Shabbat shalom and thank you all for joining me in my bar mitzvah ceremony. To take a quote from my grandfather’s bar mitzvah speech, “Here I stand joyous and trembling before you.” Throughout my torah portion, Parshas B’midbar, the one recurrent theme I discovered was the challenges and rewards of responsibility. In my parsha, or chapter of the torah, G-d assigns the tribe of the Levites the task of safeguarding and caring for the Tabernacle, the portable temple used while the Jews were wandering through the desert during their exodus. This was a HUGE responsibility, as the Tabernacle housed the ark, which held the Ten Commandments, the altar, the menorah, and many other sacred objects. They were required to do it, whether they chose to or not, because it was their assigned duty. We may no longer have the Tabernacle, but we do have the concept of building a home for G-d out of our lives. When we behave in a way that G-d intends, we create an environment where G-d feels at home.
In becoming a bar mitzvah, I too have entered a new level of responsibility, to safeguard and care for the Tabernacle that is my life. Until this point, in my pre-bar mitzvah life, all the mitzvot and good deeds I have done were a form of practice, preparing me for my post-bar mitzvah life, when my deeds take on much greater significance. For example, during a lacrosse team practice, if I miss a fifteen-yard pass, Coach Alms won’t do any more than tell me to catch that. In a game, on the other hand, he’ll be on my case, guaranteed.
Until now, my good deeds were voluntary; I was not truly obligated for them. In the Talmud, a collection Jewish of rabbinic writings from the fifth century, the question is raised whether a mandatory or an optional act is greater. Logically, one would think that a non-obligated person is more charitable because he/she chooses to perform the mitzvah. But the Talmud teaches us that when a deed is required of someone, the resistance to do it becomes greater. When a deed is optional, it is easier to fulfill because you have the option of not doing it. For example, when my dad tells Charlie, “You are going to Shabbat services on Saturday,” he might as well give up then and there. But when he says, “You can come if you want to, Charlie,” Charlie inevitably tags along joyfully. There’s another reason it becomes more challenging to do a mitzvah once we’re obligated. The reason we become obligated after bar mitzvah is because spiritually, our deeds now have much greater significance and importance. And so the more important a thing is, the greater the resistance to it. As we know in our own personal growth, those things that are most important for us to achieve are the most challenging.
Now, it may be a bit presumptuous to think that my deeds will affect much. But in my studies I learned that the Butterfly Theory, the theory that small, seemingly insignificant events through a chain reaction can have a major impact in a totally unrelated area, is not just a scientific phenomenon, it is a spiritual phenomenon as well. For example, when one is kind to another person, that person assumes a responsibility to do a kind act to someone else, who in turn feels the same way, with a final result of an ongoing chain of benevolence.
So with my bar mitzvah comes the challenge of a new responsibility, but also the reward of knowing that my life and deeds are of cosmic significance. This theme runs through many aspects of my life. As the oldest brother, my younger brothers look up to me as a role model and, I must admit, as a tormentor. Not only is it my duty to care for them, but also to watch out for their actions and guide them with life’s advice. As the oldest son, my parents have high expectations of me and hold me to a higher level of accountability. You all know the story of Josef and the Technicolor Dreamcoat, as it’s come to be known. Originally, it’s a story from the torah about how Josef’s brothers didn’t like that Jacob, their father, loved Josef the most. They decided to kill Josef. But, Reuben, the oldest son, knew that his father would hold him responsible. And so he convinced them to simply throw him into a pit. Reuben was planning to come back to the pit to save Josef after the brothers had left.
I discovered this theme of responsibility in a 2,000 year-old quote. Right now, in the period in between Passover and Shavuos, Jews all over the world are reading pirkay avos, a collection of citations from renowned sages and scholars. One excerpt from Hillel, a famous yet extremely kind and humble rabbi, reads, “uvim’kom she’ayn anöshim hish’tadel liyos ish.” “In a place where there are no leaders, try to be a leader.” Recently, at my lacrosse team’s not-quite-end-of-the-year party (the semi-finals are tomorrow), some of my teammates started to tease my brother Charlie and wouldn’t let him get into the Jacuzzi. I, already sitting in the hot tub, gave my seat up so Charlie could have my place. I told my teammates to leave him be. It would have been easy for me to be “cool,” and join what my friends were doing by shunning Charlie along with them. But I chose to do the responsible thing, the good thing, the mitzvah thing.
