Picture of a Tree That Doesn't Look Okay

Today my kids and I went to our first ever bar mitzvah. It was lovely -- such a beautiful ceremony. Such a celebration of tradition, of prayer, of family, of love. It was incredible to witness our young friend become a man in the eyes of the Torah -- and, leading the service, he did seem pretty darn grown up.

I'm not going to have an easy time explaining today's song selection, but I'll give it my best shot. I stumbled on this song today, having never heard it before. When I went to look up the lyrics, I found that, like the bar mitzvah I attended, its format is different from what I'm used to, but its themes, and its questions, they are all too familiar:

Do you think the landlord's pissed? We left a car parked on the lawn again. He's looking. The porch is still and empty. We wrote our friends names on the walls inside. They're laughing. We know that this isn't home for long. The posters in your bedroom speak softly. They tell stories. So while the weather's getting worse we take shelter in these walls again and tell stories. So where did you live and what did you learn there? We watch the fallen leaves turn to frozen trees, it's been another year. Where do the echoes from the echoes go? Where does the water flow when it leaves our homes. I've been searching for this, something that I can run away with. It's a life changing decision. Should I leave or try to beat this? (I know it gets harder everyday. But the dawn will fade and our skin will flake away.) Where do the echoes from the echoes go? Where does the water flow once it leaves our homes. Live wires are like this. They hit the streets and form a beacon. It's a danger we've been warned, but we still stretch and try to reach them. Watching our planet grow on screens I spoke into a window sill and still forgot everything and it spoke back. A thousand frozen trees but still there's something burning. (I will stare while you are growing. Come with me to empty places.) They are filled with everything. Where do the pieces of our dreams recede? Into eyes shut that are opening. I never have ever decided what to think of all the years I spent in Connecticut. (Whenever, if ever I get my life together I'll apologize for all the things I should have said) So beat on the bass drum, make all the spiders run. We threw rocks at the house and it looked back. (and done. Another day lost to the setting sun. I stare at the ceiling and it looks back.)

Standing in that synagogue today, I felt, not first the first time, that I would've liked to have been Jewish, or even to have converted. But for whatever reason (quite likely because my Dad is an atheist), I haven't ever had a partner who is a person of religious faith, even if I did have one who was technically Jewish. True, I could convert on my own, but my reason for wanting to become part of something older and bigger (like Judaism) than me is to have something to help hold my family, and ideally, I'd like to have my partner be a part of whatever that is.

Watching today how being a Jew helped hold the family celebrating their son's bar mitzvah, I wondered anew what's holding mine, and hoped whatever it is, it is as strong, wise, and good a container as the one I witnessed today.

While I figure that out, I'm going to borrow this prayer that I jotted down during the ceremony today:

We pray that we may live
not by our fears but by our hopes
not by our words but by our deeds