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The Greene Line: Learning from Moses' imperfections

By Norman Greene
San Diego Jewish Press Heritage, January 10, 2003, page 11

Westchester, N.Y.— What was that note? Where did it come from? And who is the lady with the tea?

In every man's life there are markers, milestones that are indelibly planted within the recesses of the mind. The clarity may fade with age, but the
basic, overall impressions remain sharp and clearly delineated. These are the guideposts, the memorable moments that help to guide and illuminate a
path and a character.

Our ancestors were very clever to recognize this in ancient times. They did more than understand the importance of it, they created meaningful,
formulaic tools and ceremonies to assure that the markers were manufactured and implanted in memory.

Jews were not alone in this activity. Every civilization and culture has produced its own set of rituals and ceremonies. All are events that create
lasting awareness.

Few have been as successful in implanting the idea of "being" as the bar or bat mitzvah. Often it is the preparation for and the experience of this
event alone that sustains a Jew for the rest of his life.

If there is one thing that a guy remembers from his playful youth, it is that awesome day when he is called to the bima to recite from the Torah. The
event has everything dramatic in it to make a lasting impression. There's tension, terror, achievement and satisfaction.

Oh yes, I remember it well. The size of that enormous sanctuary was daunting enough to make any man feel small, much less a 13-year-old standing on a box so that he could be seen by the congregation. Seated before me was everyone in the entire world who was important to me and to my parents. Even a self-confident kid, who knew his material backwards and forwards, might be more than a little nervous.

They say that a bar mitzvah helps to begin the next phase in a young person's life, but it can also help to create awareness for us older kids,
as well.

This past weekend, as an adult I learned something new at Shaaray Tefila of Westchester (New York) as Ryan Tunick was called to be a bar mitzvah. That's the beauty of Judaism. There is always something new to be learned, no matter who you are and how much you think you already know.

Rabbi Robert Weiner was explaining the meaning of the bar mitzvah boy's middle name, which is Lewis. That was also my late father¹s name (Louis). In
Hebrew, he said, Lewis was Labe, and that means "heart." I had never heard this before. This thoroughly confident, constantly smiling, incredibly
well-prepared young man, the rabbi noted, had a wonderful, warm, loving and generous heart.

So like my dad, I found myself thinking. My father was all heart.

The rabbi spoke of Ezekiel's promise of hope (in Ryan¹s Haftorah) and he likened those days at the edges of Babylon to the current dark periods of
our day, but it was his analysis of the Torah portion that I will most remember. He noted that when Moses heard the voice from the burning bush
commanding him to go to Pharaoh, Moses complained that he had a speech impediment and really wasn't up to the assignment. God totally ignored the
complaint and repeated the instruction.

From this, the rabbi instructed, we are to learn that man is perfect in God's eyes and only imperfect in man's own. We can all overcome our own
perceived faults with a little effort. Moses did.

As a six-woman choir gloriously chanted, I remembered my own Torah portion. It started out on a peculiar musical note somewhere in mid-air. I had
practiced it until I could sing it in my sleep, but the day of my bar mitzvah must have coincided with the start of puberty. That first note came
out of the blue and sort of just hung there in total embarrassment. It wasn¹t a beautiful sound. I heard my mother's gasp and the shrill foghorn
quality of that single, discordant note. That's something you never forget.

For a split second, I didn't know whether to start again or to run for cover. I couldn¹t imagine what had happened to my normal high tenor. Maybe
in my subconscious, I already knew about Moses' lisp. So I plunged ahead and triumphed. By the end of the service, the legendary Cantor Arthur Koret asked me if I had had professional voice training, as he congratulated me on my chanting. That made my special day even more memorable.
It did nothing to halt the hormonal attack on my vocal cords. Within weeks, I was no longer a high tenor, even momentarily.

Much later, Mom confided that she too had had her moment. As she was helping serve the tea and hot coffee at the oneg Shabbat, a woman approached her in the cavernous vestry to compliment her on my performance. "Thank you," my mother responded, admitting: "You look so familiar, but I¹m sorry that I just can¹t remember your name."

The woman smiled and said: "You should come to services more often, my dear. I'm Mrs. Morris Silverman ... the rabbi¹s wife."

Yes, there is a lesson to be learned every day in Judaism, and the ones from your bar or bat mitzvah often last a lifetime.