Bar Mitzvah letter to my son

Over the weekend, we celebrated my son's Bar Mitzvah.

There were many details to get stressed over, but one thing in particular that I was both excited about and dreading was the short speech I was supposed to give.  The parameters were that it should be at most two minutes long, and somehow connected to my son's transition into adulthood.

Here's what I came up with, finishing about 2 AM last Friday night, about 9 hours before I had to present it.

Dear Evan,

If being a mensch means seeing what needs to be done, and doing it, then you certainly have demonstrated that today.

You had a tough job to do here and you prepared, practiced and took it seriously.  You really put in the hard work, consistently.  You dove into your mitzvah projects and showed that you have been thinking beyond yourself and toward the community.

We are all so proud of you.

I just want to share a little story to show how I feel about this moment.

This spring, we planted a fig tree in our garden.

At first, it was just a tall stick that had grown quickly.  It had no branches and could not support itself, so we tied it to a stake.  It started to leave but then stopped.

I had to dig it up and replant it because it was too close to the street, and when I dug the new hole, I mixed in better compost and added a tree gator for better irrigation.

When the milder summer weather started, I removed most of the bands tying the tree to the stake, leaving only one or two at the base.

You asked me why, and I explained that the tree needed to sway in the light summer breezes to build up its strength.  It would never be able to support itself unless it had to resist the wind and send new wood to the parts feeling the strain.

Soon the tree had sent out dozens of new branches, which grew amazingly quickly.

With so much foliage, the tree is now more balanced and stable, and should be able to weather our stormy winters, with only a little help from the stake from time to time.

Like this tree, you have begun to sprout branches in many directions and learn new things to balance your life.

Like this tree, you have begun to do things on your own without our support every step of the way.

Like this tree, you grow toward the sky because you are rooted in the rich traditions of your heritage, and are nourished by the waters of your family and community and the light from above.

And like this tree, you will someday bring forth bountiful sweet fruit and give back to your family and community.

The tree cannot grow in a desert, and the garden isn't complete without a tree.

May you be like Ephraim and Manasseh, and have the strength to withstand the pressures of society and do the right thing.



Short and sweet.  Thank you, Dale Carnegie.  Afterward, my son whispered to me, "Did you just plant the tree so you would have something to talk about in your speech?"