In addition to my responsibilities within my home, I have a great responsibility outside of it as well. I am Jew living in a primarily non-Jewish community. Here again I could choose the easy route, which is to disregard my differences from others to try and blend in with the crowd. If that were the case, you wouldn’t be joining me for an orthodox service right now. Instead, it is my responsibility and choice to bring my own culture and heritage to society and emphasize my distinctiveness. We don’t all have to be the same to be united. We can remain true to our unique pasts while remaining united as Americans in the belief in equality, justice, and freedom. Recently, I was reading through my grandfather’s autobiography, and I discovered that in the book, he had traced our family line all the way back to 1040 AD. Throughout Spira history, my ancestors have not only kept their Jewish beliefs, but openly displayed them through every hardship thrown at them. That is why I am a Jew. After all my ancestors have done to keep their heritage and beliefs, it would be wrong to try and hide mine from society. This is who I am.
This leads us to the third and final theme of my parsha. B’midbar is the first portion of the fourth book of the torah, B’midbar, which is referred to as the book of ‘numbers’. Throughout the book, the Jews are counted many times for a census, both individually and as a whole. Each time, the Torah gives the exact count of people. It does not say, “There were around 600,000 people.” It gives the exact number. These counts emphasize each individual’s unique contribution, without which the entire community is lacking. There is a Jewish law that beautifully demonstrates this idea. In the synagogue, when we read from the Bible, what we call the Torah, or Five Books of Moses, we don’t just read it from a book. We have to read it from a scroll, written by hand, on parchment, and with a feather and inkwell. This takes almost a year, since the Torah has 304,805 letters. Now here’s the kicker: if a single letter is missing or incomplete, the entire Torah scroll cannot be used. Furthermore, each letter has to have it’s own space and cannot be touching another letter. Just as a Torah is only complete if it has every single letter, so too we are not complete unless every person is valued. It is only through the input of every individual that a group becomes a whole.
In short, I suppose the message of bar mitzvah to me is: “Jack, it’s time to grow up.” Time to be, as we say in Yiddish, a mensch. As I become a bar mitzvah, I hope I will be able to live up to the many responsibilities that I have. I know it won’t be easy and I may not always be perfect. But I pledge to always try. For that, in the end, is what it’s all about.
One of the most fundamental aspects of becoming a responsible adult is becoming thankful; to recognize and help those who help us in life. There are many people here that have helped me get to where I am today that I would like to thank: Coach Alms, without whom I would never would have achieved my level of effort and commitment; Rabbi Weinbaum, for the countless hours spent with me preparing for this day and his patience and kindness throughout them; Rabbi Marcus, who helped me discover my heritage, religion, tradition, and customs, the entire time displaying a rich sense of humor; my grandfather Babu, who shares this special day with me, as it is his seventy-fifth birthday today; there are a bunch of things I could say about him, but the first thing that comes to mind is probably his wackiness; my mom, for her constant love and affection for me and her endlessly creative mind, always full of fun and spontaneous ideas that make every day fun and can change the dullest activities into exciting adventures; my brothers, whom I have shared many adventures with, with plenty of laughs along the way, and I am honored to spend the rest of my days knowing I am their big brother; and last, but most definitely not least, my dad, who shares with me, in his opinion, the greatest “once-in-a-lifetime” experiences; most of the time the only fun part is being with him, I mean, c’mon, how many times have you been stuck on the side of the FRW-101 in a 1968 Toyota GT 2000 right out of the body shop? (It’s not fun, don’t try it.) Some of these, “once-in-a-lifetime” experiences are watching him jump right back up after an über-wipeout while skiing and seeing him smile like he just won the lottery, even though he doesn’t play. (That one actually was pretty fun.) As a final note, I would like to dedicate this service to my other grandfather, Saba, who cannot join us today because he ill, although he would love to be here because he more than almost anyone else I know embraced and enjoyed his Judaism to his fullest extent.
Thank you, and Shabbat shalom.
