The Bar/Bat Mitzvah involves leading a service, chanting from the Torah, and - the worst part (er, greatest honor)- holding the darn thing. Should said "new Jewish adult" 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 all this 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. 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. 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! But I was doing just fine, holding 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. Mazel Tov!
*Yiddish for derriere, butt, rear-end, or ass.