If there’s a top ten of Jewish terms that evoke an image in the minds of many, it’s not unfeasible to imagine Bar Mitzvah Boy (the teen who comes of age) as tracking highly – snapping at the heels of the synagogues and the skullcaps.

Indeed, Anglo-Jewry’s greatest TV writer, Jack Rosenthal, penned the glorious Bar Mitzvah Boy which had a popularity that transcended all pockets of the UK. It may have flickered onto our crudely coloured screens over 40 years ago, but there’s a timelessness to it. Modern Jewish life may look different on the outside, but it’s pretty similar on the inside, with family and humour the heartbeat.

The expression Bar Mitzvah Boy therefore has more than a bit part in a universally understood Jewish narrative. One where, kind of ludicrously, but loyal to the letter of the liturgical law, a 13 year old becomes a man in the eyes of a smiling and proud cohort of family and friends. Croaky of voice, fuzzy of stubble, oft-molly-coddled, but most definitely a man. As I said, family and humour.

And, whether religious or secular, it’s a staging post in an early teen’s life that’s rarely without recognition – admittedly to wildly varying degrees. I wrote previously about how Isaac reaching the Bar Mitzvah Boy milestone tempted me to look at him through a prism of my own memory; a parental place I’d always steered well clear of. Yet siding with a decision that delighting in his difference snuffed out the need for similarities to my own personal history and therefore fairly standard experience.

A decision that I now have complete conviction in, as I attempt to bottle the spirit of Isaac’s recent Bar Mitzvah ceremony – a day that propelled me to cloud nine. Because if the expression Bar Mitzvah Boy represents the run of the mill typicality of the milestone as lived by me and countless others through the generations, Isaac’s frustration with the phrase is the embodiment of his vivacious difference.

Like a linguistics academic, pedantically pulling apart language, Isaac was adamant that Bar Mitzvah Boy evaded logic and that he must not be called it:

“What is wrong with all these people who don’t understand language?!” he would preach. “I will not be a boy on my Bar Mitzvah, I will be a man!”

Which he duly announced at the pinnacle of the ceremony itself, focusing mainly on the ‘guilty’ grandparents; a formal, showstopping request for, “these grandparents of mine, perhaps mostly I am afraid to say, Papap aka Peter Mishcon, to stop with this boy talk. I mean, ridiculous. If they continue I will have to disown them and not be their grandson any more. I am a man.”

Said in unabashed manner, with aplomb, honesty and a tiny bit of knowing; Isaac’s default to the literal launching the whip smart phrase, Bar Mitzvah Man. Three words that, cemented into a whole phrase, I’d never before heard in my whole life – but that spoke of a complete truth, and summed up my son. It was an exquisite moment – one of many (can the sum of so many exquisite parts still have a greater, indescribable whole?).

All of which took place in our (elegantly curated and framed for camera) kitchen over Zoom – a platform that had perhaps before been hellish for Isaac what with the moving faces, delayed expressions and odd eye contact; Isaac’s autism affects how aural and visual information is interpreted by his brain (I imagine this in terms of his CCTV see-everything style mind; a mind that captures and instils images in his memory, whilst equally proving impossible to decipher and dismantle in the moment). Yet, with an ability to manage proceedings by having full screen mode whilst muting all tripping over chatter, Zoom became the dream setting for the one-way Isaac show, and therefore a haven for his heavenly Bar Mitzvah. A controlled and singular environment for him and us, at the same time being intimate for all the guests too.

A gold lining of the pandemic, never mind a silver one. There was a tech enabled heart and soul that just couldn’t have been replaced in real life, and led us to cry tears of joy.

Just like when he was telling about the need to be called a man, he had total composure of delivery during the ceremony, from reciting a prayer to, with a diction to die for, the main event: the ‘Isaac Alfred Davis’ presentation, written solely by him and spiritually relevant. More of which later.

What an astonishing upside of Covid-enforced technology then, completely inconceivable before its upending of normality.

Because the bedrock of Bar Mitzvahs (with being called the Bar Mitzvah Boy an integral part of course) has always been one of preparation and socialisation. From Hebrew lessons, to reading from the Torah (Old Testament) in synagogue, to noisy celebration.

We always knew that, in Isaac’s instance, we’d be tampering with tradition, seeking a tailor-made, autistic friendly and specific-to-his-learning approach. The people and community focused Jewish Masorti Movement were totally onboard and would be steering us on this rather off piste journey. But as lockdown and beyond took hold, with the Summer and Autumn meandering, Isaac’s 13^th birthday came and went with his challenges becoming manifold. Exhaustion after school also setting in eliminating any expectation of traditional Hebrew lessons (he knows some basic prayers).

Fixations and routine have been gripping Isaac as he transitions further into the senior stage of his brilliant school. His “hand hurts for so long” during short lessons emphasizing how dyspraxia can slam into his learning. The abstract nature of maths – crushing the ‘autistic savant’ stereotype – simply “hurts this brain of mine”. Everything has an intensity. “I have so many things in my head, but I don’t want to dump my negative feelings on you parents.”

