The spousal unit and I had to get up at 6:30 to be in Montreal in time for Michael's bar mitzvah. 6:30. On a Saturday. This is how much I like Michael's parents.

There are many flavours of Judaism, just as there are many flavours of Protestantism, and since this was our first time attending a reconstructionist synagogue I wasn't exactly sure what would be appropriate to wear.

I decided to go for extreme modesty (as I have attending other synagogues) and wore a dress that went to my ankles and covered my arms. I had a scarf in case there was a need to cover my hair. So of course I walked into the synagogue to see that reconstructionists are extremely informal. While some people had dressed up, others were wearing shorts and tee shirts and only a few women made any gesture towards covering hair.

I felt like Marn, Amish party crasher.

I am always delighted by the relative informality of Jewish observances. I was raised in the United Church, which is a sort of watered down Methodism, and I'm used to very formal services. You get there on time, you sit in your pew, you listen to the Minister, you sing the appointed hymns, you say the appointed prayer, you leave.

The times I have attended synagogue, I have noticed the sanctuary keeps filling throughout the service. People do not sit rigidly at attention. They follow the ritual and join in, but they also talk to each other. It is an extremely social occasion.

This was the only synagogue I've attended where women were not segregated from men. I thought that happened in all synagogues, which tells you how little I know about Judaism. They didn't have a cantor, either, and until I heard ordinary people, uh, "sing" the Torah, I had no real appreciation for how hard it is to be a cantor and how beautiful they make the service sound.

I always feel a bit like a fraud when I attend any religious ceremony because I am an agnostic. But my friends know that about me, and if they extend the honour of an invitation to a religious service that involves a family matter--a christening, a bris, a bar mitzvah, a bat mitzvah, a wedding or a funeral--then I will always attend. These may not be my rituals or beliefs, but I respect them and I'm always touched to be included, to be part of the big moments in their lives.

Plus, when you attend these things, People Feed You Afterwards.

BONUS!

My own experience has been that if you're blessed enough to have Jewish friends, you're pretty much guaranteed the chance to eat your weight in fresh and/or smoked salmon any time they include you in a family celebration.

I love salmon.

Not that I want to denigrate other sects, but frankly, my experience to date has been that they are not so generous with the salmon. Oh, your Christians will give you nibbles of salmon diluted with mayonnaise and shoved into one of those dainty little crustless sandwiches, but slabs of actual fresh salmon?

Pfffffffffft.

The fish might have been the sign of the early Christians, but they're tight-fisted with the salmon.

Michael's bar mitzvah was by turns moving and funny. It was moving to hear him talk about his mitzvah, which was to train his dog Hector to the point that the dog could be certified, brought into a local old folks' home and used for pet therapy. This was something his mom had done before Michael was born with her own dogs.

Her son giving the gift of companionship to people somewhat closed off from the world, the same gift that Karin had given herself years ago, wove into one of the many themes of the bar mitzvah, the continuity of family. That was my big awwwwwwwww moment, and I could feel that little sting that tells you tears are close.

The funniest moment? When Michael's eensy weensy sister Diana, a vision in pink, wearing the tiniest pair of Mary Janes I have ever seen, purposefully strode up to the microphone. She knit her little Shirley Temple face into a mask of concentration and intoned a lovely Hebrew blessing on her brother.

In her little Smurfette voice.

Seriously. Smurfette was in da house.

You could feel this huge intake of air in the synagogue as everyone in the room stifled a giggle. Priceless. It's now become my favourite bar mitzvah memory of all.
--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 503.03 miles.
Oh man. This is going to be hard
Goal for 2004: 1,000 miles - 1609 kilometers