Abby's Lucky Thirteen

  Our mother doesn’t have any brothers or sisters. For this I was grateful. Seventeen people was enough.

  Since our father’s family is a big one, Anna and I had never been as close to Grandfather David and Grandmother Ruth as we had been to Grandpa Morris and Gram Elsie. We’d been especially close to Grandpa and Gram because Grandpa had been sick the year before we’d moved. He’d had triple bypass heart surgery, which had been really scary. He was better now, though still a little weak.

  So we didn’t quite knock him over when we threw our arms around him and Gram to welcome them.

  I greeted everyone with hellos, then retreated to my room to worry about tomorrow.

  Gram and Grandmother Ruth and Mom went into the kitchen, talking a hundred miles a minute about everything, from the caterers (Mom was cooking a feast for Friday night before we went for Shabbat services, but she had hired caterers for the Bat Mitzvah celebration in our backyard on Saturday night), to the tent (we were going to have a big white tent set up over part of the backyard), to whether Grandpa should be allowed to eat brisket — was it bad for his heart?

  “Hey,” I whispered out of the side of my mouth as Anna and I retreated up the stairs. “Where are the presents?”

  “Abby! That’s not what this is all about,” Anna began, and then realized I was teasing her. It’s not like Anna to be slow to catch on to even my feeblest jokes, which just shows that both of us were nervous.

  “Let’s start getting dressed for tonight,” Anna suggested.

  “Check,” I said. I went to my room to wallow in nerves.

  I’d pulled out my best dress (one of my only dresses, actually, except for the new dress that I’d just bought for the Bat Mitzvah party) and I was struggling with stockings when a brisk knock on my bedroom door was followed by Kristy saying, “Hey. Good grief! What are you hiding out in here for?”

  “Don’t be shy. Come on in,” I replied. Kristy, of course, was already in my room, making herself at home.

  Mary Anne stopped in the door and said, “Oh — you’re getting dressed.”

  “Yeah.” I shimmied into stockings. (Why are those things so hard to get on, anyway?)

  Claudia appeared in the doorway. “You look very nice,” she said.

  “Your house is filling up with people,” Mary Anne commented.

  Sniffing the air, Claudia added, “And good smells.”

  “Mom’s been cooking for days,” I told her. “You should see the menu.”

  Just then Anna appeared in the doorway. “Hi, guys,” she said.

  Anna had on what she called one of her concert dresses: dark and plain, with little cap sleeves.

  “Elegant,” was Claudia’s comment, and I had to agree.

  As I finished getting ready, Kristy and Claudia told us about the show, Boo Hoo, Cassandra Clue, they’d seen that afternoon. And of course, Kristy brought me up to speed on the BSC meeting, which I’d missed.

  We were all laughing as we went downstairs.

  The house had filled up with people. I’d barely reached the bottom of the stairs before my uncle Mort had lifted me off the ground. “Is this my little girl?” he shouted. “Look at her!”

  Anna got the same treatment. I made faces at her over my uncle’s shoulder. But we didn’t mind. Uncle Mort and Aunt Esther are like that — enthusiastic. Even though they are our great-uncle and -aunt (our grandfather’s sister and brother-in-law) and so much older, they seem to have more energy than, for instance, my father’s brother-in-law, Saul. Uncle Saul is a lawyer, the kind of lawyer who never answers any question yes or no, and he frowns a lot and all his suits look exactly the same. Uncle Saul gave us all a dry handshake as I introduced my friends and explained that in honor of our Bat Mitzvah, they were donating free baby-sitting services for Shabbat.

  Aunt Judith, who is our father’s younger sister and is married to Uncle Saul, is nicer. She thanked Claudia, Kristy, and Mary Anne, and made a point of bringing over Sarah and Lillian, and introducing them. Although they weren’t going to the synagogue that night, they were all dressed up in matching dresses with wide sashes, and white stockings with little flat shoes, and wore big bows in their hair. Sarah at five was behaving with careful dignity in her special clothes. Lillian at four was just excited, hopping up and down.

  “We have to be very very careful not to spill,” Sarah announced.

  Claudia said, “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure you don’t. And we’ll have lots of fun tonight.”

