Animal Transitions

In late May a woman entered our store and initiated conversation with me regarding her birds. She had a mature African Grey parrot, a presumed female who spoke several phrases, for whom she sought a new home. Cindy had owned Bo for some years, but had been unable to evacuate her or her three cockatiels during Hurricane Katrina. After several agonizing weeks, wondering if her birds had survived, she returned to find all of them alive. Her experience had been so harrowing, however, that she vowed that she would relinquish the birds before she would risk their having to be left in New Orleans again during an evacuation. Knowing that I am an animal trainer and an experienced rescuer and that I was already familiar with birds, Cindy was willing to give me any or all of her birds along with their cages for free. She asked only that I visit her and Bo sufficiently ahead of time, so that we could make the transition easier for Bo.

As a psychologist familiar with the literature on animal intra- and inter-species communication, I could not help but be excited at the prospect of having an African Grey of my own to train. Of all birds, Greys are considered to have the highest potential for meaningful, human-like speech. It is an African Grey named Alex, trained by Dr. Irene Pepperberg, now at Brandeis University, who is the most verbally gifted of trained birds. His novel use of language challenges old views of what distinguishes humans from other species. I had once heard Pepperberg speak to local aviculturists, and I found her work exhilarating.

Once before my family had a Grey, but Oscar was a breeder bird who did not like being handled. Previously able to say "apple," he shut down speaking when he entered our home. Bo, on the other hand, was a sociable creature. To adopt her would necessitate restructuring my life so that I could spend at least an hour per day working with a new bird. I visited Cindy and Bo one night and was impressed with her obvious affection for the bird and the care that she gave her. She was in excellent feather, and her cage was massive and costly. Bo was not accustomed to the company of strangers, however, and despite our cautious introductions, she bit me on the lip. Not yet dissuaded, I promised to return for another visit, and Cindy lent me a book an Greys. The book, aimed at the novice Grey fancier, made the point that even if one's Grey never learned to speak, that it was an animal with a complicated and sophisticated mental and emotional life, equipped to demand much, but also to give much in return. I asked myself how long I would be able change my lifestyle and commit to her time-intensive care if Bo stopped talking, and I realized that there had to be others who would be better prepared to do so. I read about avian health care and training for several weeks, and finally referred Cindy to someone else who had long wanted a Grey. Visits to the local bird fair and the largest local bird store yielded the purchase of several cages--including several designated strictly for evacuation--but no parrot purchases.

A few weeks later at PetWorld, a gray cockatiel, apparently male, began performing unusually varied and catchy songs. He was a distinctive little fellow, as he had the most bedraggled tail feathers of any bird at the store. Despite his less-than-economical price and unimpressive appearance, I brought him home, named him Moshe, and put him in the large, new cage occupied by Elyssa and Alanna. The birds were quiet both during the initial few hours when I stayed in the room with them, and later when left alone. The next morning, however, there was blood in the cage and he had a blood feather. Whether the girls had attacked him or he had injured himself, it was impossible to know, but I took him to the avian vet and separated him from the girls for a week. Months later, Moshe looks comfortable in the big cage, and his tail feathers are finally restored. He does not sing nearly as much as he did at PetWorld, but I do catch an occasional burst of lovely song from him. I need to spend more time with him to prevent his becoming as cage-bound as the girls are, and as I see how hard it is to integrate that into my life, I am relieved that I never took on Bo. As Kate tyically leaves the television on in the birds' room, I guess I should feel grateful that he does not perform replays of half of Nickelodeon's programming.

