would be no more
hijinx. After a customary blessing on the food sung by the entire class,
everyone began to eat.
“The food is amazing!” the teacher remarked.
“We’ve never eaten something so yummy for Shabbat at
school before,” a classmate announced.
“I’m so glad that you like the food!” Samara
exclaimed. “I was worried you wouldn’t enjoy it.”
“Not enjoy it? I don’t think I put my fork down once
to inhale,” the teacher exclaimed showing Samara her empty plate.
“Milky way sweet pulled pork is the best!” Samara
stated.
“What did you just say?” the teacher asked.
“I said that Milky Way sweet pulled pork is the
best,” Samara retorted with a snarky smile.
“You fed us pork?” the teacher shrieked. “CLASS,
STOP EATING AT ONCE AND SPIT OUT WHAT’S IN YOUR MOUTH! How could you serve pork
in a kosher Jewish school? And, mixed with milk no less?”
“It’s not really mixing milk and meat since Jews
don't consider pork to be edible meat,” Samara replied.
“Go to the principal’s office at once!” the
teacher screamed. “Everyone else, run to the washrooms to wash out your mouths
and then come back immediately so we can pray this sin away!”
After a second stern meeting with a very
disappointed, but forgiving principal, Samara was instructed to go to her Bat
Mitzvah prep class with Rabbi Dorkin.
“Samara, I understand that you have reservations
about having a Bat Mitzvah and religion generally, but this is really a
beautiful tradition that celebrates you as a woman and your place in the Jewish
community,” Rabbi Dorkin offered. “I believe you are performing Parashat Ki
Thetze, but that you are sharing it with a few other girls, so you only had to
write an essay on the part you are responsible for. Why don’t you read me your
essay?”
“God is a misogynist. My part of the Torah portion
talks about how a Jewish man is a caveman who can club any woman he wants over
the head, force her to become his wife, be naked, become ugly so no other man
would want her and basically be owned by the man who dragged her from her
homeland. And, when the man has used up the woman for all that she is worth to
him, basically for sex and to be a baby-making oven, he can toss her away like
garbage because she is too insignificant to be his servant. Last, the woman
cannot be sold for money because that would be wrong and offensive,” Samara read.
“How can you take the words of the Lord in vain like
that?” Rabbi Dorkin raged.
“I call it like I see it. Take a look at the English
translation of what I have to read at my sanctimonious Bat Mitzvah. How can you
expect me, as a girl becoming a woman, to simply accept this wonderful place I
hold within the Jewish religion?” Samara replied as she passed the translation
to Rabbi Dorkin that she had received from her last school. The translation
stated:
“10. If you go out to war against your enemies, and the Lord, your God,
will deliver him into your hands, and you take his captives,
11. and you see among the captives a beautiful woman and you desire her,
you may take [her] for yourself as a wife.
12. You shall bring her into your home, and she shall shave her head and
let her nails grow.
13. And she shall remove the garment of her captivity from upon herself,
and stay in your house, and weep for her father and her mother for a full
month. After that, you may be intimate with her and possess her, and she will
be a wife for you.
14. And it will be, if you do not desire her, then you shall send her
away wherever she wishes, but you shall not sell her for money. You shall not
keep her as a servant, because you have afflicted her.”[i]
“I think you should go home,” Rabbi Dorkin solemnly
ordered after reviewing the Anglicized ancient text. Samara left without a word
triumphant and assured that she had set off just enough landmines to vanquish
her parents plan to impose their religious mores and way of life on her.
On her return home, Samara was met with the
defeated, blank and forlorn stares of her weary parents who were waiting for
her in the living room.
“We received two interesting voicemail
messages today. Can you please explain why I got a phone call from Father
O'Leery asking me to confirm that both dad and I are Catholic?” Samara’s mom
queried.
“Well, they need to make sure that you are not
trying to sneak in a non-Catholic before I can be enrolled at Our Daughter of
Futility,” Samara replied. “Just lie. It’s not like you’re a real Catholic, so
you can’t burn in their hell for lying.”
“I see,” her father stated shaking his head. “And,
what’s this we hear about Rabbi Dorkin quitting as your tenth Bat Mitzvah
teacher?”
“Don’t worry! I found a new, more secular
teacher, who respects my view of Judaism,” Samara replied. “He should be here
any second.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Standing in the
doorway was Don Gong, the Hebrew-speaking head-waiter from Shanghai Gardens,
her family’s favourite kosher Chinese restaurant.
"Shalom! Baruch hashem," Don Gong
stated. “I am new Bat Misva teacher. Want a spring roll?”
© 2012 Naomi Elana Zener.
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