My son Levi just became a bar mitzvah. Well, I guess he didn’t just become one. It was a little bit ago. OK, it was a while back. Fine. It was two years ago this October. But it still feels like yesterday. How is it possible that he’s already turning 15? Why is time hurtling by so quickly?
Levi started high school this year. I was freaked out. He was fine. He’s doing great. Loves his classes. Has plenty of friends. He’s even started obsessively texting, which is slightly reassuring to me in a weird way. It proves that he’s actually a normal red-blooded teenager.
When we were preparing for his bar mitzvah, I remember my rabbi telling us that the process of preparing and experiencing the event was as much for the parents as it was for the child. A time to recognize the end of childhood and begin to emotionally prepare ourselves for living with an adult who would very shortly move on and move out of our home. I loved creating that celebration for my son. I loved writing a d’var Torah that incorporated our thoughts about his Torah portion combined with our dreams and wishes for his future. I loved having my family and closest friends all together to celebrate his stepping into manhood. I just didn’t fully comprehend that the “end” of childhood meant that ultimately my child would move on beyond the safe confines of his childhood home and world.
But suddenly I’m scared to death that manhood is stealing him away from us. As his independence increases, his need for us decreases proportionately. Soon he’ll be driving. That might just push me over the edge. What do parents do when kids no longer need them? Do kids ever stop needing their parents? I still need mine and long for the days when my father was alive to share his wisdom and advice on everything from what kind of tires to get to what I ought to do with the rest of my life. It feels like time keeps racing relentlessly forward, and I’m just watching it whir by like Dorothy watching her world being swept away in a tornado.
I want to slow things down, make every moment last, enjoy the time I do have with my son, before he packs up and goes off to college. But instead I harp on him to clean his room, put away his dishes and stop leaving his crap all over the house. I toggle between wanting to kill him for being a thoughtless teenager and being blown away by his poise, intelligence and compassion. He’s an amazing person, an amazing person who is only three years away from leaving me. I find it hard not to focus on that ever-encroaching loss.
In the meantime, it’s time to plan my younger son’s, Eli’s, bar mitzvah. He doesn’t want anything resembling a party. He just wants to have his bar mitzvah in Israel. He’s wanted that ever since he was a small boy. I’m not really sure why that’s so important to him. He’s never shown all that much interest in Judaism or Zionism. He seems so young to me. Too young to be on the cusp of manhood. But maybe my vision is just impaired, clouded by the wish to remain important and relevant in my children’s lives while knowing how truly insignificant my role is rapidly becoming.
Planning a bar mitzvah can be daunting. But keeping focused on the true meaning of the ritual seems crucial to me. Whether you celebrate with a huge bash, pack up your family for a trip overseas, or just gather a few of your nearest and dearest for a post-Torah reading luncheon, this important day is just one of many along the path toward adulthood and future independence. Life is moving forward, sometimes at an alarming rate. Children grow up. Things change. Enjoy the moment. It really does pass quickly.
Debra Rich Gettleman is a mother and blogger based in the Phoenix area. For more of her work, visit unmotherlyinsights.com.