  As Claudia led Lillian and Sarah toward the dining room, Aunt Judith said, “They can get out of their clothes and into their pj’s once we leave. They’ll be going to sleep soon after that.”

  We had to eat early, and Mom had set up everything buffet-style. It reminded me of the Thanksgiving dinner we prepared for all our families at Kristy’s house, only not so big. But taking a cue from that dinner, Mom had set up a table in the dining room for the adults, and two smaller tables in the living room for the kids.

  We worked our way down the buffet line and it was a feast: chicken, kugel, roast potatoes, roast carrots, challah … everything but dessert.

  Dessert would come later, after synagogue.

  Anna and I tried to slide into the tables with Kristy and Mary Anne and Claudia and the seven kids. Everyone was hitting it off great. We didn’t really need three baby-sitters for seven kids, but it was easy to see that Kristy and Mary Anne and Claudia were having a fine time. Claudia was sitting with Lillian and Sarah and Jean’s oldest daughter, Amy, who was also five and super adorable. Kristy was making a game out of putting Jonathan in his high chair. In honor of the occasion, Jonathan had on a long-sleeved shirt with a bow tie design at the neck. Mary Anne, Jonathan’s brother, Aaron, his sister, Bette, and Amy’s three-going-on-four sister, Sheila, were all giggling about something. Aaron was dressed like a little adult, very cute in a suit with short pants. Bette wore a shiny skirt with a ruffle around the hem, and Sheila was wearing a pink dress with big white buttons down the front.

  And of course, my friends had dressed up in their “good” baby-sitting clothes: Kristy had on cords instead of jeans, and was wearing a nice sweater over a button-down shirt. Mary Anne had on a pale yellow wool skirt, dark tights, a plaid vest, and a turtleneck sweater. Claudia had gone all out in a long skirt, lace socks peeking out above her black Doc Martens, and a tunic top with a belt she’d made herself out of twists of lace and a silver buckle. She wore her hair in a single braid tied with a piece of lace, and her earrings were silver snowflakes. Awesome as usual.

  Who wouldn’t want to sit with such an impressive-looking group?

  But it was not to be. Grandma Ruth caught Anna and me and steered us gently back to the adult table.

  “Tomorrow you take up your responsibilities as adults,” she reminded us. “Tonight, you practice with us.”

  Anna and I sat.

  It was fun. Our family hadn’t been together like that for years. Not since Eli’s Bar Mitzvah, I thought. Or was it when Micah and Janet had gotten married? No, before that. My father had been there, hadn’t he?

  Uncle Micah asked me a question about school and I got distracted, and before we knew it dinner was over. The evening passed quickly, like a dream. Soon all of the kids were asleep, tucked up in our bedrooms. We went to Friday night services and came home. Then Mom brought out Anna and Abby cakes for the guests, special desserts made in honor of our Bat Mitzvahs, like tiny, jewel-colored cupcakes with hard frosting. We ate the cakes and the grownups toasted us with wine and coffee and we drank soda and talked and talked and talked.

  I watched my friends and family and felt proud. Shy Mary Anne was doing just fine with my cousin Jean, talking about Amy and Sheila. Kristy, used to large family gatherings, was moving confidently around the room from one conversation to another. Claudia had taken off her belt and I could tell by the gestures of her hand that she was explaining to my aunt Esther and uncle Mort how she’d made it. And I could tell they were impressed.

  A hand
touched my shoulder and I turned to see Gram Elsie. Gram Elsie wears her hair short, just like my mother, but it is silver gray. Her eyes are so dark they almost seem black. And she is tiny. It is funny to watch her and Grandpa Morris, him towering above, his head bent slightly to one side, listening. Since he’s been sick he’s seemed stooped, smaller. But he’s still taller than Gram.

  “Hi,” I said. “I don’t think I’ll ever get to sleep tonight.”

  Gram slid her hand down my arm to pat my hand. “You will, dear.”

  “I wish tonight could go on forever,” I said impulsively. “Everyone together for always.”

  Gram patted my hand again. She looked both happy and sad. “It will,” she assured me. “In your heart, you’ll always remember.”

