“Of course they’re hard!” she half-yells. “You’re in honors and that’s amazing, but it’s going to take some extra work on your part.”
“I know, Mom.” I exhale. “I have it under control.”
We pull into the temple parking lot, and my mom says, “I’m going to make some calls from the car. So just come out when you’re done.”
I nod and go inside and find the cantor typing on her laptop. I knock gently.
“Come in, Arianna. Please. Have a seat.” She smiles. “Sorry to change your lesson so last minute. Glad you could make it.”
“No problem.”
“So, tell me. How’s everything going?”
“Good.” I shrug. “I’ve been practicing everything. But my speech is still a work in progress.”
“Well, that’s okay. Let’s start to go through the service the way we will on the big day, and then we discuss the speech.”
We go over the prayers at the beginning of the service. They’re mostly in Hebrew and involve me saying a part and the congregation reading aloud responsively. Cantor Simon corrects a few of my mistakes, but I’m proud to say there are really only a few.
“I think you’re in great shape,” she says. “A little under two months to go. Can you believe it?”
I shake my head. “No, definitely not. To answer your email, I don’t think I can see myself as an adult in the eyes of my people. At all.”
She laughs a little. “Well, you start slow. You can’t ever really see yourself doing anything until you do it.”
I play with the fraying threads around the hole in my jeans. “I guess, yeah.”
She nods. “What does it mean to you, though? Being an adult in the eyes of your people?”
I think for a second. “I guess it means putting our own needs aside sometimes and focusing on others.”
That leadership program from camp pops into my head. It just seemed like an average thing, and it’s surprising that it keeps coming back to me again and again. “And also working harder on the commandments. Being a more active participant in services and stuff.”
“All excellent things.” Cantor Simon smiles. “I can tell you’re putting a great deal of thought into this process, and I love it. It’s a journey. Not something you’ll have all figured out right away.”
“Yeah.” I smile back.
She stays quiet for a few seconds and says, “Anything else on your mind? Anything else you would like to discuss today?”
I consider telling her about the situation with my dad, but it feels too personal. And I certainly can’t launch into the lunch table drama situation. I kind of want to, though, because she has these soft, sensitive green eyes. They make me feel like she can understand anything and offer advice.
“Well, one thing . . .” I sit back in the chair.
She nods for me to continue.
“This kind of relates to my speech actually—how do you stay so focused? I feel like my mind always wanders. Like, ever since I was a little kid. Teachers would tell my parents I was always daydreaming in class, and I do well in school, but . . .”
She clears her throat. “I’m not always focused. My mind wanders, too. I think it’s okay to daydream a little bit. There’s a whole Torah portion about Jacob and his dream. That’s next week’s, by the way.” She laughs. “So accept that you daydream, let yourself daydream a little, and then try to regain focus. We’re all works in progress, Ari.”
“That makes sense, I think.” I put all the prayer sheets back in my bat mitzvah folder.
“Do you want to discuss your speech? What you’ve been thinking about in terms of what you want to say?” She sits back in her chair and takes a sip of her tea. “Here’s a bit of trivia for you . . . Chaiyei Sarah is the only portion of the Torah named after a matriarch. Cool, right?”
“That is cool. The thing is, it’s hard to tie it all together. And I guess I’m still figuring out how I feel, so . . .” My voice trails off, and so do my thoughts. “Like Sarah had it so much harder than I do, and, um, I don’t know.” I laugh because I realize I’m not making any sense.
“I see.” She smiles. “Well, think about what the story of Sarah’s life is trying to teach us. There’s not really a right or wrong answer.” She pauses. “And everything you’ve told me about community and responsibility—that all ties in very well. I think you just need to connect the dots a little.”
I nod, still feeling confused.
“Am I making sense?” She laughs a little.
“I think so, but it’s a lot to take in. My head starts to spin a little when I try to really formulate my thoughts, so I keep starting and stopping and starting again. . . .” I look up at the clock and realize it’s almost time to go and I should probably stop blabbering on. “So next week, this time? Or back to our original time?”
“Good question.” She looks at her calendar. “Back to the original time. Have a great week, Ari.”
“Bye. Thank you.”
I walk back out to the car and find my mom crying in the front seat. But when I get in, she wipes her eyes and pretends that she wasn’t.
“Are you okay?”
“Allergies. You know how I get this time of year.” She sniffles.
“Um, not really. It’s September. You usually have bad allergies in May and June.”
She starts driving. “It changes every year. How was your lesson?”
“Fine. I’m in good shape.”
“That’s great to hear,” she says. “I still can’t believe you’re old enough to have a bat mitzvah. In my mind you’re still the little baby crawling all over the floor.”
“Mom.” I roll my eyes.
“You’ll understand one day,” she tells me. “When you have kids you’ll understand.”
“Check back with me then, okay?” I laugh, trying to break up the tension.
All she does is shake her head and stare at the road in front of us.
After dinner, I’m back at my desk doing homework when I get a text from Kaylan.
Kaylan: r u not talking 2 me?
Ari: um I could ask u the same thing.
Kaylan: ft’ing u
A second later, I see the FaceTime call coming in and I swipe across to answer it.