Another species came to our home when an evening shopper brought in an aquatic turtle that her husband had found while working. The daughter of the family liked the little red-eared slider a lot, but her mother did not want to make room for and care for another pet. Since PetWorld is a retail store rather than a rescue orgnization--a distinction lost upon many of our customers--we could not accept the turtle into our stock. I had admired friends' turtles for some time, however, and since stores are not legally permitted to sell small sliders except "for educational purposes," there was no other way to obtain one. The little turtle--as yet of undetermined sex--had been named Squirt, after a character in the film "Finding Nemo." He came home with me in a piece of Tupperware, that had been decorated with two rocks from the Great Smokey Mountains, and found a new home in our discarded twenty-gallon aquarium. At first I left him in the Tupperware to give the water in the aquarium time to become safer, but Squirt climbed out of the Tupperware, falling six inches into the tank, with no apparent ill effects. He is an otherwise cautious fellow who recognizes that my turning on the light indicates the immanent arrival of turtle pellets in the water's surface, but who prefers to hide as well as possible whenever I approach the tank.

The animal arrival that has most impacted us I have saved until last. In July our store manager asked me to help keep an eye on the bank of stainless steel cages in which we display cats and kittens who are awaiting adoption. It is primarily the cashiers' duty to keep those cages clean, but when particularly active kittens are on display, they commonly spill water and scatter litter across their cages with great frequency--perhaps in part to elicit attention. At any rate, in mid-August a stunning calico cat made her appearance. She was three years old, a sizable girl, whose face was nearly black on one side, and tan and white on the other. Her face seemed to imitate a perfect harlequin. We knew nothing of her history, but she seemed to be a cat who would be snapped up quickly because of her beauty and distinctiveness. Skye was competing against active kittens, however, and, sadly, there were no takers for her. As the days passed, and she stayed in her little stainless cubicle, this poor girl seemed to become depressed. People would tap their fingers against the glass and arouse a flurry of crazy activity from the little kittens, but Skye would look away or seemingly look right through them, uninterested. As I swept out the cages, I started to give Skye special attention.

I was far from being a cat person, having attempted to keep a kitten some thirty years ago when I was teaching college. Lily was a cute little white kitten who had gotten along well with my dog Lee, but after a few months of severe allergy symptoms--despite my ongoing shots--I had reluctantly passed her on to a departmental colleague who had other cats. I had steadfastly avoided cats since that time and I was genuinely surprised that I could handle my new cat-cage duties without discomfort. Still, in my intensive exposure to canine behavior I have become aware of nonverbal nuances to which I was previously oblivious, and I realize that cat behavior must be equally complex and, at times, counter-intuitive. Very slowly and cautiously I explained these things to Skye, asking her to pardon my inevitable clumsiness. I leaned into her open cage and simply hugged her, day after day. I took her photo with my cellphone and carried it with me, in part for my own pleasure at looking at her, and in part because I hoped I might interest someone in adopting her.

After Skye had been at the store for nearly a month, I was praising her to a potential adopter, and I opened her cage so the woman could caress her. Skye turned away from her and pressed toward me. I realized that I might be doing her a disservice.

The concept of bringing Skye home to our house was relatively unthinkable. After all, we have five adult dogs, four of them Golden Retrievers. We have a necessarily large doggie door that would not keep her safely inside as a house cat. We have three cockatiels and a Senegal parrot. Could we trust Skye to leave the birds alone? And most importantly, Joel is--as far as he knows-- allergic to cats.




On September 16, I asked one of the shelter volunteers how long a shelter cat typically stays at PetWorld, awaiting adoption. She said that an animal is generally moved after a month's time. Skye had just reached a month. Would she be taken back to the shelter? Although no one at the store had wanted her, weren't her chances of adoption more greatly reduced if she were back at the shelter, away from the public eye? I told the volunteer how attached I had become to Skye, but how concerned I was that Joel's allergies would not permit her to live with us. She suggested that I take Skye home as a trial. I could wait until PetWorld's adoption weekend was over, and then take Skye home with me. Within an hour or two of my discussion with her, I had already phoned Joel and pled my case. He said, "I am not happy about this," but allowed that since it was clearly just a trial, it was a possibility. I didn't last the weekend: Skye went home with me that night. She settled into the new cat carrier without the slightest objection, and talked to me with steady meows all the way home.