  A general movement had started toward the door. I joined my friends, my sister, and my mother in putting away Anna and Abby cakes for the children to have later, maybe with breakfast in the morning.

  We hugged and kissed Gram and Grandpa, and Grandmother Ruth and Grandfather David, and went reluctantly up to bed. We left them downstairs, putting away dishes and laughing and talking.

  I heard someone say my father’s name, and a short silence. And then Grandfather David said, “Remember when he …”

  And I heard my mother’s laughter as Grandfather David finished talking.

  Anna and I looked at each other and smiled.

  “See you in the morning,” I said.

  And I went to bed and to my amazement, fell asleep almost instantly.

  I was nervous, nervous, nervous. So was Anna. Neither of us could eat breakfast. It was hard even to make coherent conversation with our grandparents.

  We arrived at the synagogue early the next day and sat in the front row. Our relatives filed in behind us, along with other members of the congregation. Near the back, all in their BSC best, I saw my friends. Kristy gave me a thumbs-up signal, which might have made me smile if I hadn’t been so nervous.

  Then Rabbi Dorman began the service.

  I don’t remember much of it. It seemed to go by so quickly — and so slowly. I do recall the rabbi announcing our Bat Mitzvah. I remember folding and unfolding the piece of paper with my speech notes. Anna was clutching a piece of paper, too, but without moving. I recall the opening blessing. I remember standing up for the opening prayer.

  Then suddenly it was time for the reading of the Torah. Rabbi Dorman turned and removed it from the Ark. The Ark is a special place where the Torah is kept. He brought out the Torah, which is written on a scroll of parchment, and handed it to Anna. Then I uncovered it and together we unrolled it reverently. The rabbi had told us that removing the Torah from the Ark symbolizes many things. And that when he handed the Torah to us, that was also symbolic. Anna and I were taking the laws of our people into our hands and becoming responsible for upholding them.

  My sister and I joined the rabbi and the cantor. I don’t remember how we got there. I listened to Anna chant. She seemed so clear and calm.

  Then it was my turn to read from the Torah. I stepped up to where the Torah lay open, picked up the pointer to help me follow the text (the Torah is not supposed to be touched), and looked down. For a moment, I panicked. The symbols meant nothing. I was going to fail.

  I looked out.

  My family. All my family. I felt Anna’s shoulder against mine.

  I took a deep breath and began.

  My voice didn’t soar. But the words, so familiar now, with their familiar meanings, steadied me. The more I read, the more confident and calm I felt. I felt myself becoming part of the tradition, like my mother and father before me, my grandfathers before that. I paused and looked up and saw my grandmothers, nodding and smiling, and saw, too, the glisten of tears in Gram Elsie’s eyes. My voice grew stronger. I was still shaky, but I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  After that, the Haftarah went really well. But there was still the sermon.

  That’s when Anne surprised me. She read a few lines from her Haftarah portion, then paused and said, “I was going to talk about my Torah portion. But I am not as good with words as I am with music. So, I’m going to let my music speak for me now.”

  She glanced at Rabbi Dorman, who nodded and smiled. Then she reached down beneath the podium and brought out her violin case. Lifting out the violin, she began to play.

  It began simply and spread out, a shimmering shawl of sound. Then it drew back again, softer and softer. And then it was gone.

  I was amazed. I had never heard my sister play like that before.

  She put her violin down. Rabbi Dorman put one hand on my sister’s shoulder and with the other, handed her a book. He nodded and spoke in a low voice and they both smiled.

  I stepped forward. “Today I become an adult,” I began. “A daughter of the commandment. I join a long tradition that includes not only my mother and father, my sister, my grandparents, but Jews all over the world and throughout the ages. Today, all over the world, other people my age join in these same readings from the Torah, and consider what it means to become a daughter — or son — of the commandment.

  “In these past months of studying, I have learned my history, the history of my people. But it is my own history that I write with my actions. And I have learned, in this past week especially, the importance of every decision, large and small. How important it is to make the right decision. The true and truthful one.”

  I went on to talk, in general terms, about what had happened in the past week. The words came easily as I spoke, because I understood at last what I wanted to say and how to say it.

