My Son’s “Car Mitzvah:” A Spiritual Protest in the…

Let’s face it. It’s becoming increasingly harder to find joy these days. Loss lurks around every corner- the loss of actual lives, the loss of what we thought life would look like, and the loss of simple, carefree physical togetherness, unencumbered by a hypervigilance around health and safety.

Our family has been extremely lucky thus far in this pandemic. My husband and I have secure jobs as physicians, we manage childcare, and we and our loved ones have remained healthy. Our greatest loss has been that we had to cancel our son Asher’s bar mitzvah on May 9th- an afternoon service followed by dinner and dancing that had been in the works for over a year.

When we realized we wouldn’t be able to celebrate Asher in the way we had originally planned, we felt conflicted. Facing the unprecedented challenges of our current reality, our options were to move ahead with a virtual ceremony or to postpone for a prolonged period of time. Neither satisfied what felt most meaningful to us about Asher’s bar mitzvah: to have his community of friends and family (including all of his grandparents) collectively share in the experience of marking this milestone- both in spirit and in physicality. And so, just like our Jewish ancestors have done countless times before us during periods of change and hardship, we adapted. 

Behold, Asher’s “car mitzvah,” a  drive-in movie theater-style bar mitzvah. Last Saturday night, we transformed a second story rooftop parking lot graciously offered by a generous family member into an outdoor sanctuary.  We had 100 guests in 35 cars, a masked Rabbi, a masked Cantor, 2 masked musicians, a large stage to allow for proper physical distancing and two LED screens onto which the service was projected. People tuned in to an FM radio station to listen. We arranged for guests to have prepared food and drinks to enjoy in their cars. Families took car selfies in a virtual photo booth which were then uploaded onto the big screens so everyone could enjoy seeing who was there. And as a family, we drove around the lot in a yellow golf cart, waving to and greeting guests along the way.

We never could have imagined that this was how we would find ourselves celebrating Asher’s bar mitzvah. Just as we never could have imagined that this was where we would be, in this current reality, at this moment in time. And yet, here we are. 

Having to adjust and adapt to life not going the way I thought it would go is a process with which I have more experience than I would like. Fourteen years ago I discovered I had an ultra rare, adult onset, progressively debilitating muscle-wasting disease. This means that over time, my body is slowly losing its physical strength. As such, I am repeatedly faced with the same challenge- how to allow in the extreme emotional discomfort that accompanies each devastating loss without letting it consume me.  And even beyond that, how to counteract it with joy. 

On the invitation, we promised a “physically distanced, emotionally intimate” evening and that it was. There was a palpable magic in the air. The combination of hearing our son with his exquisite voice chant torah into the night sky along with seeing all of his grandparents seated at physically distanced tables in the front row- their eyes welling with tears of pride and joy- was perfectly imperfect. It was an important reminder that as Elie Wiesel once said, “Even in darkness, it is possible to create light.”

This overwhelming sense of joy did not come easily nor did it require a denial of the fact that we are living in the dark reality of a terrifying global crisis. That was evident all around- people wearing masks, remaining in their cars, offering virtual hugs to each other. In fact, it came in spite of it.  Finding an alternative way to honor our sacred rituals during these trying times and safely bring people together to witness our son take his first step into Jewish young adulthood- that was our own spiritual protest against letting the darkness win. Being truly present and engaged with joy, no matter how painful the circumstances, is transformative. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I even forgot about my disease. 

Of course, we originally had our reservations about having a celebration during this time. It felt somewhat incongruous to plan to join together for a simcha or celebration, yet it felt equally life-affirming. To be able to seize the moment and make room for joy and gratitude right alongside pain and loss is a fundamental Jewish practice. When I was writing about this in my welcome letter to our guests, I emailed our rabbi, Dara Frimmer of Temple Isaiah. I asked her if this paradox was indeed a Jewish thing or if I just imagined it to be because it felt like such a Jewish value. She reminded me how integral it is to our faith- “we celebrate with joy while sitting in a fragile sukkah, we mix charoset with bitter herbs, we kindle Hanukkah lights in the darkest part of winter. ” It is almost never an either/or. It is almost always both.

That was the true magic of Asher’s car mitzvah. It was both. It was imperfect and we did it anyway. It took a lot of hard work, patience and an inordinate amount of planning. It cost us many sleepless nights wondering if we would be able to pull it off or worse, if we even should. But in the end, we persevered. While cars honked and flashed their lights as we ended the service with “Siman Tov u Mazel Tov,” it felt nothing short of miraculous. This is the spirit of resilience during these unprecedented times that we wanted to offer Asher as he became a bar mitzvah. We hope that it will always serve as a reminder to him that it is not what happens in life that matters as much as how we cope with and adapt to it.

PS. If you’re also determined to find creative ways to celebrate safely these days, go to www.mitzvahsisters.com