In Praise of Criers

This story really happened, although perhaps not exactly as I have written it. The names have been changed to safeguard the privacy of those involved.

The boy had been preparing for this day for a year. His mentor and teacher was also his father. There were some bumps, as there often are when a father tries to teach his son. But the rewards of working together far outweighed the frustrations, and over the year their bond, already strong, grew stronger. Finally the boy--call him Eli--was ready for his Bar Mitzvah.

On Saturday morning, Eli's family and many friends gathered at the shul (synagogue) in happy anticipation of the special morning. Eli and his father approached the lectern where the Torah--the holy scroll containing the Five Books of Moses--had been uncovered. After the recitation of the blessing before the Torah reading, Eli picked up the ornate silver pointer, pointed it to the scroll and opened his mouth to form the first word of the Torah portion.

Immediately he began to cry. The congregation sat in awkward silence as he tried to regain his composure. Eli calmed down, started from the beginning and once again the sobs came. After a long moment he tried again, and chanted the Hebrew words perfectly. Clearly he knew his part. But then the tears would come again, and he would stop again. The tension in the sanctuary was palpable as the worshipers agonized along with the boy.

Eli's father, a kind and learned man, did what good fathers do. He comforted his son and then came to his aid. He chanted the Torah portion for Eli, and the next portion and the next. The father's mournful chanting welled up from the depths of his soul and reached beyond the rafters as a supplication: dear God, please save my son from humiliation and pain.

The sanctuary grew silent as Eli approached the lectern for his fourth attempt at the Torah reading. Everyone in Eli's family stopped breathing. There wasn't a soul in that hall who didn't offer a silent prayer to God Almighty: Give the boy strength.

Eli opened his mouth and chanted the first few words of the portion. Flawless. And then he continued until he completed the portion. His father had obviously prepared him well, for he flew through the next three portions without missing a beat. Eli was in full command of his voice, his mind, his emotions. God had listened.

When he completed the Torah reading, and then the Haftorah (an excerpt from the Book of Prophets), the congregation erupted in cheers and whistles and laughter in a final release of the awful tension. As is tradition they threw pieces of wrapped candy at Eli, and he took the volleys with a smile on his face. Still, one could sense his unease and embarassment.

The Rabbi stood up and gave his weekly message. Then he turned to the young man and he said: "Eli, you may not know this, but you and I have a lot in common. Your name is Eli...my name is Eli. You were born in January...I was also born in January. And Eli, you are a crier...and I am a crier."

The young man seemed puzzled. The congregants sat up in their seats. "You see, Eli," said the Rabbi, "most people keep their emotions all bottled up. They keep themselves from feeling pain by feeling nothing at all. They don't cry easily, but they don't laugh so easily either. Eli, I'll bet you laugh a lot." Eli nodded.

"People like you and me feel things. We laugh because so much of life strikes as as funny. And we cry because we recognize what's important and meaningful. Eli, when you approached our holy Torah, you cried because you understood how beautiful and sweet and and important this moment is for you, your parents, family, friends and K'lal Yisrael, the community of Israel.

"The tears you shed are the tears of your grandparents and great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents and so on going all the way back to Avraham Avinu, Abraham our father. Your sobs are their sobs of joy and happiness in the knowledge that you were called to the Torah as a Bar Mitzvah. Its called yiddishe nachas, Jewish pride, and its what all Jewish parents and grandparents feel when they see that their holy tradition has been safely passed to their children.

"And I'll tell you something else, Eli. You and I, we are not the only criers. There are lots of us out there." The Rabbi turned to his congregants and said, "if you are a crier, please stand up."

A rumble passed through the crowd but nobody stood. The Rabbi then said, "Look, I know Eli and I are not the only ones. It's ok. If you're a crier, come on, stand up."

Slowly a man stood up. And then his wife. And another person. And another. And still another. Soon there were dozens of "criers" standing. Many in the big hall were crying, some were laughing. Eli's parents were laughing and crying.

Eli wasn't crying or laughing. He was grinning from ear to ear.