  When I had finished, the rabbi said softly, “Well done, Abigail.” He handed me a book, too, and I stroked the soft leather cover of it. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  I looked out. My mother was smiling. Gram’s eyes had welled up with tears and she was touching her handkerchief to her eyes. In fact, all our grandparents looked teary-eyed.

  But not me. I was proud and pleased and relieved and full of joy. The joy grew and grew in me as Rabbi Dorman stepped forward to speak.

  He welcomed everyone to the Bat Mitzvah and to the synagogue. He continued, “And we welcome into our congregation two fine young women.” He spoke of the passages we’d read from the Torah and their meaning to our lives and the lives of the Jewish community everywhere. He also said some nice things about us that made us giggle, but also made us feel good.

  When he had finished he looked at each of us and used our Hebrew names. “Hannah and Avigail, terrific job. Your family, your friends, your congregation, and I are very proud of you. And you should be very proud of yourselves.”

  * * *

  During the day, before our Bat Mitzvah party began, I opened some of the presents. Bonds for college from Aunt Judith and Uncle Saul and from Cousin Jean. A gold bracelet from Gram and Grandpa. Real, immediately spendable money from Aunt Esther and Uncle Mort. Pearl earrings from Cousin Micah and Cousin Janet. And a watch from Grandmother Ruth and Grandfather David.

  Rabbi Dorman had given us each a book called The Sabbath and Festival Prayer Book, with an inscription. In mine he had written:

  I really, really liked that. Then I remembered when I was little and my father told me what my Hebrew name meant. It means “father’s light — his joy.”

  The most amazing gift of all was diamonds. Mom had taken her diamond earrings that Dad had given her and had each one set into a pendant on a gold chain.

  I was speechless. Amazed. I hung the chain around my neck and felt the pendant rest against the pulse in my throat. Something from Mom — and from Dad.

  And from the BSC? A gift certificate to the sporting goods store. A perfect gift.

  It was finally time for the party to begin. It was a feast. Anna and I had chosen a joint theme. Can you guess what it was?

  Soccer for me and music for Anna. Papier-mâché soccer balls and violins with purple balloons decorating every table. The large tent in our backyard looked amazing. At one end there was a colorful goal post hung with
streamers. At the other end was a giant papier mâché violin, decorated with glitter. The napkins and tablecloths, some decorated with a sports motif and some with a musical one, were intermingled on the tables. Musical notes and soccer balls decorated the walls.

  The dancing began right away while the DJ spun an interesting mix of traditional and nontraditional music. (With a lot of my favorite, Aretha Franklin, thrown in by special request.) I was dancing with my little cousin Aaron (actually we were both sort of hopping in place, and sometimes I was just swinging him around) when my grandpa Morris signaled the DJ. The next thing I knew, the whole room had swept into the Horah, a traditional circle dance at weddings and Bat and Bar Mitzvahs, with circles inside circles of people dancing in opposite directions. In the center, Anna and I were guided into chairs and lifted up and danced around.

  It was a little like having your own parade, only better.

  We got hugged a million times and said thank you a million times more, and yes, listened to all the embarrassing stories about our childhoods. The embarrassing stories (about flushing shoes down toilets and cutting our own hair and eating Play-Doh mixed with bananas) were an especially big hit with the little kids. But Claudia and Kristy and Stacey and Mary Anne and Logan and Shannon and Jessi and Mal were encouraging my aunts and uncles and grandparents, too.

  I decided to forgive them all.

  Then it was time to light the candles on the special cake: It was big and pink and as fancy as a wedding cake, with thirteen candles on it plus one for good luck. Anna and I had planned this part to be both serious and fun. As everyone grew quiet, Anna said, “The first candle is for our grandmothers, Grandmother Ruth —”

  “— and Gram Elsie,” I added. “We are happy they are able to celebrate our Bat Mitzvah with us.”

  “We’ll always remember sleepovers at Grandmother Ruth’s and her delicious chocolate brownies and, of course, her big bear hugs,” said Anna.

  “And we’ll never forget, Gram Elsie, that you didn’t punish us when we Magic Markered your living room walls. Thank you for your hilarious jokes and for loving us no matter what,” I said. “We would like you both to come up and help us light our first candle.”