to be hired to make me memorize the verses; it wasn’t an easy task because there were more than two pages, and it took six months of preparation.
The ceremony meant much more than a religious duty. Parents had to show everyone that they could offer and afford a grand banquet at the Centro Israelita, an activity to be evaluated without mercy. They had to entertain them, give them drinks, and prepare the most delicious dishes like Guefilte fish, kreplajs, férfe-les, challach (bread), herring, pickles, borscht, chicken soup with matza balls, latkes, struddles, and countless Mejeihes or delicacies.
The food was just one aspect; another dimension was the clothing. The Bar Mitzvah, like the New Year’s party, was an occasion for a fashion show and the ladies took the opportunity to show off their best clothes and jewelry, proving the success of their businesses. In the case of anyone who, horror of horrors, wore the same dress as the previous year, their credit rating would drop, and no one would think of giving a loan to their husband. Fashion was a serious matter, it deserved attention.
Elena chose a whole gabardine suit for me that had a subtle shine and a color between green and brown, which was not bad at all. However, the main investment, as always, would be in herself.
The final dimension of this religious ceremony was the party for the young people. At night, one would receive their friends at home; there had to be 52
an orchestra and, once again, food. God forbid it was leftovers from the morning! The host had a menu of rice with chicken, empanadas, pejibayes with mayon-naise, avocado, ceviche cocktail, and other delights of the local cuisine. Friends came with gifts, with which my parents hoped to recover some of their great investment.
The Bar Mitzvah was a ceremony for others. In the synagogue, classmates came to spot and detect the reading mistakes. If one failed in the memorized reading of the paragraphs of the Bible, they would note it down to mock. After the ceremony, the speech at the Centro Israelita followed.
The only thing that made me happy was knowing that the ceremony would have its end at some point. I didn’t want to be the center of attention of the community, nor enjoy the fifteen minutes of fame.
That night, at my house, there were no sarcasms, beatings, or mockery. The little townsfolk came, like the three wise men, in a spirit of peace. Sholem alei-jum and Mazel Tov! Things seemed to be going well.
I carefully checked the guest list to not include any of my enemies; I didn’t want any surprises. But, to my absolute incredibility, Mono Rubio fell, as they say, out of the blue: he had come under pressure from Ernesto’s children. The guy entered as if he owned the place and gave me one of his sarcastic smiles; he went straight to the table and, like a war refugee, devoured the food.