Most online pet resources suggest that a new cat be locked in one room of its new home for two weeks, because it would bond as much with its new location as with its new owner. The dogs were to be kept out of that room. They barked and barked upon her arrival, and alpha dog Elliot pushed forward and sniffed excitedly at the door of the carrier. I wanted to put her litter box in the bathroom but could not lock her in such a tiny, lonely room for two weeks, so my bedroom became her room. I put out a cardboard scratching pad and hung a woven sisal pad over the doorknob of my closet door, both of which she completely ignored.

Skye spent a fair amount of time under my bed, but came up periodically for petting. Over the next few days as various dogs would squeeze into my room, she held her own and never hissed. In a week's time, the litter box was moved into the bathroom, and her food bowls were high atop my dresser.

After Skye appeared unruffled by the presence of the dogs and the dogs had become used to her presence, I carried her outside briefly in order to photograph her. She rushed back indoors of her own accord. Could this cat be any more perfect? She does not even take any note of the bird cages.

During the evenings, when Joel worked on reports and I watched TV in his room, Skye would occasionally wander down the hall to join us. We would say hello, give her a scratch, and she'd be gone. Late one night I heard Joel hacking away in a vain attempt to clear his lungs. I cried, assuming that Skye's days with us were numbered. However, he surprised me by saying he could not be sure that Skye had anything to do with his congestion.

On the fortnight, I tentatively asked Joel if he felt safe making Skye's adoption legal. He thrilled me with an affirmative answer. I can barely believe that I am a cat mom. Now I answer customers' questions about dog care, but turn around and ask the cat owners among them all sorts of idiotic cat questions. I remember old friends from many years ago, and cats that they had, and I want to write them all and say, "Guess what? I have a cat now--the world's most beautiful cat!"

Kate's Bat Mitzvah Fiesta

Sunday began with other Bat Mitzvah-related chores. As we had been unable to photograph the actual worship services that took place on Friday night and Saturday morning, we met at the synagogue at one o'clock Sunday afternoon to re-enact parts of it for Bill Blanke's digital camcorder. Rabbi Lichtenfeld could not attend because he was attending a wedding out of town. Thus, in our videos, the Torah Reader and rabbi are conspicuously absent.

Kate wore her hair down as she had Friday night, but refused to wear her expensive Ann Taylor suit for any of the photos. Instead, she wore the attractive separates that she had worn on Friday night. She ran through many parts of both services in order, so that the poor videographer--who speaks no Hebrew--would be able to piece them together in a reasonable order in his final video. However, she tended to leap into and out of the Hebrew without any pause in between the English and the Hebrew, so editing will be particularly challenging.

As well as taking photos in both the chapel (to represent Friday night) and the sanctuary (to represent Saturday), we took some additional footage in front of an attractive willow in front of the synagogue property.
We also took some family shots in the sukkah, the large open wooden structure where Joel and I exchanged our vows.
Zach and his mom gamely tagged along for the photographic shoot. Next we hurried to J.C.Penney's, where my daughter-in-law Amy had arranged for Kate to get her hair done in preparation for the party.

Kate had her hair temporarily straightened with a straightening iron. She treated us to cappucino. We additionally tested our guests' patience with the requisite trip to PetWorld, where I showed them where I work, introduced them to Skye, an adoptable cat with whom I have fallen in love, and showed off Kate and her boyfriend--who were incredibly cute together--to my co-workers. After a trip to the nail salon for a French manicure for Kate, we all returned home to change.
While I drove around with Zach, his mom, and Kate, Joel collected the special fiesta balloons and made sure that the catering staff and disc jockey could get into the Social Hall. The bright balloons in the shapes of birds, dolphins, and flowers added a wonderful tropical tone. The new dimmer switches in the Social Hall did much to improve its suitability for parties.

I had initially thought Kate's chosen outfit for the party to be unsuitable to wear anywhere on the synagogue grounds, as it looks so much like lingerie. I was outvoted, however, so Kate enjoyed strutting her stuff all in black with what she called her "porn star shoes."


