Ben's Bar Mitzvah
(First published by Sacred Journey, 2009)
Coming down the mountain trail somewhere outside of Bozeman, Montana on a Friday afternoon toward the end of June, we came upon a plant with tiny delicate green leaves casting velvet shadows onto the ground below. Each leaf was the size of a dime perhaps, and slightly heart shaped. It was a little plant tucked into the side of the mountain, overhanging the trail on which we were hiking which had led to a waterfall fed by winter snow runoffs into a reservoir below. The shadows were individual and so dark that I had to go back and look closer, wondering if they were shadows at all, or some kind of animal scat instead. I had never seen anything like them. Shadows, in my experience, are usually lighter in color, though I have never made a study of shadows in any particular way.
When I decided to look closer, I was surprised to discover a small bed of pebbles directly under the leaves, so that each pebble received its own shadow separately from each individual leaf. I presume the way the sunlight was slanting off the mountain, and the way the plant was partly tucked into the side of the rock, as well as the pebbles underneath was what accounted for this phenomenon.
I had been enjoying the hike, but cannot say I was finding anything unusual about the experience until we came upon that unique set of shadows. I had been fortunate enough in the past to hike in Idaho, Arizona and New Hampshire, and to drive through mountains in Colorado. I had seen other beautiful pine trees and rock formations and waterfalls. I had certainly attended a lot of Bar and Bat Mitzvahs in my life. I was on this trip for the sake of an old friend, and the Bar Mitzvah of her grandson, and had forced myself out of the momentum of my writing life, and the happy inertia of being home without company after the hectic winter season in Florida in order to make this trip.
Even so, I was perfectly happy to be in Montana once I was there. I was happy to be sharing a special time with a special friend. I was happy to see how much her children and grandchildren loved their adopted home; how much pride they took in sharing it with us and showing it off. I was happy to have the sun on my back under a cloudless blue sky and to feel my feet in the Bar Mitzvah boy's sister's excellent hiking shoes biting down on the gravel path. I was certainly amazed and impressed that on the very morning of the Bar Mitzvah, the boy, along with his sister and parents, felt relaxed enough to take us on this hike. But until I saw those unique shadows, I didn't think I was experiencing anything I hadn't experienced at other times in my life.
I don't quite know what it was about those shadows that make them stand out in my mind. There was only that one inky patch of them. I think what I loved about them was their uniqueness. The special way they stood out from everything else. The attention they called. They were tiny – like the still, small intuitive voice inside, they could have been easily missed. Nobody else seemed interested when I pointed them out, and nobody else went back to take a second look. I wish I'd had more time to study them, to take them in, but everyone else was hurrying down the trail; my friend and I and my friend's sister were the laggards as it was.
It was a big day, with Ben's Bar Mitzvah coming that same night. There was no more time to delay. There were things yet to do, a special family dinner to prepare for, and the beautiful Oneg Shabbot that would follow the ceremony itself, every cookie and cake made lovingly by Ben's mother. Ben at 13 is 5' 10” tall - a gentle giant. He did a spectacular job. The Temple in Bozeman is a remodeled office building. The Rabbi presided in shirt sleeves. A preppy young man sang and another played the guitar. Some of the congregation wore cowboy boots. It was a warm and wonderful evening.
There turned out to be many gifts to bring back with me from that Montana weekend, sweet memories all. One of the most unexpected, and one for which I am especially grateful, was that tiny group of shadows that reminded me to wake up and become conscious – those tiny individual shadows that gave that one particular mountain and that one particular Bar Mitzvah celebration it's own unique and special life.
Coming down the mountain trail somewhere outside of Bozeman, Montana on a Friday afternoon toward the end of June, we came upon a plant with tiny delicate green leaves casting velvet shadows onto the ground below. Each leaf was the size of a dime perhaps, and slightly heart shaped. It was a little plant tucked into the side of the mountain, overhanging the trail on which we were hiking which had led to a waterfall fed by winter snow runoffs into a reservoir below. The shadows were individual and so dark that I had to go back and look closer, wondering if they were shadows at all, or some kind of animal scat instead. I had never seen anything like them. Shadows, in my experience, are usually lighter in color, though I have never made a study of shadows in any particular way. When I decided to look closer, I was surprised to discover a small bed of pebbles directly under the leaves, so that each pebble received its own shadow separately from each individual leaf. I presume the way the sunlight was slanting off the mountain, and the way the plant was partly tucked into the side of the rock, as well as the pebbles underneath was what accounted for this phenomenon.
I had been enjoying the hike, but cannot say I was finding anything unusual about the experience until we came upon that unique set of shadows. I had been fortunate enough in the past to hike in Idaho, Arizona and New Hampshire, and to drive through mountains in Colorado. I had seen other beautiful pine trees and rock formations and waterfalls. I had certainly attended a lot of Bar and Bat Mitzvahs in my life. I was on this trip for the sake of an old friend, and the Bar Mitzvah of her grandson, and had forced myself out of the momentum of my writing life, and the happy inertia of being home without company after the hectic winter season in Florida in order to make this trip.
Even so, I was perfectly happy to be in Montana once I was there. I was happy to be sharing a special time with a special friend. I was happy to see how much her children and grandchildren loved their adopted home; how much pride they took in sharing it with us and showing it off. I was happy to have the sun on my back under a cloudless blue sky and to feel my feet in the Bar Mitzvah boy's sister's excellent hiking shoes biting down on the gravel path. I was certainly amazed and impressed that on the very morning of the Bar Mitzvah, the boy, along with his sister and parents, felt relaxed enough to take us on this hike. But until I saw those unique shadows, I didn't think I was experiencing anything I hadn't experienced at other times in my life.
I don't quite know what it was about those shadows that make them stand out in my mind. There was only that one inky patch of them. I think what I loved about them was their uniqueness. The special way they stood out from everything else. The attention they called. They were tiny – like the still, small intuitive voice inside, they could have been easily missed. Nobody else seemed interested when I pointed them out, and nobody else went back to take a second look. I wish I'd had more time to study them, to take them in, but everyone else was hurrying down the trail; my friend and I and my friend's sister were the laggards as it was.
It was a big day, with Ben's Bar Mitzvah coming that same night. There was no more time to delay. There were things yet to do, a special family dinner to prepare for, and the beautiful Oneg Shabbot that would follow the ceremony itself, every cookie and cake made lovingly by Ben's mother. Ben at 13 is 5' 10” tall - a gentle giant. He did a spectacular job. The Temple in Bozeman is a remodeled office building. The Rabbi presided in shirt sleeves. A preppy young man sang and another played the guitar. Some of the congregation wore cowboy boots. It was a warm and wonderful evening.
There turned out to be many gifts to bring back with me from that Montana weekend, sweet memories all. One of the most unexpected, and one for which I am especially grateful, was that tiny group of shadows that reminded me to wake up and become conscious – those tiny individual shadows that gave that one particular mountain and that one particular Bar Mitzvah celebration it's own unique and special life.
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