Yesterday was quite eventful -- instead of me staying home and getting work done (which includes de-cluttering the house, which we'll be doing pretty much constantly until our guests come for Rachel's birthday) we went to the bar mitzvah of Jeremy Peterman, the son of my ballet buddy Melissa. Rachel wore the most adorable dress -- pink with white polka dots and flowers, white tights with silver bows on the them, and multicolored shoes. She was the youngest guest there and behaved herself exemplaririly (is that even a word)? She was quiet through much of the service, which was in Congregation Beth Israel's imposing, Byzantine-style synagogue (absolutely gorgeous). Drew arrived just in time to give her a Hello Kitty coloring book to amuse her while she cuddled on his lap.
I got weepy, even though I barely know Jeremy, because I was thinking that in 9 years, we'll be the ones up on the bima and listening to Rachel read her Haftarah portion and read a speech about how her portion connects to her everyday life (and for those who can't attend in person, the synagogue broadcasts live versions of services). The printed program gave a history of the synagogue and said that bar and bat mizvah kids read from a Torah rescued from Eastern Europe during the Holocaust. The symbolism is that "so our children's voices will never be silenced." I can only imagine what my feelings that day will be, listening Rachel read so beautifully (because of course she'll be the top student in her Hebrew school class, Drew and I just know it) and thinking if only...if only her great-grandparents were alive to see that their daughter survived the Holocaust, and then she had a daughter, and that daughter had a daughter, and the line continued, and in the end evil failed to triumph. And I hope I will feel my grandparents' spirit at the ceremony.
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