My Daughter's Bat Mitzvah
Jewish parenting in a time of pandemic and war
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
My daughter’s bat mitzvah was scheduled for early 2021, but in July of 2020—with the Covid-19 pandemic raging—we made the difficult decision to cancel it. The world had shut down, and it was impossible to predict when in-person gatherings would be safe again.
My daughter had been more focused on the party than on the religious significance of her bat mitzvah. She had already watched her two older brothers become bar mitzvahed, and she looked forward to taking her turn as the center of attention—wearing a sparkly new dress, being surrounded by her friends, and, if she was lucky, fielding Cameo video appearances from her favourite celebrities.
As we had started to plan her bat mitzvah, we had reached a compromise: rather than a full Saturday morning service in synagogue (which would involve reading from the Torah, chanting a haftorah and delivering a parashat ha’shavua), we would have a shorter Kabbalat Shabbat ceremony. She already knew the prayers from years of Hebrew day school and summers at Jewish camp.
My husband and I were devastated to cancel everything. But the borders to Canada were closed, and we had parents, siblings and cousins in the U.S.; we couldn’t fathom celebrating without them. When we shared the news with our daughter, I saw the disappointment on her face.
“We will make you an amazing sweet sixteen instead!” I blurted out. I didn’t even know if people still had sweet sixteens, but I couldn’t shatter her hopes for the party of the century.
As soon as my daughter turned 15, she reminded me that it was time to start planning. She could envision the dress (still sparkly!), the shoes, the hair. Gone was the discussion of going to synagogue. Instead, we focused on venues, menus and guest lists. But something gnawed at me. We were Jews in a post-October 7 world. My sons were at university in Ontario, navigating a new wave of antisemitism. I peppered them with questions about encampments, protests, the security at AEPi parties and Chabad dinners. We talked constantly about how to balance staying safe with taking pride in our Jewish identity.
Children often receive gifts of Judaica for their bar and bat mitzvot. For my sons, it was kiddush cups, prayer shawls, and Star of David necklaces. But when my daughter’s bat mitzvah was canceled, she had missed out on this rite of passage. Sure, I had bought her Shabbat candlesticks, and she had picked out a mezuzah for her bedroom door during a family trip to Israel. But something was missing. I met with a jeweler and picked out a simple yet beautiful necklace with a small, diamond Magen David pendant. She carefully opened the box on her sixteenth birthday (which we had celebrated with the party of her dreams). She studied the necklace, delicately fingering the star, then looked at me with tears in her eyes.
“I love it, but I can’t wear that on the subway,” she said.
The missing piece wasn’t the necklace. It wasn’t the sequined dress or the room full of friends. I had somehow lost the importance of instilling in my daughter that the reason for a bat mitzvah—whether it’s a Saturday morning aliyah or Friday night blessings—is religious. With antisemitism surging in the diaspora, she is more afraid, than proud, to outwardly show that she is Jewish.
My husband and I realized that we needed to strengthen our family’s connection to Israel and to Judaism. We needed to teach our children to stand up to misinformation and antisemitism. I soon had an idea.
I was already involved with Toronto’s ShinShinim program—which helps young Israelis, who are on their gap year between high school and military service, find volunteer work in our local Jewish community. We decided to invite a ShinShin to live with our family for five months. Hosting an Israeli teen will not only allow us to give back in a small way; it will also help our daughter understand how Israelis have dealt with October 7 and the challenges of being publicly Jewish.
We have also committed, as a family, to accompany our ShinShin to synagogue every Saturday. I don’t know if this return to services will inspire my daughter to revisit the idea of a religious commemoration of her bat mitzvah. But I do know that we are making strides in her connection to Judaism and Israel—and that’s what really matters, especially now.
Stefanie Goldschmied lives in Toronto, Canada with her husband Ozzie, their children, Noah, Jakob and Emily, and their dog, Roxy. Since leaving her career as a corporate recruiter in the software industry during the pandemic, Stefanie has re-engaged her love of reading and has built a growing network of local book clubs.
Instagram: @stefinitely.reading
This essay is part of a new collection of work inspired by the anthology On Being Jewish Now: Reflections of Authors and Advocates. Want to contribute? Instructions here. Subscribe here.
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