honey and sting

Last week I flew to New Jersey to attend the bat mizvah of my cousin's daughter. I found it unexpectedly moving -- many of these events have devolved into vapid, overdone, way-too-much-money-involved rituals of excess and cacophony, with precious little of the original meaning and intent in evidence. Not so last week in New Jersey. The bat mitzvah girl, Yasmine, literally flowered from little girl to woman in front of our eyes. I'm told she had been frozen with fear in the months approaching the event, and had barely managed to learn 3 lines of her haftorah, the portion of the reading, in Hebrew, that she was to chant in front of the congregation. By the time I and the other guests arrived, to unseasonably warm March weather, there was none of this to be seen. Yasmine was poised, confidant, capable, and lovely. She led the service, chanted blessings and readings, and ducked when candy was thrown at her (yes, it is part of the ritual *s*). Her mother, my cousin, spoke movingly of the connection between the haftorah and what her daughter had gone through: she interpreted the description of the eternal enemy, Amalek, whose "name is to be blotted out" as the internal enemy of fear, and beautifully described how Yasmine had defeated her own personal Amalek. At the party, later in the day, Yasmine danced, like princess, like queen. She danced with anyone and everyone -- drawing in the shyest of the participants, showering everyone in the grace of her radiance and joy. The band alternated western style and Persian music for her father's side of the family, and the dancing blended seamlessly between one and another. A community came together to welcome this child into her womanly beauty and responsibility.

Yasmine is only 12. She has many years to go to become an "adult" as we understand it. But last week, in Fairlawn, I saw her come fully into her own, and it was a blessing on all of us who witnessed it.