It was a beautiful fall day when our fourth child was called to the Torah as a bat mitzvah. The trees were showy with brilliant orange and auburn colors.

The bimah in a synagogue is the raised area of the sanctuary where everything happens. When you enter our synagogue sanctuary, you are greeted with warm earthy tones on the floor that perfectly complement the oak pews and walls. On each side of the bimah, floor to ceiling, there are blocks of stained glass windows that remain illuminated when the room is occupied by congregants.

An important part of the bimah is the Ark. The Ark houses sacred Torah scrolls. Each Torah is handwritten by a scribe on parchment paper and is protected by an artfully made cover. Though the Torah is chanted musically, there are no musical notes to help guide the reader. One must memorize. There are trained helpers standing by if someone gets stuck.

Our friends and family were in town for the big event. Our adult children filled our home with a whirlwind only family members can bring. The house was bustling the morning of our daughter’s bat mitzvah, with breakfast items strewn on counters; some siblings practicing, again, their own Torah reading and the hurried voices of needing to leave on time. On time – a concept lost on a large family. Bathrooms were filled with hair products, towels flying, and clothes everywhere. Our son and future son-in-law ignored our three girls having critical discussions about service outfits and party attire.

With our family in tow, Leah and I were ready by 8:30 a.m. All seven of us arrived without a hiccup.

It had only been 13 years since we had adopted our beautiful little girl when she was just five adorable weeks old. She had been named when she was a baby in the same synagogue by our rabbi.

The service begins with rhythmic sequences of prayers led by the cantor. I was overcome by a tremendous sense of pride seeing our youngest on the bimah. I was truly grateful to be there, in that place, at that moment. After almost losing my life years ago, for me, moments like these, are not to be taken for granted.

As the seats continued to fill, one by one our adult children read their Torah portions, close friends and other family members read too. Our daughter���s godmother, grandparents, a great-grandmother, and other close friends and family members came up, each having a vital role within the service. Our bat mitzvah girl chanted all of her assigned readings almost perfectly. She had a very significant amount to chant and memorize in the two years of continuous practice that led us to this day.

Every single person sung beautifully, except for me.

Many Shabbat mornings we attend services; we’re pretty regular. We look forward to the service, the sermon and then sitting down to nosh and have a chat with our friends afterward.

The same blessings are sung week in and week out so it was surprising, even to me, that my mind went blank when it came to the Aliyah blessing.

Leah and I stood next to our youngest and the room seemed to get even more quiet. It. Was. Gone. The prayer I know in my sleep, disappeared from my immediate memory. I sounded as if I had never attended services. All eyes glued on my stumbling. The more people tried to help the more confused I became. I should have gathered myself and said, ���Please hold, I am starting over.��� That would have been funny to some but not so appropriate in our conservative synagogue.

In the end, hopefully everyone focused not on my complete blunder but on the rest of the incredibly beautiful service.

The moment that filled me with the most nachas (pride) was when our rabbi called our four children up to the bimah facing him and spoke directly to them. He shared with them the importance of being there for each other as they always have and that their continued bond throughout their lives, is essential. It was the most heartwarming moment of the entire weekend for me. Maybe it was because, although our four children do not always see eye to eye, I always tell them, ���The greatest gift I have given you is not only my unconditional love, but each other.���

My youngest pumpkin’s turn had arrived, the last of my four children, and she shined that morning. That evening we partied and celebrated her.

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