Joel counted about 20 teenagers at the party. Many of them were kids from Kate's school, so we were happy to meet them. We danced the hora, and Kate was carried around in a chair.

There was a hula-hoop contest. We actually broke open only one of the pinatas.

The kids did plenty of line dancing.


Shawn the disc jockey had brought props for the kids to wear while dancing to "Y.M.C.A." and they were widely used. He brought a computer game that involves tapping out patterns in a foot pad according to directions projected onto a large screen.



Joel danced with energy I had not seen him exhibit in years. None of the adults participated in the karaoke--probably because there was no alcohol served. But we did a mean "Time Warp," and toward the end, we sang as a group, off-microphone.

Oddly enough, Kate and many of the girls repeatedly wantered off into the Ladies Room en masse to talk "away from the boys." However, they were in good spirits, and Kate said she enjoyed her party very much.

Second Day of Kate's Bat Mitzvah

We ordered only two floral arrangements for the bat mitzvah: one large one for the sanctuary, and one for the chapel to be used Friday night. The chapel display ended up in the Social Hall. Both were primarily pink, and included roses, day lilies and white baby's breath.

On the day of Kate's main bat mitzvah services, she refused to wear her hair hanging down and curly as she had the night before. She wore her beautiful gray Ann Taylor suit under her new tallit (prayer shawl), but her hair was pulled back and thoughtlessly stuffed into a clip, as if to announce that she was having a "bad hair day." Kate became nervous before the service was to start, and she told the rabbi that she didn't want to go through with it.

Available at the entrance to the sanctuary was a pile of shocking pink satin kipot, or skull caps, which are used by Jewish men during prayer. As is the custom, we had several dozen made with Kate's name and bat mitzvah date printed on the inside lining. The company--which specializes in such printing--inexplicably misspelled the word "synagogue".


Anticipating the presence of many non-Jewish guests, I had written up a description of the service to replace the booklet that was typically distributed at b'nei mitzvah. However, it had been so long since I had attended a bar or bat mitzvah at Shir Chadash (given that I must work on Saturday) that my booklet duplicated the latest revision of what was already being used. Moreover, I tried to draw parallels between the Saturday morning service and the Catholic Mass (since roughly two thirds of the New Orleans population is Roman Catholic and another quarter is Southern Baptist), and the powers that be removed all such material in fear that Christians would be offended by my mention of them. Undeterred, I shall record my commentary here. Having been raised Catholic, and having served as leader of the folk mass musicians and vice president of the CYO, I believe that my observations regarding the services are well-informed.

Kate led all the services that day. After her experience with the dualing tenors the night before, (actually I think the rabbi is a baritone, but "dueling tenors" sounds better than one of each), Joel advised her to sing loudly and to follow her tutor's lead.

The Saturday morning service began at 9:45 a.m. It consists largely of psalms, which are chanted under one’s breath, with their beginnings and endings chanted aloud. One of the most important parts of the morning service is the chanting of the Sh’ma. The word Sh’ma refers to a one-line prayer (“Sh’ma Israel, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai echad” which means, “Hear, Israel, the Lord our God is One”) and also to the long chant which follows it. The next major part of the morning service is the Amidah, a prayer said silently while standing. On weekdays the Amidah includes petitionary prayers directed toward many purposes, such as prayers for wisdom, but on Shabbat (the Sabbath), it includes prayers regarding the Sabbath itself.