“What’s going on?” Kaylan asks, scratching an itch above her eyebrow.
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Stop.” She stares at me through the screen.
“I didn’t do anything.”
She puts the phone down so all I can see is the ceiling, and when she comes back to the call, her hair is up in a bun.
“Why did you storm away from lunch?” she asks.
“I just didn’t feel super comfy there. It wasn’t a big deal.”
“You left the cafeteria!”
“So?” I laugh. “It’s okay to want a change of scenery.”
“Ari.”
“Kaylan.
“Those girls are just weird. I don’t get why they didn’t invite me to hang that night when you were away. And I don’t get why you didn’t tell me about the big P happening on your dad trip.” I shrug. “None of this is a big deal. It’s just super weird. So I figured I’d take myself out of the drama.”
Kaylan lowers her eyes. “Ari. For real? You hate talking about the big P! So obvs I wasn’t going to tell you.”
“I don’t hate talking about it. I just don’t like discussing it with everyone at the lunch table. But you’re my BFF. It’s way different.”
“Okay. Well, I’m sorry. But please don’t storm off again.”
“I wasn’t storming! I just got up!” I shake my head. “I thought you were all about being TH friends or whatever. So I’m being TH and telling you I don’t like discussing personal stuff at the lunch table.” I pause. “But you were not TH at all the way you didn’t tell me about what happened on your trip!”
“Fine. This is getting confusing.” She rolls her eyes, as if I can’t see her right in the screen.
W
e’re quiet for a second, just as my mom yells, “Ari! Off the phone! Now! You have tons of homework to do!”
“You heard the woman,” I whisper, laughing. “I gotta go, Kay.”
“Just be normal tomorrow, okay?” she says. “Like you were before you went to camp!”
“Ew, that’s rude, Kay. I am normal. I’m the same as I was before, whatever that is. Who knows. They’re the weird ones. I’ll be however I’m gonna be, thankyouverymuch.”
“TH friends. All I’m saying.” She shakes her head. “Whatever, Ari.”
“Whatever, Kay,” I mock.
I try to go back to homework after that, but I keep replaying the conversation in my head. Just be normal tomorrow?
That doesn’t even really sound like Kaylan. I could be saying the same exact thing to her.
TWENTY-FIVE
AFTER A FEW DAYS, I get into a habit of starting my homework on the bus ride home because there’s so much to do and not that much time to do it.
“We need to figure out if we’re doing that barbecue,” Kaylan says, interrupting my math problem. “If Zoe is definitely coming in with her dad, we should do it soon while the weather is still warm enough.”
“Oh! Her visit is coming up soon, actually.”
“So let’s plan it.” Kaylan smiles. “We can make our mac and cheese.”
“Ooh! Good idea.” I go back to my math, putting the barbecue plans out of my head for a second.
“Talk to your parents tonight and make sure they’re okay with it,” Kaylan instructs.
I close my math stuff. “You’re sure you’re okay with the set-up, though? And your mom is, too?”
“I think so.” She smiles. “Can we invite the lunch table girls, though?”
I raise my eyebrows. “Sure. I guess.”
“I mean, you’re gonna have Zoe and the other camp girls there, so it’s only fair. . . .”
I shrug. “True.” I hesitate a second and then turn to Kaylan and say, “Kay, I need to talk to you, actually. Something happened while you were away, and I haven’t been able to really tell you yet.”
“Big P related?”
“No. Not everything is big P related.” I roll my eyes. “Do you want to come over for a little after school?”
“Okay. I told Cami I’d go to her house later for a pizza study date, though, for our history test.” She shakes her head. “I didn’t invite you since you’re in honors,” she sings.
“Stop.”
“Just tell me as we walk,” Kaylan says as we get off the bus. “You know I can’t handle waiting.”
“Fine. Let’s just talk here.” We stop at a bench outside the little playground in our neighborhood and sit down.
“What is it? I’m freaking out.”
I laugh for a second. “I thought you were breaking that bad habit?”
“You can help me! Now spill it!”
I hesitate and then blurt out, “My dad lost his job. I don’t exactly know what’s going on. But my fancy ooh-la-la bat mitzvah isn’t happening. That whole golf club caterer meeting was for nothing.” I sigh. “So this barbecue may be a little weird. Like, my parents may not be in a party mood. I need to talk to my mom about it.”
“Oh. Um. Wow.” Kaylan’s eyebrows crinkle. “That’s not what I was expecting you to say.”
“What were you expecting?” I giggle.
She laughs a little, too. “Not sure, actually.”
We sit there quietly for a minute, and she says, “I can’t believe you waited so long to tell me. Did you tell Alice and everyone?”
I nod. “Yeah. But you were away, and I didn’t want to stress you out, and then school started, and the lunch table thing . . .”
“You should still be able to tell me stuff.” She looks at me. “I mean, come on.”
“I know.”
“Keeping our friendship strong, Ari.”
“It is. We are.”
“Does your dad want to work at an allergy office?” She shrugs. “Maybe my mom can get him a job there.”
“Um . . . I don’t think he has the skills. But thanks!” I wait for Kaylan to say anything else, offer any words of wisdom, but we just sit there quietly until I say, “I should go and start homework. I probably have a bat mitzvah lesson. I seem to have them every day, I think.”
