The snowflakes alighting on our eyelashes and winter coats were as big as corn flakes, and felt as heavy, too. For a late April snowstorm, the wind that cut through the space just above our coat collars was surprisingly biting, and Simone and I couldn’t help but groan and laugh at the same time as we hustled to the restaurant a few blocks from the house.
It was our second of three bonus nights together — she and her other family would be taking off on a trip to Orlando, and I was able to get some time with Simone before they left. It was fun showing her what life was like for me on the nights she usually wasn’t there.
And this evening was a prime example.
Simone was surprised when I brought her up a set of stairs off the alley behind the restaurant, and issued her through an unmarked back door that led into the bar area. The restaurant is closed on Mondays, but they recently instituted an exclusive hospitality industry workers’ night, where the guest bartenders make specialty cocktails for their colleagues, and a limited selection of small plates is available. I was fortunate enough to be handed a card that gives me access, and it’s become my new favorite Monday activity.
I’ve been there on nights when the bar was full of my favorite local bartenders and chefs, all sharing stories and enjoying the concoctions of the mixologists on duty, but as Simone and I settled onto a couple of plush bar stools, we were the only ones there who weren’t staff.
I was greeted by name by the bar manager and bartender, and they both took a moment to shake Simone’s hand. The chef just happened to be there as well. He smothered Simone in a bear hug, asking about her bat mitzvah and showing us photos of his new baby son.
After ordering some food, and a drink for me, we turned to gaze out the giant picture windows that overlook the city, watching as the snow continued to blanket the streets and sidewalks.
“I don’t have high hopes for a snow day tomorrow,” Simone said. “But wouldn’t that be awesome? We could spend the whole day together!”
I agreed that it would a happy surprise, and we joked about the rituals of flushing an ice cube down the toilet, sleeping in inside-out pajamas, and putting a spoon under the pillow.
“Because one person doing that is sure to affect weather patterns,” I said.
“Well..if enough people did it...” Simone mused. Which launched us into a funny digression about how, if everyone flushed an ice cube down the toilet, it would lower the sewer temperatures just enough to cause a change in barometric pressure and increase snowfall, or how the precipitation that collects on the spoon under the pillow would somehow cause a shift in the dew point. We launched into a fantasy scenario about coordinating a massive, citywide ice-cube flush at the exact same time.
And as we were laughing with each other, the first of several plates of food arrived — one of Simone’s favorite menu items in the city, Mongolian Duck Buns. They’re served like soft tacos — a generous portion of shredded, sweet and savory duck folded into a pillow-soft circle of flatbread. After Simone powered down two of the three I ordered for us, I agreed to order her one more.
The bartenders would stop over to chat with us as we chomped on a modern take on saag paneer, and I gave my feedback on a new cocktail recipe they were rolling out. But, mostly, it was just Simone and me, cracking each other up, talking about our food, and keeping an eye on the snowstorm, which seemed to be abating.
It’s so easy to hang with my girl. Going on adventures with her has always been fun, and we’ve always enjoyed our time together, but now it’s even better, as she has become ever more sophisticated, thoughtful, and hilarious. Our conversations have moved into interesting territory — philosophy, politics, world history...superheroes and vintage animation. Simone has well-reasoned opinions, unique perspectives, and the vocabulary to express herself.
That thoughtfulness manifested itself in interesting ways up to and during her bat mitzvah this month, as well.
When Simone and I began looking at bat mitzvah dates last spring, we started by digging into the Torah portions around her birthday (each week, Jews all over the world read the same chapter in the Torah, making our way through all Five Books of Moses in a year). And though all of the portions in March and April had interesting aspects to them, it was the one called Sh’mini that resonated most for Simone.
At the time, she was interested in the fact that the portion introduces kashrut, or Jewish dietary laws. As someone who comes from a family that loves to eat well, Simone has been exposed to diverse food experiences all of her life. Simone doesn’t eat pork, but she does eat shellfish — just like me. She has some idea about the reasons for that distinction, but she also sees the inherent conflict in choosing to be kosher about some things, but not about others. I was sure that’s where she’d go when she would seek meaning and a personal connection to her Torah portion.
But that’s not what happened at all. As Simone and her bat mitzvah tutor began to read deeper into this particular chapter, Simone noticed something special. As she said so well in her speech at her bat mitzvah, this portion is a liminal moment for the Jews. They’re given the dietary restrictions, not for nutritional or health reasons, and not just because forbidden bugs are icky. The laws G-d hands down to the Jews in this Torah portion elevate them, and give them personal responsibility. “I am holy, so you should be holy.”
When Simone started her journey toward becoming a bat mitzvah, she was more interested in the trappings of the rite of passage — the prayers and her Torah portion, beloved family traveling from far away, the party, and waffles. But as she and her teacher explored and interpreted not just the words in this Torah portion, but the way they were written, something clicked in Simone. The process became solemn and important — the point of her studies was no longer the event at the end.
I was there when the lightbulb went off for Simone that her bat mitzvah wasn’t an end product — that it was a transitional moment from one phase of her life into another, and that the text of her Torah portion actually had some wisdom to impart to her. I was there when, maybe for the first time, she saw the Torah as a roadmap, beyond the stories and commandments, toward a life of joy and fulfillment. I was there when she realized she’s carrying forward the heritage and promise of thousands of years of intention and study. And it made my heart ache — with pride, with happiness, and with a tinge of grief that my little girl was about to take on responsibilities and risks that her mother and I had buffered her from all her life.
Before her bat mitzvah, I was unsuccessful in getting Simone to practice her speech for me. She just wasn’t interested. The one time she did read it to me, she cruised through it, hardly stopping for breath, and it was all I could do to remind her to slow down.
But she absolutely killed it at her bat mitzvah, with flawless timing and brilliant oration. She knew when to pause, when to go for the laugh, and when to let something touching drift and land on the rapt congregation. She had people moving from laughter to tears and back again. Every single one of us was spellbound by her presence.
That night at the quiet restaurant, sitting at the bar and watching the snow fall, Simone held her own in conversations with the restaurant staff who’d stop over to meet her — making eye contact, smiling, listening. She was charming and pleasant, but not obnoxiously so. She was still a child — more interested in talking about her latest iPhone game than talking about school — but she was no longer a little kid.
And she was so damn funny.
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