Eleven and a half years ago I started planning the Bar Mitzvah of our elder son. I seemed so perfect, his being born in the summer meant that I could invite people from the states and there was even a chance that they'd come. I started early, thinking of ideas, and then came Oslo.
According to the Oslo time table, we were to be refugees by Pesach. So in the Oslo hysteria Bar Mitzvah plans weren't planned. I envisioned myself marching to Jerusalem, a homeless refugee, then living in a tent in Independence Park, Jerusalem. It had to be better than some refugee camp.
Miracles happened and that part of Oslo was ignored, or cancelled. But the feeling that if I was ever, G-d forbid, thrown out of my home, I'd live in a tent in Independence Park hasn't left me.
My son's Bar Mitzah was quickly planned; only my parents and in-laws came. It was a casualty of Oslo. I did my best, but the times were very traumatic, and I didn't function at my best.
There are many young families in Gush Katif and Northern Shomron. I'm sure that some have boys who will reach Bar Mitzvah this summer. The spiritual level there is much higher than what I lived through eleven years ago. G-d willing they will merit to celebrate many smachot in their homes. Mazal Tov
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