by Jen Bergman
I’m writing this while the smile from my son Brian’s Bar Mitzvah weekend is still lighting up my face. There were so many reasons for that joy – some expected, like watching Brian lead our congregation in prayer after months of dedicated preparation, and some more surprising, yet just as meaningful.
We were surrounded by family and friends on a beautiful early June weekend, celebrating not only Brian’s accomplishments, but the love and encouragement he received from everyone present. That alone could have kept me smiling all summer long. But it was more than that.
Let me pause here to mention that my son’s last name is McMahon – my husband is not Jewish, nor is his family. Some of them joined us Friday night; many more came for Saturday’s service. What unfolded over the weekend was a masterclass in true inclusion and welcoming.
Friday night’s service was unique. In addition to Brian’s participation, it was Pride Shabbat and the Brotherhood’s officer induction and Philip Zuckerman Volunteer Award Shabbat, all accompanied by the joyful music of the Emanu-El Band. We were joined by extended family from the East Coast, including cousins who have children who are LGBTQ+, and relatives who live with disabilities. One cousin is married to someone who isn’t Jewish. This set the stage for a weekend full of connection.
Rabbi Barolsky’s words during the service – “Rise with us in prayer and spirit, even if you cannot rise physically” – resonated deeply. My mother, disabled long before I was born, felt genuinely seen and validated. She has never, in all her years of attending synagogue, been given such permission to feel whole in the experience of prayer. That message touched not only her, but my cousins as well.
On Saturday, the moments of inclusion continued to shine. We held a thoughtful, accommodating run-through to ensure my cousins felt confident in their service honors – walking with the Torah, opening the ark, participating fully. My non-Jewish sister-in-law and niece opened the service with a Psalm. When it came time to pass the Torah from generation to generation, my husband stood beside me, holding the scroll with pride and reverence. His name was included in Brian’s aliyah: “Lazar Pinchas ben Yaffa Devorah and Shawn”. For me, that gesture meant more than I ever expected.
My husband might call himself “Jewish- adjacent.” He’s been there every step of the way – driving to religious school, belting out Children’s Choir songs along with our boys, helping with B’nai Mitzvah prep, even mastering brisket and matzah ball soup. This weekend affirmed his place in our Jewish story.
At the end of it all, one cousin said to me, “If there were a congregation like this near me, I’d go back to synagogue.” She hadn’t stepped into one in over 20 years. After two services at Emanu-El, she was ready to join!
This wasn’t our first Bar Mitzvah celebration – our older son’s was beautiful too – but something was different this time. I didn’t anticipate how meaningful it would be to see my husband so included. These moments of grace, designed with intention, turned a special occasion into something extraordinary.
Inclusion at Emanu-El isn’t just a word – it’s a lived value, expressed in the way we pray, celebrate, and welcome one another. And for my family, that made all the difference.