The next major part of the service was the Torah Service (beginning roughly at 10:30 a.m.), in which Kate played a major part. For you Catholics, the Torah Service is analogous to the Liturgy of the Word. Before and after the Torah Service, the Torah scroll—in this case the scroll containing Deuteronomy (which Jews call Devarim) written by hand in Hebrew without vowels—was paraded around the sanctuary so congregants can kiss it (performed using a prayer shawl or a prayer book). Instead of the Epistle and Gospel, Jews chant from the Torah and the Haftarah, the latter being a reading from the prophets. The Torah chant is broken up into seven sections, each of which is introduced by a series of blessings said by someone who is being honored. Honorees’ names are called aloud in Hebrew and they stand on the bima (raised area in front of the sanctuary) with the Torah reader. (We were thrilled that Dr. Barry Ivker, the synagogue's pre-Katrina Torah Reader, came in from Birmingham for the weekend to be with the Shir Chadash family once again.) We chose to honor a number of local Jewish friends from both within and outside of our congregation. Joel and I had one Torah section assigned to us. The final Torah portion is called the Maftir portion and it is usually assigned to the Bar or Bat Mitzvah.

Kate chanted the blessings for the Maftir portion. Next she chanted the entire Haftarah reading, which has a different melody from that of the Torah reading. To me the Haftorah was particularly poignant as it begins, "Sing, O barren, thou that didst not bear, Break forth into singing, and cry aloud, thou that didst not travail; For more are the children of the desolate Than the children of the married wife, saith the Lord." This section of Scripture resonates strongly with me after the stresses that Joel and I underwent together in pursuing fertility treatments before we adopted Kate.

Kate then gave a short sermon called a D’var Torah (“word of Torah”), which was followed by the rabbi’s sermon. As expected, Kate raced through her D'var Torah quickly and softly, not directing her voice into the microphone, so few people were able to hear it other than those of us sitting in the front row. This trait characterizes most bar and bat mitzvah kids. Fortunately, we re-enacted the Haftorah and D'var Torah the following day after Shabbat, when it was allowable to film it.

The rabbi's sermon was excellent. He addressed immigration reform, somehow relating the topic to part of the Torah portion. I don't remember the details because I was in such an altered state when I heard it.

As only Jews are allowed to perform the prayers before and after the Torah portions, I sought other ways to include other persons important in our lives. I convinced my friend Val to read a prayer for our country aloud in English; unfortunately for Val, the rabbi had changed the format of that prayer since I had last attended Shabbat services. Val held his own, though, and did the Solutions Club proud.

After the Torah Service comes an extra service that is added on the Sabbath to represent the extra sacrifices that were traditionally offered on that day during the time of the Temple in Jerusalem. It includes a repetition of the Amidah. It was about this far into the service that I glanced over at Kate and decided that she looked surprisingly comfortable and appropriate standing on the bima.

Toward the end of the last service is that time reserved for short speeches from the rabbi, the Bat Mitzvah’s parents, and officials of the congregation. In his short speech directed to Kate, Rabbi Ted shocked us by discussing that section of Kate's Torah portion that states that even in a rough-and-tumble military encampment, it is necessary to walk well outside the camp's boundaries to defecate, and one should bury one's waste with a shovel. This had something to do with holiness, but elicited plenty of chuckles. I was genuinely grateful that he did not choose to discuss the relevant section on nocturnal emissions, which was ALSO included in Kate's Torah portion.

Joel and I each decided to give a short speech. We did not share our thoughts ahead of time. He went first and kept his comments brief. I started out my talk by promising Kate that I vowed not to say anything embarrassing about her: I knew that such limits would force me to be brief as well. I also promised to avoid crying, although I acknowledged that women in my family are renowned for "crying at supermarket openings." I told Kate that I was proud of her--not just for the way she had handled leading services, but for how she had handled the entire year. When Katrina hit, she did not know what would become of our home, her school, or our lives. In the past school year she had attended three vastly different schools: the tiny New Orleans Jewish Day School, wherein her class had fewer than a dozen children, giant Beren Academy in Houston, where she had to wear long skirts everyday, and finally Adams Middle School, a Jefferson Parish public school near our home. It would have been so easy for her to shut down emotionally, to close herself off from other kids, but she chose not to do so, and the end result is that she has made deep and lasting friendships. Although she could not have weasled her way out of a bat mitzvah entirely, she could have done much to drag her feet, but again she chose not to do so. She did all of both services and did an admirable job. I reminded her to remember not only the triumphs of the year, but the process itself--sometimes painful, sometimes scary--and how she had worked very hard and earned positive outcomes. I told Kate how grateful I am that once in a while she hugs me out of genuine affection, and how welcome that behavior is in my eyes. I started to cry as I added, that one does not expect that from a teenager. I also told her that I genuinely admire how quick she is to apologize when she gets upset and says or does something wrong. In her ability to do that, she is a better person than I am. The speech ended in a teary hug. There was not a dry eye in the house.

