I had the wonderful privilege of celebrating my nephew’s Bar Mitzvah with him last weekend, and it was a ball. Oh sure, there were a few tense moments as I muddled through the Hebrew blessing during the actual service, but he did great, and after all, he was the one everyone was there to see, so no worries.
I love a good Bar Mitzvah. Extended family members and close family friends from all over the place come together to celebrate this milestone, and we do it with gusto. There are luncheons, dinners, and brunches thrown for these events, and of course there are parties.
My brother and his wife went through this wonderful celebration a little over a year ago with their daughter. They are pros by now. Their son’s events were every bit as enjoyable, but different and unique to him and his preferences. For example, the kid doesn’t eat real food. Somehow he has survived all these years on scrambled eggs, grilled cheese, white rice, and air. At the luncheon there was an entire table devoted to “his” foods, which proved to be surprisingly popular with many of the guests.
The big event, aside from the actual ceremony, was the evening party, and oh what a party! The kids started off in the ballroom of the venue, but we adults gathered in the lakeside bar to enjoy cocktails and a beautiful sunset. We joined the kids later for a fabulous dinner followed by dancing, and more cocktails. Open bar, you say? Yes, please.
There was traditional Jewish dancing, including a rousing Horah where my son joined the men in lifting celebrants high overhead as they sat in a chair. Even my mother was hoisted to the sky, gripping the chair for dear life! Then there was the real dancing. My sister-in-law is Puerto Rican, and the girl can dance! She does a smooth Salsa, and she’s managed to teach my brother. I have two left feet, but when they married they gave me a crash course, so I could dance at their wedding. Apparently my feet remembered, because when I was escorted onto the dance floor (by her equally smooth brother) I didn’t crush any toes.
I loved getting up to dance, it reminded me of my college years, when dancing was a part of every weekend party. Of course, as I said, I’m not a real dancer, but honestly nobody cares as long as you’re moving and having fun. My mother learned that long ago. She’s been doing the same little locomotive arm movements for as long as I can remember, but she loves to dance! I won’t reveal her age (because she would be mortified, as if people believe her when she says she’s 29) but she’s been dancing a long time. I want to get up and dance when I’m her age. I want to be invited to celebrations, and I want to shake it to whatever that generation’s Ke$ha and Pitt Bull have to offer. I owe it to my family and future generations.
This video is for weddings, but really, it’s the same thing.
BulgingButtons 