Leo Braham
It was a warm Saturday, around a-quarter-past noon. My dad and I walked through the parking lot, down the limestone steps, and into the social hall, a large space shaped like a hexagon with a high ceiling. The people who were attending Saturday services had lined up at the brunch buffet. Admittedly my focus was also trained on the buffet. My dad noticed the distraction and said, “Leo, how about we get some breakfast before we talk with the Ritual Director?”
When we finally met the Ritual Director, the first thing he said was, “Just call me Bill,” so Bill, my dad, and I spent almost an hour or so discussing my Bar Mitzvah, which was well over 2 years away. At this juncture, I was cautious and wasn’t sure if I wanted to have a Bar Mitzvah, let alone be able to learn all the prayers. But thank God that meeting happened because that meeting launched one of the most important, and significant journeys of my life.
Once I finally committed to having a Bar Mitzvah, all the preparation began: plans for a party were drawn, dates were set, relatives were alerted. It was around a year-and-a-half away when I had my first Hebrew school session. It was just me and about 5 girls. In the beginning, it was a little annoying because while Bill was trying to talk, everyone would talk over him, and no one would pay attention. After a few sessions, we started to see that Bill was a really fun teacher, and we started to respect him a lot more. A good example of this was around halfway through my first year. I had just finished havsaka (snack), I was crunching on some sun chips (cheddar of course) and entered the small wooden doorway into our classroom, with its wooden tables all squished together to make one large table. As I pulled out a chair, it made the horrendous screeching noise against the hard floor the 5 girls came in talking quite loudly and Bill saw and simply looked at them, and they immediately hushed and sat down. This was just one example of how our respect for him translated into better and more productive classes. As we improved, we started to get into more important material. Such as the rules around giving - or tzedakah and rules around being kosher.
After many sessions, and after we had all gotten to know each other very well, the whole dynamic changed after two boys named Josh and Andres joined our class. They were kind of rowdy and crazy, but admittedly that is a big reason why I liked them and why we became such good friends. But they too eventually settled down and the class continued as usual. From there, things only got better. As the year progressed we started learning more and more, and as a result, we all felt confident in our abilities to lead the congregation in prayer. We finished off our first year swinging and we were happy with what great strides we had all made, but as we soon learned, the home stretch can sometimes be the hardest part.
After what felt like a quick summer, we were back! The whole gang was still there no more, no less. The first class we had was great, and in the end, Bill told us to go down the hall and line up for our first Trope class. (Trope is like the punctuation for chanting. It tells you what way to chant and on which words. Trope pretty much served as a melodical guide for us.) We lined up awaiting Cantor Barbara who was finishing up with something inside when she was done, she told us to come in and sit around a small table with 4 seats. We started class by looking for our Torah portions in a book and chanting them like we normally would, without melody, all the while munching on crackers. The cracker was kind of sticky but I am pretty sure that was just the flavoring thing that was on them.
I can remember how most Trope classes went. I would start chanting and all I could hear was slow and methodical crunching, and the shifting of the crackers in the bowl when someone tries to get another handful. At first, Trope was confusing and made no sense, but I finally got the hang of it.
By February, my BM prep was in full swing, I even had Hebrew tutoring once each week. Things were progressing, and by July I was close to complete mastery of all my Torah and Hebrew portions. At one point, while at the David Intercontinental in Tel Aviv, I spent over 4 hours during the night trying to inch ever closer to my goal of complete mastery. Many weeks later I would recall this moment as the first time I believed in myself just as much as my parents believed in me. Everything felt like it was coming together. Tt was a week out from my Bar Mitzvah and I was 98% done. At the time I was at a debate sleep away camp, and would practice in the morning before breakfast . It was closer to the end of the week and my final Bar Mitzvah day was approaching fast. On that day in the dorm room, I felt like I was unstoppable. I felt like finally, this whole amazing journey would end in a spectacular crescendo, but as I would soon find out, it all came crashing down right before my eyes.
It was a warm summer morning and I was in a lecture about posture and hand motions when I saw my parents walking down the hallway. I was surprised because it was a sleep-away camp and they were there, if I am being honest with you I thought they were there because I had gotten in trouble, I got that feeling, that feeling that tells you something is coming. I texted my mom saying, “Why are you guys here?”
She responded with, “Leo please come out.” She was with my Dad, so I knew things were serious, and that feeling only grew inside of me. So I came out and they led me to the stairs and sat me down, my mom on my left and my dad on my right. “Leo, last night your grandfather passed away last night.” The news hit me like a freight train. I had no idea what to say. One million thoughts and questions were swirling around in my head. I barely had the strength to muster a word, so I just cried. Teary-eyed and shaken, I walked up the stairs to my dorm room and packed up my suitcase. I folded my white Tottenham shirt, stroking the nylon. Even this reminded me of him. I remembered how I inherited his love of the soccer team, and how my last interaction with him was seeing them play in the flesh at Wembley Stadium.
I completed the rest of my packing pretty quickly. I brought my suitcase down and we loaded it into the car. My parents were silent. It was as if they were trying to act as if nothing had happened. That feeling I felt before, of being unstoppable, had completed vanished and was replaced with a feeling of deep emptiness. When I got home my entire family, along with a few close friends, had gathered at our house. My sister, who was away in Seattle at a camp, had not yet been informed. I didn’t stick around. I just went up to my room and stayed there. I found solace in reading, so I started reading and continued to do so. Before I knew it, it was 8 PM and everyone was gone. At that moment I realized that the show was going to go on, even though there wasn’t going to be a party, the ceremony was still approaching fast.
After a week of studying, the day finally arrived. Although there was one guest who didn’t make it, and his absence was felt. Usually, a Bar Mitzvah day is one of celebration, but for me, it felt more bittersweet. In the morning my mom and sisters got their hair done while I got dressed. I was wearing the suit I had purchased a few days earlier, but the tie, the tie was my Grandfather’s, so I decided to wear it in his honor. When my family was 100% ready, we got in the car and started towards the synagogue. Unlike many of the other interactions that I experienced in the days after my Grandfather’s death, the car ride was joyous. This calmed me and it gave me the opportunity to finally internalise the true weight of this day. We finally arrived at the Synagogue and I was joking with people and laughing, but it was just to hide the fact that deep down I was anxious and nervous.
Finally the service began. Almost all the seats in the 300 seat sanctuary were filled. All my practice, all my preparation had led up to this one event. So I began chanting, and once I started, I couldn’t stop. Everything became so easy, so natural. I calmed down, and just enjoyed the moment. At the pinnacle of the service was the Kedusha prayer. While singing it with the Rabbi, it felt like all my problems had suddenly been destroyed, while all the pieces in the jigsaw puzzle of my life had finally come together. That feeling, encapsulated my whole Bar Mitzvah, a moment of happiness in a time of grief.
Today, I look back at my Bar Mitzvah and see a version of me, that in the face of adversity in the untimely death of his grandfather emerged as a mature young man. The lessons I learned both in and out of the classroom are still relevant to me today. I use them whenever I am faced with a problem that I must overcome.
