THIRTY-FIVE

AFTER SCHOOL, MY MOM PICKS me up because I have a bat mitzvah lesson.

I don’t bother to text Kaylan that I won’t be on the bus ride home. I don’t think she’ll care either way.

“Eleanor Feldman says this same thing happened to Ashley when she was your age,” my mom says, turning down the music in the car.

“Huh?”

“I stopped in to talk to her today.” She looks over at me, but I don’t make eye contact. “I was concerned about what I saw when we got home yesterday.”

“So you talked to the executive director of our temple about it?” I shriek. “Mom! That is so humiliating.”

“Why? She’s lovely, she’s a mother, and she’s very wise, Ari.”

I don’t respond.

My mom continues. “And it’s a lot happening at once—big changes. Not only at school, but hormonally, and your body has to keep up, and it’s a lot. I mean, Ari, look at how much you’ve devel—”

“Mom!” I scream. “Stop! Ew! This is so inappropriate! Stop. You can’t just go talking about me to a woman I barely know. I am humiliated. Now how am I going to even look at her? Uch. How can I even walk into the temple and see her? This is madness.”

“Ari.”

“Stop saying my name!”

“This is so unlike you,” she says. “I’ve never seen you so worked up so often.”

I roll my eyes at the windshield. “Well, probably because I always try to keep calm because you and Kaylan are always freaking out! So I am forced to be the calm one.”

It only starts to make sense as I say it. It’s not only about staying chill when things are chill. It’s about needing to stay chill because no one else is.

“That’s not true,” my mom mumbles.

“It is true. You know it. I’m the one who always has to calm everyone down!” I yell. “And I’m over it!”

We get to the temple, and I pray a thousand times that I don’t run into Eleanor Feldman on the way to the cantor’s office.

I’m so glad the temple administrator knows all the details about my body.

Gross.

I walk into the cantor’s office, and who do I find sitting there on one of the chairs facing her desk?

Eleanor Feldman.

Thanks, God. Clearly you didn’t answer my prayers. Maybe you didn’t hear them.

“Hello, Arianna,” she says, all cheery. “I just saw your mom earlier.” She gets up from the chair. “Have a good lesson.”

“Thanks.”

I sit down and take out my bat mitzvah folder.

“How are things?” Cantor Simon asks.

I think back to the list, and what I just told my mom in the car, and the whole fight with Kaylan. “Eh, could be better,” I say.

It feels like I just took off a tight wool scarf that was itching me and choking me, and now my neck can finally breathe again.

“Yeah? How come?”

“Well, I guess it all started when I went away to camp this summer,” I begin, and then I pretty much tell her everything—about the list, and Kaylan and the lunch table girls and the Instagram stories from Lizzie’s bat mitzvah, and how Kaylan thinks I’m obsessed with camp, and my parents, and my dad’s job, and the bagel bat mitzvah plan. It feels like I talk for a really long time.

“Wow. That is a lot for one person to handle,” she says.

“And I’m still a kid!” I remind her. “For a few more weeks, at least.”

“That’s true.” Cantor Simon smiles, pausing to think. “You know, the bar and bat mitzvah party as we know it today is kind of a new phenomenon. It wasn’t always like this. Yes, we are celebrating an amazing life cycle event. However, bagels and music and good company is certainly a lovely celebration.”

“I know, but everyone goes crazy here. It feels depressing to just have bagels at the temple—no offense—when everyone else has these amazing parties.” I look at her, almost regretting my words. “Is it wrong to admit that?”

“Not at all. And I understand how you feel,” she says. “The feeling of wanting to keep up and needing to keep up is very real and very difficult. At all ages.”

I nod.

“And it’s hard to go away for the summer and come back and find things to be a little wobbly,” she tells me. “I remember there was always a transition period when I got home. And my friends would seem really different. And I would feel different. It was tough.”

“Exactly.” I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the chair. “So what should I do?”

“Well,” she starts, and clears her throat. “Like everything in life, as we’ve been discussing, it takes time. I think you can tell Kaylan how you feel, though. That you love camp and your new friends, but you love her, too. And that you do care about being friends with the lunch table girls.” She laughs. “That’s what you call them, right?”

I laugh too. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to share all of that with me.” She sits back in her chair. “Do you feel better that you told me? Or worse? Or somewhere in the middle?”

I think for a second. “Somewhere in the middle. I liked being the kind of person who listened to everyone else’s problems, and helped, and cheered them up. I liked being the chill one who never really needed to talk things out or vent or whatever. But I guess it’s not always possible. I guess we’re not all the same thing all the time.”

“That is a perfect segue into your Torah portion . . . and I know you’re still figuring out your speech.” She smiles. “Are you struggling with it still?”

I nod. “Yes. Definitely. I’ve scrapped three drafts already.”

“So I think this may help. As you know, your portion is called: Chayei Sarah. The Life of Sarah. It’s called the Life of Sarah, even though it’s also very much about her death. Let’s discuss.”

“Okay.” I smile, letting my shoulders relax. “I think that’s why I like learning about Judaism so much. There seem to be so many similarities between our biblical ancestors and us today. It’s like we kind of have a guidebook to follow. And, like, it’s something to lean on during hard times.”

“Ding-ding-ding! Are you planning on highlighting that in your speech?” she asks.

I laugh a little. “The thing is, it just feels so important. And every time I start to write, I get a different idea of what I want to say. Like, my feelings about everything Judaism related are still kind of evolving.”

Cantor Simon nods. “I see. That’s understandable.”

I scrunch up my face. “And I know I’m running out of time.”

“Right. Eventually we’ll have to get some words down,” she says. “But I think discussing the Torah portion more in depth will help you.”

It’s kind of amazing to me how Cantor Simon has so many bar and bat mitzvah students this year—like fifty at least—and yet she makes me feel like I’m the only one, devoting so much time and energy to my spiritual journey.

I think that’s another example of a good leader. Making the person you’re talking to feel like the only person in the world.

Later that night, after my homework is done, I’m still thinking about my bat mitzvah lesson. I text Alice to check in.

Ari: how r u feeling bat mitzvah wise?

Alice: um like I still have tons to do

Ari: no I mean like r u loving the prep stuff?

Alice: loving it nahhh but it’s ok

Ari: how is ur gma?

Alice: she’s better. not much going on here. so much hw

Alice: ack! just got in soooooo much trouble

Alice: gg explain l8r

Ari: ok xo

Ten minutes later, my phone dings that I have an email. From Alice.

OMG. Phone confiscated. For texting during homework time even though my mom told me a million times not to. UGH. I shouldn’t be emailing this, but I told her u would worry if I just disappeared forever. Pray for me. XOXOOXXXOXOXOXXOXOXO AlKAl

I didn’t even have a chance to tell her about my fight with Kaylan, and who knows when she’ll get her phone back. Maybe I should just write her an old-fashioned letter. It may be the fastest way to communicate now.