Gus’s first Bar Mitzvah


Shaar Hashomayim Synagogue, where Leonard Cohen celebrated his Bar Mitzvah. Courtesy of

I recently went to my first Bar Mitzvah, which seems to me a very strange thing to say. Purely because it was nowhere on my radar. There are some places you end up in life and you can say “Yup, saw that coming”, but other times you look around you and say “Wow, how did I get here?” This blog is going to show my utter and complete ignorance of the Jewish faith. Thank you to my Jewish friends for putting up with me. Shalom.

Where to begin? It was quite an enjoyable experience, however it was very, how should I say this, curious for me. Let me explain. It was like going to see a film because a friend has told you how good it is. You go, but you have no idea what the film is about, you have no expectations, you just go and wait to see what’ll happen.

For example, did you know that men and women do not sit together in a Synagogue? I didn’t, so guess who almost went in the wrong door. Thanks to a very nice woman who happened to be going in at the same time I learned this in the nick of time.

So I get seated, I have my kippah on, I’m good, until I realize that I’ve forgotten my phone in my jacket back at the coat check. That’ll never do. Up I jump, buzz back to the coat check and explain to the nice young man at the counter that I’ve forgotten my phone in my coat, which I would like. He looks at me like I have lost my mind! He says to me “It is Shabbat,” and stares at me. I look back at him, he looks back at me. Awkward pause. Blink, blink. I turn and walk away. I have no idea what he is talking about but I am smart enough to realize that I am not getting my phone right now. (Turns out Sat. is the holy day in the Jewish faith and they do not use electronics, found out later)

Back to the Synagogue with me.

As it turns out there is little to no English spoken during a Bar Mitzvah, well at least the one I went to, AND it’s a musical! Almost everything is sung, but it is sung in Hebrew. I will be honest, I spent most of my time wondering what was going on. I want to thank the three older gentlemen who were sitting behind me. Once they realized I was as out of place as a penguin on the beach, they gave me the heads up about a few things so I didn’t make a complete ass out of myself.

Getting back to the singing, it looks incredibly difficult. We’re not talking Church hymns here, where everyone jumps in and it really doesn’t matter what you sound like. We are talking one singer with the Rabbi directing, then everyone jumps in at certain points. It’s all very choreographed and cultured. So I sat there wondering how does everyone know when to jump in and stand up, what words to say, when to raise their hands, etc. etc. After about two hours I realized why. These people are here for the long haul!

I should have caught on when I asked my friend what time I had to be there.

I grew up Protestant United. If our Sunday morning services went over an hour the church elders started to cough politely and look at their watches while fanning themselves with the Service Handout papers. When I asked my friend what time I should be there for the service she said anytime between 9 and 10 AM. I thought ‘strange’ but ok. I got there at 9:30am, figuring right in the middle should be sweet. I think it was 1:30pm when we walked out. Jewish people do not mess around when it comes to Synagogue, let me tell you. I don’t know if it was only because of the Bar Mitzvah, or because the Rabbi had a full house (like I said, I had no idea what was going on) but we were there and the Rabbi was making it count. So yes it was long, but I have to admit they pack a bunch in there. There was singing (lots of singing), laughing, clapping, candy throwing, the list goes on.

The thing that stands out in my mind the most was the congregation, perhaps this is not the right word for the people that attend a Synagogue, but it what I was taught. They were beautiful. From the moment I walked into the Synagogue in my sweater vest and no tie (you think my friend would have told me it was a full on dark suit affair) I was welcomed. Almost every person who passed me, old and young alike, stopped to shake my hand, wish me peace, and welcome me. I left with the feeling that this wasn’t just something they pulled out of the closet once and awhile, dusted off and put back, this was what these people lived.

Truth be told it made me nostalgic for simpler days when I was part of a church, a congregation that cared about each other.



Losing my Religion


Saint Joseph’s Oratory, Mount royal

Some people just hear the word religion and become almost rabid, it is like a call to arms for them. This isn’t going to be like that, so take a deep breath and count to ten if you are one of those people. This is going to be more of a self observation that I hope someone can identify with.

Not that long ago I took my son to St-Joseph’s Oratory, which is a huge Catholic Oratory built on the side of Mount Royal in the beautiful city of Montreal. The building is breathtaking, I remember my father taking me there when I was a kid and being awestruck, so I have brought all my kids there to share this experience with them too (by the way, we are not Catholic but it really is something to see). While we were touring the building we happened to come across a man on his knees praying to one of the many statues of St-Joseph. My son looks at him and whispers to me “What is that guy doing!” At first I am not sure what he is asking, but then I realise that my son has no idea that this guy is praying. In fact I do not think my son has been to church since he was baptised as a baby. It floored me, how can this be!! Am I am bad parent or what? WTF!

I grew up going to church, protestant United. As kids my brother and I were dragged there pretty much every Sunday by my mother. I can remember it like it was yesterday. But it wasn’t just us, it was our whole family, I am talking Aunts, Uncles, cousins, Grandmother. The only one who could take a pass on it was my Grandfather, I was never sure why he got to stay home.

Back then going to church was more than just going to church, it was a whole Sunday event. There was the getting ready for church, then the actual going to the service, this was followed my standing around outside the church and gossiping with everyone you only saw once a week (getting the news, as my Grandmother would call it). Then everyone would go back to my grandparents house for lunch. That is how the weeks ended in my childhood, and lets face it there wasn’t much else to do on a Sunday, everything was closed!!

I am not sure when it happened but somewhere along the way I stopped going to church and then I just kind of stopped believing. It was never a conscious action. At one point in my life I lost a lot of people whom I loved in a very short span of time, that might have something to do with it. Perhaps losing the people that I used to go to church with was what kept me away. For better or for worst my religion just sort of slipped away. I do not know if that is something you can get back. I know many people find religion in their later years, dying seems to bring that on. I do know people who are very religious and I have to say I envy then. They are so secure in their belief, it is like they know something that I don’t know. I do remember feeling peaceful in church, maybe it is that peace they carry around with them all the time.

Who knows if I will find religion again at the end of the road, it’s not something that I worry about, but man I have to bring my boy to church a time of two.