Praise for my Son.

Dec. 16, 2018 This was written in September of 2018.  I didn't finish it, and only saved it as a draft - which I've now found as I'm readying to get back to writing.  I'm not going to edit it, and I'm not going to finish it - as I left it at an odd place. I must have been called away from the task...or perhaps the computer crashed, I'm not sure.  But I was going somewhere with it - where I'm not sure, but I'll let you decide.

I sat and watched from the congregation as my son approached the bimah, readying himself to read, for the third time in so many years the haftarah for the Torah portion on this holiest of holy days, Yom Kippur (for those unfamiliar - the short version is that it's an interpretation of the holy scripture, from the book of Prophets from the Hebrew bible (aka Old Testament), that's read on high holy days and at bar and bat mitzvahs). It's read in Hebrew.  It's rather lengthy and unlike many other of the readings that other congregants do, this reader stands alone on the bimah - at least that's the way it's done at our synagogue. Though the rabbi could stand at another lectern, he or she does not, and the cantor and other bimah guests sit down as well.  If you're watching, rather than reading along, the spotlight, essentially, is on him.  I noticed things maybe only a mother can see because of how well I know him.  Things that were different, but to the congregation, seem just a part of who he is.  But I'll get back to that.

Before he walked up there, knowing where the reading comes in the service, he began to fidget somewhat in his seat.  He twisted and untwisted the fringes of his tallis (prayer shawl), one that he's unfamiliar with, as in the rush to get out  this morning he left his at the door, wrapping them around his fingers nervously.  He reviewed the new verses he had stashed in his prayerbook - while he's done this same portion a couple of times, for whatever reason, his selection was extended this year, and with a new rabbi and new schedule and new commitments, he didn't have the same preparation as in years past.

This is one thing I can't help him with.  I just don't know enough to help him.  I can remind him to practice.  I can set aside time to make sure he's preparing.  But the knowledge base is all him.  I can barely read Hebrew (but I get a little better every year with my haphazard, incidental learning with every service I go to), and I have zero knowledge of how to read or interpret trope (which is marking in the text that indicates to the reader how to chant or sing the reading - yeah, it's actually got a melody to it - its not JUST reading).  If he chants to me, the only real indication I have if he made an error is if he stops and corrects himself.  While there are plenty of online resources available now (that I know he chose not to use), I'm not sure what he used to learn the new parts, but he worked into the wee hours of a few mornings to get it right.  I wish he had that kind of commitment with his school studies.  But I digress.

My son claims to not enjoy performing.  While I don't deny this to be true, it's funny coming from a kid who performs in a marching band - but he claims that since he is one of many on a field, it's different.  Also funny coming from a kid who has performed on stage quite a few times, with somewhat significant roles, and has nailed it every time.  And while this is a religious duty and a mitzvah, it's not a requirement - he can always say no, it is a performance, and it is quintessentially solo.

His name is called and we are sitting toward the back of the sanctuary.  He chose a somewhat circuitous route that bought him a few extra moments, I suppose. His gait was strong and swift and he stepped up to the bimah and the center lectern with a comfort that for me (as I noted earlier - the stuff only a mother might see) is rare.  Not completely confident, he has a tell that I won't reveal, but again, that's a mom's thing, but comfortable. 

With each year, he's grown, of course, figuratively and literally, and now he is visible fully from the waist up when he stands behind the lectern.  So different than just a few years ago, when he stood at that same lectern, which slants downward toward the reader, at his bar mitzvah, and just his head and shoulders peeked out from behind.

His tie was crooked, and he should have gotten a haircut, but he still looked like he should be there, the tallis draped over his shoulders, his kippah perched on his head.  A stillness came over him and then he began to chant.

My son's voice is deep, with a resonance that truly befits holy reading.  I don't say that just because I'm his mother.  I've listened to many people read and chant the ancient words over the years, and I find that the sound, the timbre, if you will, that fits these readings best, tends to be deeper and richer.  And it's not just because he's male, I have found quite a few women who also have similar voices - a little higher on the register than a male, but still just as rich.  Some of it is genetics, some of it is skill, and if you can combine the two, no matter the message, it will be received.

He can also sing.  Most people who know him probably don't know that, unless they've known him a long time.  He sang more before his voice changed, and we don't often hear him sing - even to himself, under his breath.  And when he does in those rare instances around the house, he uses a silly voice, cutting his breathing, still carrying the tune, but not revealing the true sound.

But you can't do that when chanting trope.  Well, I suppose you could, but you wouldn't.  Not on the holiest of days, in a holy sanctuary, with a crowd of people there for same reason, to worship, to repent, to renew.

Something comes over me when he chants - along with the expected pride of a mother, I am just transfixed on the experience.  This doesn't happen all the time.  I'll admit, when I'm at a band performance, or something else when my daughter performs, I can chat with whomever I'm with, keeping one eye and one ear on the experience - I try not to, of course, but if I needed to I could.  But when he chants Hebrew I simply can't. I am swept away by the sound.