“Lot of work to become a woman.” Kaylan cracks up.
“Ew. Don’t say it that way.”
“Call me later, Ar,” Kaylan says as we part ways to go to our houses.
“Okay.”
In my head, I practice what to say when I talk to my parents about the barbecue. If all goes according to plan, I’ll invite everyone.
It’ll be something fun to look forward to.
TWENTY-SIX
MY PARENTS SEEM TO BE in bad moods for the rest of the week. I can never find a light moment to ask them about the barbecue. So I decide to put it on hold until after Rosh Hashanah. Maybe the New Year will cheer them up.
I sit in temple, and I think about all the stuff that happened this past year and all that will happen in the coming year. It’s the Jewish New Year, but it’s not a rah-rah, throw-a-party kind of new year. We don’t have noise makers or wear sparkly dresses.
It’s soul-searchy and introspective and thoughtful. We think about mistakes we made in the past year and how we can make them right, fix broken relationships with people, apologize for things we’ve done wrong. And we think about how we can be better in the new year. The kind of people we want to be.
It kind of reminds me of the 12 Before 13 list, actually.
It was the completely right decision to make our lists in the summer. Every first day of school is basically like the New Year. We want to be the best we can be.
And this year, Rosh Hashanah feels like an even bigger deal, since I’ve spent so much time working on my bat mitzvah stuff, really thinking about the role Judaism plays in my life. It’s always been kind of an obligation to come and sit in temple and stay quiet and pray and listen to the sermons.
For the first time ever, it doesn’t feel like an obligation. It still is, I mean, I’m forced to be here by my parents. But I actually want to be here, too.
And when next Rosh Hashanah rolls around, I will be on the other side—no longer a kid, truly a woman in the eyes of my people. One hundred percent.
Maybe I should include all of that in my speech? God, why is writing this speech so hard? I mean, I thought the Hebrew stuff would be the hard part. But it’s the writing in English that’s tripping me up.
I leave the service for a minute to go to the bathroom, and when I walk in I find Jules, Cami, and M.W. sitting on the countertops in the bathroom lounge area outside the stalls, making little flowers out of toilet paper.
“Oh, hey,” I say, a little startled to find them there.
“Hey,” they grumble, not really paying attention.
“Services are so boring,” M.W. says, looking up at me. “I can’t sit through all of it.”
“Me neither. Duh.” Jules rolls her eyes at nothing in particular.
I shrug. “Oh. Um. Yeah.”
“Have you been in there the whole time?” Jules asks. “Have you seen Noah?”
I grab a tissue from the box. “I’ve been in there, but I haven’t seen him.”
“I hope it’s okay that we’re, like, together now,” she says. “I mean, I know you and Noah were, like, a thing.”
I laugh. “Not really. It’s totally okay.”
Cami jumps in. “Yeah, and Ari has a boyfriend now. From caaamp.”
“Stop.” I smile and walk toward the stalls. “It’s totally fine, though, Jules.”
While I’m in the stall, I keep an ear out because I think there’s a good chance they may be talking about me. I can’t say for sure, though, but maybe.
“You’re going back to the service already?” M.W. asks after I’ve washed my hands and I’m leaving the bathroom.
I feel a little flattered that she wants me to stay.
“Um, yeah.” They laugh, but not in a mean way. Not a hundred percent mean anyway.
“Have fun praying,” Cami says, giggling. “Would it be okay if your nickname was Rabbi? It could work, I think.”
I laugh along with her, because it’s better than showing how embarrassed I feel. “Whatever you want, Cami. We can see if it sticks.”
I leave the bathroom with my head held high, because it’s the only way to be. A fake it till you make it kind of thing. Even though I’m almost positive they’ll be talking about me now.
But today isn’t about focusing on things like that. It’s about figuring out how to be better. How to make changes for the new year.
I spend the rest of the service trying to brainstorm my speech in my head. I’d jot down notes, but it wouldn’t be right.
I get home from temple, not feeling confident that I’ve come up with anything good.
I text Kaylan to check in.
Ari: How was the arcade?
Kaylan: Was soooo fabbbbbbb @ June’s house now. So fun.
Ari: Cool ☺
Kaylan: Heard u saw cami & mw @ temple.
Ari: Yup.
Ari: What else is going on w/ u?
Kaylan: nm but I gg xo
Ari: xoxo
I’ve heard of some people who take a technology break from cell phones and texting on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, and right now I’m kind of wishing that I’d done that, too.
I don’t want to think about that awkward text exchange with Kaylan.
It would have been better to stay in the warm-and-glowy-feelings space of looking inward and figuring out what all of this Judaism stuff means to me.
And how to be the best Arianna Simone Nodberg I can be.
TWENTY-SEVEN
“SO,” MY MOM STARTS WHEN we’re all at the kitchen table for dinner a few nights later. “It’s not what we had originally planned, but it’s still going to be nice. We’ll have bagels and cream cheese and cookies and stuff after the service in the temple social hall, and we can get some balloons. And Dad’s friend Jerry offered to play guitar.”
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