At the end of the service is the Kiddush, a blessing over bread and wine that is always made a number of times on the Sabbath. Non-Jews are welcome to eat the sweet challah bread and to drink the wine, as they have no special significance (unlike the eucharistic hosts of various Christian churches). Kiddush usually occurs by 12:30 p.m. The Oneg Shabbat (“delight of the Sabbath”) luncheon occurs every week, even when there is no Bar or Bat Mitzvah celebration. On the day of Kate's bat mitzvah, the Oneg wound down at about two o'clock.

Although I had invited everyone at PetWorld, most of them had to work, as it is our busiest day. Vilma, who works at our store for Nutro on the weekends, attended with her sister and nephew. Surprisingly, she saw several people she knows well, including Torah Reader Barry Ivker, who doesn't even live in New Orleans anymore.

The Saturday food turned out great. We had bagels and lox, challah, fruit salad, tuna salad, kugel, soft drinks and coffee, and birthday cake ("Mazel Tov Kate" written on chocolate cake with chocolate icing). Joel had picked up bright but simple round Mylar balloons to decorate the tables, which were covered with white tablecloths.

After the Oneg, Kate and her friend Jessica joined Zach and Max, another friend from Jacobs Camp, by swimming at the pool at Zach's hotel. While she burned off any excess energy, Joel and I napped. Zach took our places as Kate's guest when it was time to attend Marcus' party that night. Again we were exhausted, but did not feel quite as drained as we had after the first evening.

Kate's Bat Mitzvah

Over the Labor Day weekend, my daughter Kate became accountable to Jewish law. She is now a Bat Mitzvah--a daughter of the commandment. Most Jews make a big celebration of their child's coming of age. We were no exception--but we were uniquely disorganized.


Planning a bat mitzvah is quite time-consuming. Despite his already working full-time on every psychological consultation that comes his way and getting Kate ready for school each day, delivering her there and supervising her homework, Joel took on supervising Kate's preparation for the Friday night and Saturday morning services. She met with her able tutor Dr. Elliot Finkelstein weekly, and with our patient rabbi, Ted Lichtenfeld, as well, but Joel took on the responsibility of making sure Kate practiced in between those meetings.


That left planning of the social part of the bat mitzvah to me. Family members knew months ago that we had reserved the Labor Day weekend for the event. Still, it would be necessary to obtain and deliver invitations to everyone else important to us and to Kate, to choose and decorate an appropriate venue, to find kosher caterers and entertainment, to shop for suitable clothing, flowers, party favors, photographer and videographer, to entertain out-of-town guests, and to monitor Kate's writing of thank-you notes. This would be a challenge, as I was working full-time as a pet-training instructor at PetWorld. Typically I returned home from work each night well after eight o'clock. One of my two days off was Sunday, so that left only one day per week that I could work on party planning when most local businesses would be open.

The first theme that we considered for Kate’s bat mitzvah was that of dolphins, because our entire family had become quite enamored of dolphins when we swam with them several years ago during a trip to Florida. The New Orleans Aquarium would have made a fabulous party venue (plus we’d be helping the local economy) but they wanted about $4K rental, and insisted that we use only their caterer (over and above the rental fee). Maybe for a wedding, but that cost would be absurd for a bat mitzvah. The party was to be aimed at thirteen-year-olds, and as such, they did not require the presence of large sea animals. While I considered putting a Siamese fighting fish on each table, the attractiveness of a dolphin-themed party waned.

