Amy Sander Montanez is a writer, teacher, therapist, retreat leader, and spiritual director who attends Trinity Cathedral, Columbia. You can access an archive with her award-winning reflections on the diocesan Web site at www.edusc.org/News and learn more about Amy at her Web site, www.amysandermontanez.com.
In the Moment—One Pilgrim's Attempt to Be Present
By Amy Sander Montanez, D. Min.
Worth the effort
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The Torah mantle made as a gift to the temple by Amy Sussman Heit, rareobjectsdesign.com |
But my flight Friday was cancelled. My girlfriend, the mother of the twins to be Bar Mitzvahed, was crying when she answered the phone. “This is horrible,” she said. “I have people flying in from all over the nation. I’m worried about everything.”
I tried to console her with words that I knew were true but that sounded so hollow. “You can’t do anything about this, Sweetie. It will be what it will be. I’m going to do everything in my power to be there tomorrow. I know everyone will. We all want to be with you and the boys. Hang in there. I love you.”
I was able to get myself booked on a flight for the following morning. I used the time that was freed up from the cancellation to do some work that was lingering, and that felt good. “There. Something good accomplished from something so disappointing.” I called my daughter and asked if she could change her plans and meet me at the airport with the rental car already in possession so that we could lose no time and race from the airport to the temple. I went to bed that night with an earnest but ridiculously childish prayer. “Please God, if there’s any way for me to get there, I’d be grateful.”
I was at the airport at 5:30 am dressed for a Bar Mitzvah. Many people stared, especially the ones who had slept on the floor of the airport the night before. No one looked particularly fresh or happy. I, however, was dressed in black velvet and bejeweled appropriately, make-up on and tingling with anticipation. When I got to the gate, the plane was waiting there and the red gate sign said, “CLT-EWR 7:00 AM ON-TIME”. Could it possibly be? As the plane began its bumpy ascent, the older gentleman next to me commented on how much he hated turbulence, which began our conversation. I considered it a good omen that he was a rabbi of a congregation in Charlotte. He was thrilled and touched that I was flying up to attend a Bar Mitzvah. “It’s sure to be worth the effort,” he said with a smile. “Absolutely!” I responded.
The plane landed at 9:15 am and we walked in to the temple at 10:15, only fifteen minutes late. The men grabbed yarmulkas, the ushers greeted us with huge smiles and said, “We’re so glad you made it. We’ve been on the lookout for you!” The sanctuary was full, but we found a few empty chairs in the back half, grabbed our prayer books, and stifled laughs as we tried to tried to find our place, forgetting that the book would be in Hebrew and would read right to left, back to front. The cantor was singing something hauntingly beautiful, and we settled in to the ritual.
It didn’t take long before I was struck by the importance of this sacred event. The family was all sitting together in the front. The boys, their father and grandfathers looked so handsome in their suits and tallis. The Torah was paraded around the sanctuary to a familiar tune known to us Episcopalians as Hymn 536, The Torah Song. We were able to sing along and join in the jubilence. The sacred text was covered in a mantle that my girlfriend had designed and made as a gift to the temple several years before. People reached out to touch it as it passed by. We touched it too, the rabbi smiling generously as he passed our seats. The parents each gave an intimate speech, emphasizing the importance of their children’s devotion and hard work in their three years of Hebrew school, the importance of the support of family and friends, the gratefulness they had to the rabbi and the cantor who had personally invested in their children and had made their Jewish faith alive and meaningful to them. The rabbi spoke directly to the boys, obviously knowing them personally. He spoke of their intelligence, their sense of humor, their unique gifts and their relationship as twins. He encouraged them never to stop laughing, to enjoy their faith and the good life that God has given them. The boys read and chanted from the Torah, accomplished and maturely. They each gave a talk about something important in their lives. Grandparents, too, read from the Torah. The service concluded with the presentation of a huge loaf of challah bread, a big chalice of wine, and an invitation to come eat and drink which we did.
At the reception I reunited with some high school friends and met their wives and children. I spent time with my friends’ families. All but two of the two hundred people invited had braved the blizzard to get there. Watching as the teenagers played games and danced, I remembered my own child as a teenager, becoming a young woman. I clapped and circled in a whirling frenzy as my friend and her husband were lifted high in the air in chairs, Hava Nagila playing raucously in the background. I danced with friends, strangers, and acquaintances. I ate scrumptious food and drank good wine. And when it was over, we were all happy and exhausted.
This is how it ought to be with these wonderful rituals of our faith and community. We come together to celebrate landmarks and to witness to God’s forming of us. If we are the hosts, we gather those who love us and support us and to ask once again for their love and support. We give thanks for all that is good, for the abundance God places in our lives, and we share abundantly of those gifts. If we are the guests, we remember that we live in community, that we offer our support to another, and that attending these rituals changes us as much as it marks a change in the participants. What we do in community matters. For the host and guest a like, it is worth making the effort, spending the money, spending the time, spending ourselves for them.
©2010 Amy Sander Montanez, D. Min.