So this past weekend, I attended my first bat mitzvah, which was for our very good friend Samantha.

Although I have had many Jewish friends and acquaintences, for whatever reason, I had yet to go to this kind of celebration, and I was looking forward to it, not only to help Sammy celebrate, but because I’m inherently curious, and really haven’t had much exposure to things Hebrew.

Disclaimer to all my Jewish friends: I apologize in advance for my ignorance, the inaccuracies and other unintended slights I may inadvertently make here regarding your faith. As most of you know, I’m not particularly well-versed when it comes to things religious. If I were smart, I’d stop writing now and go work on my next children’s book before I get myself in trouble, but as you already know, I’m s-m-r-t “smrt” … and we know how that goes. Besides, I’ve insulted the Jeebus folks plenty, and if anything, I’m an equal opportunity offender.

I should also acknowledge that in addition to my friends and general education, my knowledge of Judaism comes from a number of less-than-scholarly sources, such as “Seinfeld,” “The Nanny” and of course, Fiddler on the Roof—I know there’s a lot of tradition involved. Oh, and I also know that Hannukah is the festival of lights …

[Note: Right now, my wife is cringing and already formulating her apologies to every Jewish person she knows—don’t worry, honey! What could possibly go wrong with me writing about sensitive and personal subjects like faiths I don’t know much about?]

Anyway, backing up to traditions, I know that bat (and bar) mitzvahs are important events in the Jewish faith, a rite of passage where children “graduate” and become adult members of the religion, like confirmation for Catholics. Or as I put it in a “Wizards of Waverly Place” context for my 11-year-old son as we drive to the temple, “It’s sort of like Quincenara, but for Jewish girls.” I think that’s how Moses used to describe it.

At the suggestion of my friend Jason, Samantha’s father, we arrive after the Simcha (“joyous occasion,” according to the helpful bat mitzvah booklet the uninitiated) has already started so we miss a bit of the chants and singing that open the service. Over the next 2+ hours, I will come to learn that there’s lots of singing during a bat mitzvah, and by “lots” I mean it’s like an opera and the whole thing is pretty much sung. I suddenly am thankful on behalf of all my friends and family that I never had a bar mitzvah and they were all spared hours of my horrid warbling. By the same token, I’m thinking a recording of me singing the Torah (or anything, really) might be useful in police stand-off situations.

I also have to think that a sonorous singing voice is a must for a rabbi. Otherwise … oy!

Because of a scheduling conflict, it’s only me and Kade this morning, so before going into the sanctuary, we don our official commemorative Samantha bat mitzvah yarmulkes, which are purple. I notice a lot of purple, including the ties that Jason and Sammy’s uncle are wearing—I think it’s part of the theme, but I don’t know if it’s because Sammy likes purple or it’s a tradition. Still, it’s nice that everyone is color-coordinated.

As we enter the sanctuary and respectfully take seats in the back, I get nervous like I do any time I enter a house of worship. I want to think I haven’t said too much to anger Yahweh and we’re on okay terms, but I remember the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, and there’s an ark behind the altar where the Torah is kept. When they open it to take out the Torah there’s no lightning or crack of doom, so I assume it’s all good Shabbos between us.

I quickly try to get up to speed, but as you might expect, all the Hebrew writing looks like Greek to me. There are two different service/prayer books in the seats, but it takes me a few minutes to get used to the fact that because they are partially in Hebrew, they go from right to left and are for me, in effect, backward. (I wonder if dyslexics converting to Judaism have an easier time of it than most?)

Fortunately, the aforementioned guide booklet is a life-saver, and is terrific for explaining everything as we go. One thing that does catch my eye is that throughout the booklet, when referring to Yahweh, it says, “G-d” or “L-rd.” I understand that this is reverent part of Judaism and an important sign of respect, but will that really work with an omnipotent force? I mean, I have this vision of Yahweh sort of looking down, reading along: “G-d?! Is that supposed to be Gad? Gid? Who the heck is—oh! Wait just a sec ….”

Anyway, the bat mitzvah goes along well, and having been brought up and made to attend Catholic church, I’m impressed with how casual the rabbi and other adults participating in the service are. During a Catholic mass, generally no one is allowed to smile, chat or even really make eye contact; at various intervals during the bat mitzvah, official-looking worshippers are strolling the aisles, smiling, nodding, joking and conversing with fellow worshippers. I also find it interesting when it comes time to read the Torah—which is broken down into seven separate readings—Samantha sits to the side of the altar, and each person who is readying to sing a reading (think of it as being “on deck” in baseball terms), goes up, sits next to her and chats with her until its their turn. So friendly!

Finally, it’s Samantha’s turn to do the Haftarah reading, which seems to me to be the toughest part of the service where she has to sing the whole thing in Hebrew. She has a beautiful voice, which only underscores that Judaism might not be the best fit for me if I were ever to suddenly embrace an organized religion. I also can see she is very nervous—since getting up and singing in front of a large crowd seems like a nightmare to me, I’m probably more nervous for her than she actually is!

Anyway, the rest of the bat mitzvah goes well—at one point, Jason and his wife Susan read a short speech dedicated to their daughter and I officially get verklempt. (Talk amongst yourself—being passive aggressive is not really all that passive. Discuss.)

As the service winds down, I notice in the booklet it says that there is a custom that the person being bat mitzvahed (?) is “showered with sweets” “as a symbolic wish that she enjoys a sweet life.” I think is a metaphor until I see a number of people going around with baskets of candy distributing it to those in attendance. Again, I don’t really think everyone is going to throw candy … until the point when Samantha stands alone in the middle of the altar and everyone starts pelting her with candy, sort of like the audience participation in “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” (No toast, though.)

To me, this is a big improvement over those stale wafers at Catholic masses, although I tend to think this sweets thing isn’t an every service happening. Still, it’s food for thought … so to speak.

The bat mitzvah draws to a close and there is much mazel tovving. Unfortunately, we can’t stay to nosh as I have to get my son to his karate test class, but we thank Jason and Susan for inviting us, and make our way over to congratulate Samantha. She’s surrounded by her friends and looking very happy and relieved to finally be “an adult.”

I’m happy for her, and for myself for the fact that I did nothing to embarrass myself in this situation. You know, until writing about it all now.

Mazel tov, my chavers!