Bar Mitzvah OY!

“Do you believe in miracles!” cried my father from the bimah of our synagogue. Everyone laughed because it was quite hilarious and my father knows how to bring the house down. Sam was even smiling at this point—not out of embarrassment. Yes, my brother exceeded all expectations and became a bar mitzvah/grown up Jew/still teenager last weekend with all my family, friends, and the five other Jews in Salt Lake City watching (just kidding…there’s about 7 or so, depending on the sporting season).

The highlights are as follows…

Nightmare on 13th: upon Sara’s arrival and the meeting of my friends Skaughttie, Justin, and Jamie, she was instantly hooked on the notion that we had to go to a haunted house. What my lovely girlfriend didn’t realize is that in Utah we take our haunted houses very, very seriously. I think it might be part of a scared straight tactic—y’know, the devil freaks the living daylights out of you in order to bring you closer to the denominational flock. So, after a lovely Shabbat dinner where the waitress was a girl I went to school with from elementary to high school and after we checked in to our hotel room for the evening (where the bell boy went to junior and senior high school with me), we ventured down to 1300 S. and 330 East to meet Skaughttie, Lizz, and Skaughttie’s friend Mitch-The-Bitch. We got freaked out! Pitch black rooms with body bags that moved! Eerie tunnels with the shadows of rats crawling all over you! Freaky insane asylum set-up! All that said, this was the first year an actor went a little overboard. The psycho-clown took Sara hostage forcing me to give myself up to him to let her go. Then he really didn’t let me go. Skaughttie actually had to use his body as a barrier in order for me to pass. But really, it was Lizz, the un-PC ska-girl, who got the worst of it. One of the clowns was asking her out and popped some black-light soap bubble on her cheek. Any time the black lights set the stage, Lizz was reminded of the time she gave Cummy the Clown a blowjob in the haunted house.

Religion and Food: nothing—and I mean nothing—helps me stay with my Hebrew peeps like our food. Seriously, if ever my faith wanders, give me some challah and a falafel and you’ll have me saying the shema like it was my morning prayer. For Sam’s shindig, it was no exception. My parents went all out with kugal, salmon, strawberry salad, and the best desserts possible. But did I get to eat anything? Barely! Dodging the people of Kol Ami Temple is not easy, especially when you’ve a) graduated recently b) started a new job c) have your girlfriend to introduce around and d) spoke in your brother’s ceremony. I grabbed a quick plate at kiddush, but it didn’t sustain me through the evening, when the BBQ was laid out in fine, non-kosher glory. This I did chow down on. So much so that my the end of the night, I felt like I was going to keel over and all the brisket was going to bust out of my like I was a beached wale exploding. Really, though, I think it was the chair lifting that did me in. It was my last time for a while and even though indigestion followed…totally worth it.

Souljaboy’s Cash Money: if it were up to me I would have had the Kelzbros (Utah’s first, and as far as I know, only Kelzmer band) play all night. But my parents wanted to hear Lyle Lovett. I sorta wanted to sneak some Rhymefest in to the mix. And my brother…oh, my brother, wanted to hear “Souljaboy” by Souljaboy Tellem. I’ve told my brother time and time again, this is not a good song. Don’t listen to it! Not out of content or explicit lyrics—no, Superman that ho’ all you want—but really!? It has an awful beat, stupid words, and the guy’s voice is almost as annoying as Lil’ Wayne. But seeing how it was his day and not up to me, I told the DJs they could lay down that wax. Okay, little bit of advice for all the un-hip folks who are out of touch with today’s music: it’s not “Soldier Boy” by The Shirelles. Apparently these DJs, bless their hearts, had never heard of the headache-inducing version that my brother wanted to hear. He lost his temper, started breaking things, and throwing chairs. Cue Sweet Sixteen music right about…now! Sam went on a full rock star blowout that, of course, he forgot by the morning when his pockets were flooded with checks marked in numbers he still has no idea how to divide. Plus, an iPod. Instantly, he was happy again. Souljaboy what? He could download that ho’ now and listen to it day in and day out for the rest of his life. Or until he loses the iPod, which is exactly what happened the very next morning when I was supposed to leave. Not only did he misplace his newfound pleasure electronic, he misplaced all his cash and checks. Or so he says. What it comes down to, and I, ahem, might be slightly responsible for this, is that he does not trust my parents with the money. Now, I told him not to let mom and dad invest it for him. Much of my money was off wondering around in money markets and stocks, several which took big dives over the years, and none of which I had control over until it was all spent on tuition (which is what I have should have saved it for all along…in a saving’s account). But my brother is a different story. He has no accounts. He has no savings. He needs my parents to help him put the money in the bank and then obtain said money. “You stole it all,” Sam accused my parents, “I know you came in here and took it all!” These were the parting words as I went to hop a plane back to San Diego.

I…Cried: Shut up, I did. I’m not ashamed. In fact, despite the last highlight, I am very, very proud of my brother. He’s more like a son to me than a brother with the ten year age difference. He came so close to not making it (another rockstar moment I was not present for…) or doing anything like this…it’s really amazing to think he got up there and did it all by himself. I have to give him props for that. So when it was my time to get up there and give him a speech, my Lenny Bruce quote faltered me and I just cried. In between tears I said something I really meant, but can’t quite remember because I was breaking down like my mom should have been doing (and did later on). Yep, very proud of my little brother.


…shut up.