Suddenly Kate decided she wanted a Mexican fiesta, including a piñata. She vetoed every Mexican restaurant we suggested, and then suddenly announced that since the synagogue was redecorating the Social Hall (a project that was planned even before Katrina made it mandatory), she would like to have the party there. The bulk of the renovations were scheduled to be completed right before Labor Day. I did not like the idea of having both the afternoon post-services luncheon and the Saturday night fiesta at the same venue, but it would certainly simplify transportation and providing our guests driving directions.

How to put together a Mexican party while observing kashrut, the Jewish dietary laws? According to the laws of kashrut, the eating of pork or shellfish is not permitted at any time. Moreover, meat and dairy dishes cannot be served at the same meal. We chose to go dairy for both the luncheon and evening party. Pork lovers would need to appease themselves with melted cheese. An ice cream bar would make the sacrifice less painful.

I looked online for bat mitzvah invitations and saw none that I liked that were at a price that did not offend me. With my graphic design skills and existing software, it would be possible for us to design our own invitations and get them printed quickly locally. I designed separate invitations for the religious services and the fiesta, to be printed on the same card stock in radically different styles but with some overlap in color scheme. I designed the invitations and response cards in late July while Kate was away at Henry S. Jacobs Camp. I was thrilled and surprised that she approved of them. What’s more, she came home with a boyfriend!




Here is an early draft of the invitation for the formal religious services. In the final invitation, the word "and" was replaced by "at."



Here is the invitation for the fiesta.



When we learned that Kate’s former classmate Marcus was to have his bar mitzvah the same weekend, we moved Kate’s fiesta back one day, so that Marcus and Kate could attend each other’s parties, if not each other’s religious services.

My mah jongg buddies were a frequent source of support and advice during the process of party planning. I had committed to editing the synagogue sisterhood’s annual calendar and membership roster two years before, and the latest version of it was due at the printers already. Over the clatter of the mah jongg tiles, we debated Mexican menus and table decorations, and some of my friends took on calendar-related or bat mitzvah-related phone call chores. We considered putting little potted cacti on the Social Hall tables as centerpieces, but decided that the possibility was too great that the guests would use them as weapons against each other. It is an excellent advantage to be able to run one's ideas by seasoned mothers!

Miraculously we were able to obtain the services of Shirley Bateman as our caterer, although she had other events planned for that weekend. It helped that our evening menu was relatively simple. Miss Shirley knows our synagogue inside out, so I knew I could trust her judgment and experience. I felt the same way when we contracted with Shawn Mirpuri of OohLaLa. (Despite the name of his company, he is not a male stripper—he is a disk jockey, and a terrific one who knows b’nei mitzvah protocol AND entertaining teens.)

At the suggestion of my friends, I searched the local dollar stores for appropriate party favors. It was hard to do since I had no idea how many young people might attend. I found jewel-toned keychain lanyards and various small picture frames that were cute, and bought all of them in the store.


In the PetWorld employee break room, I posted a photograph of a Golden Retriever wearing a yarmulka (skullcap) and an imitation tallit (prayer shawl), along with an invitation to "observe exotic Southern Jews in their natural habitat!" I explained what a bat mitzvah was and included directions. I also posted an invitation at a clubhouse that I frequent called the Solutions Club.

Debbie from mah jongg turned me on to both a still photographer and a videographer, and pleaded with them to take me on despite the records we were establishing for dilatory planning. Laurie Foret took all the photos of people in this section except for the camp shot. Importantly she delivered the photos in electronic as well as hard-copy format, giving us the option of posting them here. Bill Blanke, the videographer, is still working on the video so we can’t comment on the finished product, but he was professional and unobtrusive and even met with us on a separate day so we could film a re-enactment of parts of the service—which could not have been recorded at the bat mitzvah service itself because of laws forbidding “work” on the Sabbath.

