This article was produced as part of the New York Jewish Week’s Teen Journalism Fellowship, a program that works with Jewish teens around New York City to report on issues that affect their lives.
I’m sitting at the dining room table doing my Spanish homework while my mother sits across from me, tackling a daunting task: studying for her bat mitzvah. This scene is part of our weekly routine in our Lower East Side apartment in Manhattan. Like every other Thursday for the past few months, my mom has just come home from her bat mitzvah preparation class with work to review.
In most Jewish families, parents take on the role of assisting their children in b’nai mitzvah prep; in my case, I delayed completing my Spanish assignment to tutor my mom.
Often, when explaining that my 52-year-old mom is having a bat mitzvah in June, people assume she is a convert to Judaism; others suggest she might be reaffirming her Judaism by having a second bat mitzvah. I’ve even heard some ponder whether my mom wasn’t afforded such an opportunity due to her gender.
While these are not bad guesses — and happen to be true for many in my mom’s b’nai mitzvah prep class at Central Synagogue, a Reform temple in Manhattan — her explanation is entirely different.
As Soviet immigrants to the United States in the late ’70s, my mother’s family had to learn to be American before they could even begin to understand what it meant to be Jewish. When my mom, Ella, left the Soviet Union at six years old with her family in pursuit of freedom and a better way of life, she was pressured to assimilate. As a result, she lost touch with her Judaism, and it became secondary to her American identity. It wasn’t until after college that connecting with Jewish culture and learning about its traditions took on greater significance.
It took my mom decades to realize that the next step in her Jewish journey was to have a bat mitzvah. After guiding my sister and me through the process, my mom approached our congregation’s clergy and asked what it would take for her to have a bat mitzvah of her own.
“I always enjoyed the customs of Jewish life, especially here at Central Synagogue. Attending Shabbat services and the High Holidays has always been important to me,” my mom said. “But knowing the meaning and historical aspect of why we perform certain rituals fascinated me, and I felt I needed to dig deeper in a meaningful way.”
She was thrilled when a spot opened up off the waitlist for her to join this year’s adult b’nai mitzvah class. The first adult b’nai mitzvah cohort at Central Synagogue was in 2013, and my mom is a member of the temple’s/its seventh class.
Adult b’nai mitzvahs are not unique to Central Synagogue. In fact, many congregations offer this rite of passage, including, notably, the Society for the Advancement of Judaism, a Reconstructionist synagogue on Manhattan’s Upper West Side. SAJ was the first synagogue to hold a bat mitzvah: In 1922, it welcomed 12-year-old Judith Kaplan, daughter of the founder of Reconstructionist Judaism, Rabbi Mordecai Kaplan, into the coming-of-age ceremony reserved for centuries to boys.
Today SAJ offers a comprehensive adult b’nai mitzvah program, joining other congregations in creating a space for adults to partake in the practice.
The traditional ceremony marks the age (13 for boys, 12 for girls) when they are obligated to take on adult mitzvot, or ritual commandments. Technically, all you have to do to become a bar or bat mitzvah is have a birthday. Yet, the contemporary bar or bat mitzvah (and b-mitzvah for non-gender conforming individuals) is also an opportunity to demonstrate proficiency in synagogue skills and Jewish learning.
Historical context has played a major role in promoting this type of Jewish adult engagement. Rabbi Albert Axelrad at Brandeis University is said to have conducted the first “belated” bar and bat mitzvah ceremonies in the early 1970s. These were initially intended for adult men who had missed out on the rite of passage as kids. That said, as the bat mitzvah gained in popularity, women also wanted an experience often not available to them when they were young.
In a fractured post-Oct. 7 world, more adults have been reaffirming their commitment to Judaism. According to a study by Jewish Federations of North America, 43 percent of the American Jewish community became more involved in Jewish life following Oct. 7, with 31% continuing to do so 18 months later.
The adult b’nai mitzvah class at New York’s Central Synagogue, April 20, 2014. (Sarah Merians Photography & Video Company, courtesy Central Synagogue)
Some of my mom’s classmates are converts to Judaism and view having their own b’nai mitzvah as a way to cement their commitment to the faith. Around half of my mom’s b’nai mitzvah class are adults older than 60. All 13 members of her class are women.
One of my mom’s classmates, Karen Picquet, 58, was raised Roman Catholic and “became interested in Judaism as a college freshman after attending services on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur with friends.” She began studying Jewish history and Judaism soon after, eventually deciding to convert after graduating from college.
Karen said that her daughter Noha, a high school student in NYC, has been “supportive and encouraging throughout, especially while practicing lines of Torah.” Karen has had very positive feedback on her experience interacting with others in the b’nai mitzvah prep class, saying, “I like our group and am happy that we are on this journey together!”
Adult b’nai mitzvah have also become a trope in popular culture. Movies and TV shows have touched on the ceremony since 1966, when “The Dick Van Dyke Show” aired an episode depicting an adult preparing for the bar mitzvah he never had as a child. In a 2003 episode of “The Simpsons,” a recurring character, Krusty the Clown, had his very own adult bar mitzvah. More recent films, including “Between the Temples” and “31 Candles,” have used the ritual as a plot point.
Watching my mom learn to read Hebrew has been inspiring. I help her sound out letters and vowels and build up her vocabulary. I learned basic Hebrew through my participation in Central Synagogue’s youth engagement program. My mom was the one who encouraged me to attend the program, and by passing on basic Hebrew skills to her, I am putting to use the education she helped me receive. Not only does assisting my mom feel rewarding, it also gives me a valuable opportunity to practice my own Hebrew.
In return, my mom appreciates that I can help her, in what is a classic the-student-has-become-the-teacher fashion. We dissect the Amidah prayer together, and I teach about many of my own Jewish camp traditions, including singing “Modeh Ani” (“I Give Thanks”) every morning to build community. She’s learning that prayer as part of the service she is eager to lead with the community of 13 women who are her partners in learning. “A prayer to start the ritual with praise and gratitude,” she says. “What a lovely way to connect to our heritage and honor our ancestors.”
Being afforded the chance to learn and practice Judaism with my mother has strengthened our own relationship. I cherish our frequent chats regarding bat mitzvah prep, Hebrew, Jewish camp traditions and the meaning behind b’nai mitzvah.
When I was going through my own bar mitzvah studies and feeling overwhelmed, my mom would frequently remind me that contrary to some beliefs, the ritual was not an exit out of Judaism but rather a way in. For her, she felt that a piece of her Judaism was missing because she never had the opportunity to celebrate a “way in.”
For my mother, “coming of age” as an adult means making her own choice, not having her parents decide as they did when she was a teen. In my congregation, I serve as a “madrich,” a helper to younger kids in a Jewish learning community, assisting students who are years away from their own b’nai mitzvah.
However, acting as a “madrich” to my mom feels completely different. It’s thrilling to learn and grow together, forming a connection that links us to the lineage of our past generations.
Being part of this journey with my mom has shown me that there is no age limit on being curious. Whether 12, 13, 52, even older or anywhere in between, there is always room to come of age and take part in self-affirming traditions.
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