The Dos and Don’ts of Bar and Bat Mitzvahs

“Today, you’re a man, tomorrow, you’re back in the eighth grade” was the funniest thing my dad could think of saying to me during my Bar Mitzvah. Being a Jewish father, he repeated it several times over the course of the festivities, far past the point of it being humorous and always in front of as many people as possible. Imagine my horror this weekend when I saw my thirteen-year-old cousin for his Bar Mitzvah and the first thing I hear myself say to him is: “Today, you’re a man, tomorrow, you’re back in the eighth grade.” I reeled back from the table, dropped the piece of brisket out of my mouth, stared slack-jawed at my sister, and beseeched her: “Am I becoming dad?” 

She was not listening, as she was several glasses in, trying to lower the temperature of the table after our grandparents had accused her of not calling enough. Somewhere across the table, an argument was burgeoning over whether the Catskills were better for Thanksgiving than LA, where the colors are not vivid, but the weather is beautiful. The dispute was personal and intense, ending in a bitter stalemate. At the other side of the room, distant relatives commented on each other’s weight, all but certain to ruin someone’s evening, and somewhere the screaming about Trump and inflation was so loud that our waiters were certainly offering other patrons discounts on their meals. Yet all the same, the Shabbat dinner ended in hugs and cheers, with the knowledge we’d all do the same thing tomorrow at the reception. 

It is essential for any prospective Bar or Bat Mitzvah-goer to know what they’re getting themselves into. This is not an ordinary birthday party or wedding; this is a potentially catastrophic amalgamation of teenage hormones, family drama, and too much food (Jews are not known for easy digestion.) Fortunately, if done correctly, the occasion will be one to remember, and you’ll be gushing over pictures for years to come. Allow me to be your rebbe, sharing my wisdom on the dos and don’ts of this infamous Jewish spectacle. 

At the party, wine will make the hora ten times more enjoyable, and will make the pointed comments on your dating life ten times more bearable. 

Do #1: Drink (in moderation, of course.)

Alcohol is an institution in Judaism, right up there with Tanakh and guilt. In my line of work, I am asked quite often how it is that Jews persevere in spite of all the animosity we face. I talk about how we are empowered by our history and our traditions, but the more I ruminate, the more I’m certain it’s because our forefathers and foremothers busted out the cabernet at critical moments. My great grandmother pricked her fingers on needles in the Garment District for decades because she was too pickled to feel pain, and that’s the Jewish story in a nutshell. At the party, wine will make the hora ten times more enjoyable, and will make the pointed comments on your dating life ten times more bearable. 

Don’t #1: Overestimate strength 

I write this due to the trauma of last night, when a cadre of men and boys went to lift up my uncle’s chair during the hora, only for it to topple over and take down three partygoers in its wake. “That never happens,” I said to the guest next to me, who was shocked too. Nobody was quite sure what to do. The humiliation of the recently emasculated lifters was profound, so consider this a warning to either hit the gym or refrain from volunteering. 

Do #2: Flirt 

This is something that I learned just recently, pondering spaces in my own life where I can find as many potential shidduchim. Curtain up on the Bar Mitzvah, teeming with family friends and various acquaintances. I am not suggesting you sit and speak with someone for long, lest you’re prepared for Pandora’s box of questions from voyeurs, but I am suggesting making the most of what amounts to speed-dating with the food and drink free of charge. This tip also doesn’t apply to the synagogue service—whispering your best pickup line during your cousin’s Haftorah is in poor taste. Also, make sure you’re not speaking to a distant cousin, for our tradition frowns on such things. 

Don’t #2: Politics 

As previously alluded to, discussion of current events is doomed to boil over quickly. My family is divided down the line between left and right. When I was growing up, family dinners were a contest over who would first get up from the table out of frustration and who would eventually have to slam their fists down to make a point. This is uniquely dangerous when in the presence of dozens, as Jews love nothing more than to add their two cents and to disagree for the sake of disagreeing. Heed my warning: If your uncle decides it’s a perfect time to bring up January 6, excuse yourself to the bathroom to flirt with various guests who are there for the same reason. 

Do #3: Lie 

Hear me out: Lying is fun, especially clever white lies. If you find yourself stranded at a cocktail hour, forced into the ominous throes of small talk, revel in the unique opportunity of speaking to people you’ll never have to speak to again. I don’t know why anyone would subject themselves to divulging information about the endless mundanity of our existences when you could tell Sharon from Phoenix that you just got back from studying infectious diseases in Bhutan. She might then introduce you to her son. But again, make sure you’re not speaking to a distant cousin. 

Don’t #3: Make Any Promises 

If out of the corner of your eye you see a distant relative making a beeline to your table, understand you might be harassed into attending various future events, including but not limited to Pesach next year, Long Island next summer, or a shiva call “just in case.” You must stand your ground, and let them know you will get back to them when your calendar is in order. Inevitably, your mother will berate you with guilt for not saying “yes” enthusiastically to the plans, but this is still far better than actually going to Long Island. 

I hope this short guide will serve you well. Bar and Bat Mitzvahs are a beautiful occasion and an excellent way to reconnect with those you haven’t seen in a while. Note that if all else fails, you’ll still be able to gossip about various guests at the Sunday brunch, and you’ll still have the chance to do it all over again at the next one.

Blake Flayton is New Media Director and columnist at the Jewish Journal.