Three weeks before the bat mitzvah celebration was to occur, I had not yet sent out the invitations. When I delivered the electronic files to Kinko’s, they refused to use the card stock that I brought with me, insisting they use their own and cut it down. If I did that, the envelopes might not fit. We decided to print the invitations ourselves, and Joel worked on them for several days running. We fully anticipated that the printer would break down.

I had hand-addressed most of the envelopes myself, but lacked some addresses, since some of our friends had moved since Hurricane Katrina. I had planned on using the same response card R.S.V.P deadline as Marcus’s family had used, but it was already passed! Should I send out invitations WITHOUT response cards? Should I ask people to call or e-mail us their responses instead? If the invitations arrived late, would people think that they were being invited NOT to attend, but only to send money?! We dawdled and discussed and worried—and did nothing.

On August 10, a terrorist plot involving international airline travel between Los Angeles and London was discovered, and new airline security rules instituted. We did not expect anyone to fly in from overseas, but it was clear that anyone considering flying to Kate’s bat mitzvah would have to allot extra hours to the process of travel. This development could only hurt attendance.

By the following weekend, we began to call and e-mail friends to invite them to the bat mitzvah. Some we could not call, because we had obsolete phone numbers listed for them. Unsurprisingly, given the airline situation and the lack of advance notice, most people declined. We offered Kate the option of rescheduling her bat mitzvah for several months down the road, but she had no desire to memorize a new Haftarah portion (the one for Labor Day this year is the shortest one in the liturgical calendar!) and write a new d’var torah speech.

My minivan died on August 24th. Two days later—one week before Kate’s bat mitzvah—Hurricane Ernesto announced its intention to visit the Gulf of Mexico the following week. Some of my dog training students skipped doggie class in order to buy plywood and other hurricane provisions. Managers at PetWorld worried about how they would evacuate all the store’s animals. I wondered if I dared to mail the final payment to our caterer. Surely there could be no refunds once the caterer bought food. Would the check be lost in the mail, given the current state of mail service in New Orleans? I worried too about the new clothes we had just bought at Ann Taylor. Most of the clothes that Kate and I were to wear on Labor Day weekend were at the tailor’s for alterations. If the tailor were washed away, I would lose the favorite red suit I wore when Joel and I had our Jewish wedding. Most importantly, if we had to evacuate, how would we fit five dogs, four birds, and three people in a Honda Accord?

Three and a half days later, my van was fixed. Kate and I had planned on making our own piñata (we considered trying to make a three-dimensional representation of a hurricane symbol), but with issues like Ernesto competing for our attention, we resigned ourselves to buying one from Party City. Joel ordered and bought a slew of fiesta-themed Mylar balloons and three piñatas. Virtually all the candy that I could find that bore the heksher (symbol of approval by a Kashrut authority) was chocolate.

On Friday, September first, Kate stayed home from school, and Joel and I both took off from work. Kate and I picked up her boyfriend Zach and his terrific mom who came all the way down from Memphis for the weekend. We picked up our alterations while Joel collected balloons and confetti. Zach's mom had been through bar mitzvah craziness herself once before with her older son, so she was a wonderful listener and sympathetic sounding board.

The Friday night service was okay. Many parts of it were relatively unfamiliar to me, but Kate did a credible job. At times Kate's tutor and the rabbi appeared to be singing different versions of the worship melodies. Because Kate sang quite softly, the rabbi would join in, overpowering her voice. Her first outfit from Ann Taylor looked smashing, though. I was worried that we might not have a minyan (quorum), but the turnout was quite respectable. I was especially delighted to see my old mah jongg buddy Lynda, whom I had not seen since Katrina. Since she was already committed to attend Marcus' bar mitzvah, it took special effort on her part to attend Kate's.

Since we had no out-of-town company other than Zach and his mom, we went with them and our neuropsychologist friend Mike to a restaurant named Phoenicia for dinner. By nine-thirty, Joel and I were amazed to discover that we were both totally exhausted. It felt like at least midnight to us.