The Day I Became A Woman

That sexy title was merely a deceptive ploy to launch my following into the 3-digits. We see how well that worked! ...I'm so sorry to let you down, dear reader. I hate to break it to you, but this is, in fact, a clean Jewish post. I promise to post the story you were expecting later. You'll have to keep following. It'll be worth it. Don't look so skeptical. Would I deceive you?

Ms. Anthropy tagged me to post a picture and tell the story. [She's the youngest, sweetest, sharpest sarcastic grandma blogger in the sphere.] With Passover looming, I pulled out my Bat Mitzvah album. As you can see, my parents were clearly intent on cutting costs. This lousy photography was probably done by Morty, my third cousin twice removed - for bad table manners during Passover and lousy photography at all the raucous Hanukah parties.

I know, look how tiny and little (and so darn cute, huh?) I am. Yet this is the day on which I became a Jewish woman. It was a couple of weeks short of my 13th birthday, a number of years short of puberty, and -well- I'll save mention of other time frames for later. I promise. Would I deceive you? [See above photo of cute, tiny, little girl with a blurry face. ]

Have you heard the saying, "Good things come in small packages?" I coined it. Those were my first words when Dr. Sayre cut the umbilical cord. The quote served me well for a number of decades, actually. Over time, though, some horrid things were packaged small, like car bombs, Anthrax, and Gary Coleman. I really regret this saying. But I was young and naive. I didn't know better.

Back to the pic, the Bar/Bat Mitzvah involves leading a service, chanting from the Torah, and - the worst part (I mean, the greatest honor)- holding the darn thing. I mean, embracing these beautiful sacred scrolls for a couple of days or seconds. Should said kid drop the Torah, oy gevalt! The entire congregation, in fact, must fast for 30 days. Can you imagine? Minor slippage amounts to sentencing your beloved spiritual network to a month-long fast. You can surely forget the huge stash of cash you did this all for. Let me stress that we're talking about a large group of Jews (those very people who've sacrificed everything, mind you, so you could make it to this glorious point in your otherwise meaningless existence, and "By the way, why aren't you married yet?") not being able to eat for a month because of you. Not a pretty concept. Not pretty at all.

On the positive note, after the ceremony, said kid gets to:

1) wait 8 years along with said kids' peers to buy alcohol;

2) wait 3 years along with said kids' peers to drive;

3) wait 12 years along with said kids' peers to rent a car; and - here's the bonus to tip the scales -

4) pray! Is said kid doing the happy horah dance now, or what?! Said kid can pray! (Certain key prayers must be recited by at least 10 adults. When said kid has had a Bar/Bat Mitzvah, said kid is said adult.)

One hurdle left, and the pressure was on. Not only did I have to hold it, I had to hold it for a long ass, I mean a righteously sacred tuchas duration. With my little but tenacious arms wrapped around that Baby, the two of us were doing just fine. Thank you very much! The audience and I were silent. Intensity pervaded the synagogue's 250 mile radius. All eyes glared anxiously at that Torah. Folks who had never prayed before began bargaining with the Almighty, Moses, Allah, Jesus, and Mr. Kotter. Family members started waging bets on the amount of time before the crash. Everyone held their breath. Their faces turned red. They crossed their fingers and toes, running out to nibble at their last bites of food for a month! I was doing just fine, people! I held tight. Still, I needed to play it safe. One does not take chances when it comes to Jews and food. That in mind, I gave the Torah just a wee little boost with my little right knee. At that moment, a loud burst of laughter filled the sanctuary. Apparently, they found this considerate, devout and well calculated maneuver rather humorous. Bastards! I mean, I shall not blame my beloved spiritual hungry community. The tension was lifted, as I boosted that Baby another half inch, still holding on for dear life. We made it through to the end, and we got to eat.

The summary of all Jewish holidays: They tried to kill us. We won. Let's eat! Happy almost Passover to my Jewish friends and those who love or like us okay.