Last weekend, I attended a bat mitzvah just hours after a tragic attack claimed the lives of nearly a dozen Jews in Pittsburgh during a bris—a moment that should have been sacred. The memories of my sons’ brises are vivid: the pride, the fears of mishaps amidst this profound religious ceremony, and the warmth of family surrounding us, creating an atmosphere of love and tradition.
Every Jewish event resonates with the weight of our history, the echoes of countless joyous occasions that have come before. It’s unfathomable to me that a single, hateful individual could invade such a sacred space—a synagogue, a place I feel compelled to honor by dressing modestly—and commit such an atrocity. Yet, it happened.
As my partner and I watched the heartbreaking news about the attack, we were shielded from our four innocent children, grappling with the horror of it all. “Should we skip the bat mitzvah?” my husband asked, uncertainty in his voice. “Is it safe to go?”
“We must go,” I insisted. I not only wanted to support my dear friend’s daughter, who has faced her own share of challenges, but I also needed to be there for myself. The danger had been contained; how could we not attend?
On the cab ride to the celebration with my older twins, I felt it was time to discuss the tragic event. I had hoped to shield them longer, but the topic would inevitably arise during the havdalah service. While rain drummed on the cab roof, my son took a deep breath and asked, “Is something like that going to happen here in New York?”
“Let’s hope not, sweetheart,” I replied honestly.
During the ceremony, held in a beautifully adorned venue, I watched my friend’s daughter shine with confidence and joy. My tears flowed not only for her special day but also for the pain of recent events. I envisioned countless other bar and bat mitzvahs occurring simultaneously around the world, the sacred rituals connecting us all.
When it was time for the Mourner’s Kaddish, I fought to control my tears as I recited the prayer. My daughter, sensing my distress, reached for my hand, offering comfort. In that moment, I felt grateful to mourn alongside my community. I prayed silently for the victims’ families, the Pittsburgh community, and for all Jews worldwide. Singing the prayers and familiar blessings felt like a lifeline, a reminder of who we are.
After wiping my tears and receiving a tissue from another mother seated behind me, I hugged my family close and moved toward the festivities. Before dinner began, the DJ invited all the kids to the dance floor, and despite my husband’s playful reminder that we were the only adults present, I joined in, dancing joyfully with my daughter and the children.
When the horah started, I found myself in the inner circle, hand in hand with loved ones, raising our arms as we celebrated the bat mitzvah girl. Together, we sang, laughed, and embraced the moment—proof that our Jewish traditions would not be silenced by hate.
The experience reminded me of the strength of our community and the importance of love, compassion, and resilience. I felt honored to be part of this celebration, which would undoubtedly shape the young girl’s journey. No act of violence can sever our bonds or deter our spirit.
In the end, I left filled with gratitude for the night, celebrating the beauty of family, friendships, and the traditions that unite us. We must always remember.
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Summary
The author reflects on attending a bat mitzvah shortly after a tragic attack on Jews, emphasizing the importance of community, resilience, and celebrating traditions despite fear. The piece highlights the emotional journey of honoring sacred moments while confronting recent violence against the Jewish community.