No Speeches, Please – A Bat-Mitzvah to Remember.
Every culture has its Rites of Passage—the moment a child is celebrated as stepping into the world of (sort-of) grown-ups.
In Israel, it’s all about the Bar-Mitzvah at 13 for boys, when the father famously proclaims, “Thank God I’m no longer responsible for this one!”
For girls, it’s the Bat-Mitzvah at 12, a slightly less theatrical affair but still a milestone.
For Yoni and me, non-religious as we are, these ceremonies were never part of our lives.
For me, Thom turning 12 was just another birthday. But then, there was that nagging mom guilt.
Living in Holland, far from family, Thom had missed out on the kind of epic birthday celebrations I’d grown up with—ones that could rival a small wedding.
I thought, why not make this birthday special, maybe even grandiose?
The wild card, of course, was Thom herself.
Hormones in full swing, teen attitude firing on all cylinders—I had to tread carefully. So, I asked if she’d like a big celebration with the whole family.
To my shock, she said yes!
Suspicious of this uncharacteristic enthusiasm, I double-checked. Then triple-checked.
Thom, who usually had birthdays with Yoni, me, and maybe a friend or two, was actually on board for a mega event?
This was the same child whose parties usually involved a cake, a few close friends, and the quiet comfort of minimal fuss.
But my family doesn’t do minimal.
My side alone meant inviting 80 relatives, give or take. Add Yoni’s (a mere 12 people) and a handful of my closest friends—and we were looking at a guest list of 150.
For Thom, this was basically an invasion.
Initially, I thought of hosting it at my parents’ iconic house in Jerusalem, with its stunning balcony overlooking the Old City.
But, imagining the chaos we’d unleash on my poor mom, I opted for The Khan.
A restored Ottoman hostel once used by Christian pilgrims en route to Bethlehem, it was now a theater and event venue with an old-world charm that screamed perfect Bat-Mitzvah vibes.
The festivities began a week earlier with a “roots” weekend.
My parents, siblings, Thom’s cousins, and I embarked on a nostalgic trip exploring family heritage.
It wasn’t all serious—there were also trampolines and circus tricks involved.
Even I joined in, soaring through the air and pretending I had the grace of my 12-year-old self.
Spoiler: I didn’t, but it was exhilarating.
After that, Thom spent a few days with Yoni’s family in Rehovot, where her aunts Smadi and Sigi organized a chocolate-making workshop.
Because really, is there a better way to celebrate adolescence than drowning in molten chocolate?
Then came the Big Day.
At The Khan, I arranged game stations—ping pong, foosball, and an active dance video game—to ensure there were escape routes for the introverts and teenagers alike.
It was a win for Thom, who could dodge small talk while still being the star of the show.
But here’s where it got tricky.
My dad, ever the proud grandfather, had prepared a heartfelt speech.
Smadi had lovingly created a video montage of Thom’s life.
Both were ready to dazzle the crowd. Thom, however, was not having it.
“I don’t want any speeches or presentations,” she announced minutes before the program began.
Cue the sinking pit in my stomach.
How was I going to tell a room of 150 people—many of whom live for a good speech or slideshow—that the guest of honor had vetoed the whole thing?
So, there I was, standing in front of family and friends, announcing that there would be no emotional presentations, no teary tributes.
Just games, food, and mingling. My dad looked crestfallen, and I’m pretty sure Smadi swallowed her disappointment with grace.
But Thom? Thom was firm in her decision, and as much as it stung, I respected it.
Later, before we left for Holland, my dad quietly pulled Thom aside. He read her the speech he’d written, translating it into English to ensure she understood every word. He told her how unique, special, and loved she was. It was intimate, heartfelt, and exactly what she needed.
Years later, a grown-up Thom admitted she regretted silencing the tributes. “I should’ve let them speak,” she said wistfully.
But I told her there was no need for regrets. In standing her ground, she had demonstrated what it truly means to come of age: knowing what you want, voicing it, and sticking to it.
And really, isn’t that what a Rite of Passage is all about?
