Every year on the anniversary of my bat mitzvah, I do some quick math in my head to figure out how many years it has been since that momentous day. This year when December 7 rolled around, after my math screamed 25 years, it struck me just how far away from that time of life I really am. A quarter-of-a-century, to be exact. I’m still in denial that I am able to have a 25-year-anniversary of anything other than my birth.
But on December 7, 1990, I stood on the bimah before family and friends (many of whom I am proud to say are still my friends today) and accepted my obligation to adhere to the commandments of Judaism. And then I had a party and opened a bunch of checks for $18. It was a great weekend, though I have no doubt its significance was not fully felt until years later.
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