Page 130 - WhyAsInY

Why (as in yaverbaum)
The bar mitzvah (in the case of girls, except Orthodox girls, the bat or bas mitzvah) is a rite of passage, originally for boys only, when the boy has achieved his thirteenth birthday and is “called to the Torah” to read introductory and closing prayers when someone else, accomplished at “leyning” (chanting), actually does all or most of the Torah reading. That calling to the Torah is the actual bar mitzvah, but most people think, incorrectly, that a boy is bar mitzvahed (technically, becomes a bar mitzvah, with the emphasis this time on the last syllable) when he chants his haftorah, something that he does after he is called to the Torah. While they are incorrect, it is indisputable that, for the bar mitzvah boy, chanting his haftorah or his haftorah portion is the hardest part of the occasion. (Some believe that it is a task that is even harder than figuring out of the appropriate seating at the tables that will hold the invitees to the celebratory meal, about which more anon; that is a task that, in any event, is generally performed by the bar mitzvah boy’s mom, with sug- gestions and, later, criticism coming from every conceivable corner of the catering hall.)
I say haftorah portion for three reasons. First, there are (usually Reform) temples where only a portion is ever read (hence, the designa- tion Reform). Second, and to be fair, very infrequently, there are synagogues when the boy in question has only mastered a portion of his haftorah, but pity is taken or his parents are active in the shul or are large donors, so the chanting of that limited part is made to seem sufficient. Third, and most common, when synagogues have very large member- ships, the haftorah must be shared. To my relief, EMJC fell into the third category; it was so large that my haftorah had to be divided among three bar mitzvah boys. Unfortunately, when my bar mitzvah came around, I had barely started my adolescence. So, at about five feet tall (but taller than Mrs. Mandelbaum), I shared the center of the stage with two other boys, one of average height and ability (that is, taller and not tone deaf) and one, my friend and classmate at Hudde, Arnold Deerson, who had somehow managed to grow to at least five feet eleven inches, was sur- prisingly filled out for his age, and, to make matters worse, had a
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