He’ll ignore a gold in science and dwell on a difficulty in English. This full on and fast world does Isaac few favours. The slowing down, quietening and close control of his school has never been more necessary or painstaking. Highly personalised plans that adapt to his varying abilities and help focus him as he becomes more and more sensitive to the slightest noise.

(We do always have one leg the land of laughter though. Acquiring social skills and independence have the unintended but expected side effect of swearing knowledge, which are head scratchers for him such is their nuance. He hears words and knows not to use them. But in our safe space he can query and question with me. On him mentioning the word that sounds like banker, I shrugged, and, somewhat ditheringly, said it was, yes, a rude and offensive way to describe a perhaps, unpleasant person. “Ah,” he replied earnestly and straight faced, “so was Hitler a wxxxer.” It left me flummoxed but I had to supress a laugh.)

So finding even the smallest space for Bar Mitzvah planning I’d seen as too huge a challenge. Conditioned as I was by the thought that there had to be some sort of need to properly immerse himself in Hebrew as well as have people present and involved in any celebration. Even with the synagogue’s impressive pivot to online synagogue services, the overwhelming nature of lessons and discipline, social distanced celebration and just simple unknowns would surely be several steps too far.

That was until my extraordinary wife, Eliza, halted all hesitation, as her instinct – and insight about Zoom’s possibilities – took hold. We should just do it, she decided, Isaac needs it, so do we. We can shapeshift, so can the synagogue. Why should there be a party? Who cares about gift and guest lists? Isaac certainly won’t.

Within days, we were on a Zoom call with Rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg. His empathy and warmth glowed and shone up the screen, as he asked us about Isaac. An implicit knowledge of autism meant Rabbi Jonathan was curious, enquiring about any enthusiasm Isaac may have. Ah, well, yes, you could say that:

Through lockdown, and the ultra-nervous aftermath, Isaac was like the restless commuter on a packed train going nowhere, thwarted by faulty signals and mounds of immovable leaves on the line. TikTok making and music memorising just about taking the strain from this dearth of trains.

But then, as our tentative steps back to feeling brave meant overground journeys started again, whoosh, his elation burst from him; the Bombardier Engine at full tilt out of the tunnel.

“Yes, I’m back!” he belted out as we drove under a bridge to a first filming session from the safe distance of a station car park. “Look, it’s the model class 19 from Willesden Junction to St. Albans Abbey, on this beautiful and, let’s face it, low ‘Moor Park’ bridge. Trains, you are my family!”

His filmmaking of train trips for his YouTube channel is now in overdrive, with editing skills akin to a Soho suite operative. The music, clever cuts, graphics and his wholesome delivery of facts and observations tell the story of his life in so many ways.

Rabbi Jonathan’s eyes lit up as we relayed tales of Isaac and this enthusiasm for trains, telling us that, in two weeks’ time, the portion of the Torah that we read is, in Hebrew, ‘Lech Lecha’, meaning ‘Go, leave’.

It’s when Abraham starts his journeys, we discovered. Where he travels and explores, seeing the world and witnessing all its beauty. Rather like Isaac on his glorious train trips he suggested, going places, seeing all the stations, being happy. And there, in one Rabbinical ponder about one mighty connection that became one almighty theme, he found the ‘train travel’ thread for Isaac’s Bar Mitzvah journey. The idea for the, earlier referred to, Isaac Alfred Davis presentation, as centrepiece for the ceremony, was born – all about his favourite train journeys.

When Rabbi Jonathan then confirmed with a glance at his diary that, yes, in two weeks’ time we could – and should – have the Bar Mitzvah, I was actually speechless. Two weeks – that’s got to be the swiftest preparation time in Jewish social history.

But this was meant to be.

Rabbi Jonathan was excited, how he described this being special for him was genuine. As was his absolute desire that Isaac should only be encouraged to do what he was comfortable with, around trains and any Jewish experience (basic prayer) he wants to share, however big or small.

The two of them would have a chat, we’d all work it out, he proposed benignly.

In that moment, what Rabbi Jonathan’s sparkling eyes of faith and values told me was that there’s no right way to have a rite of passage. The lack of judgement from this learned leader, just a belief in humanity, made us emboldened and eager.

Unfazed by timings, Eliza took control; she had faith in Isaac that he could perform wonderfully within the Zoom medium and do so much meaningfully.

Plus, belief in herself that she could curate and create an event like no other.

And so Isaac became the Bar Mitzvah Man on November 1^st 2020, as he narrated his Favourite Train Journeys presentation to an out of sight audience, “people can see me and so forth, but on the call – I mean literally on the zoom call – just my family and Rabbi Jonathan. This is important.”

In his Own The Auditorium style, like a student smashing a drama school audition, he showed pictures of journeys and read accompanied snippets of why each one was special to him. The creation of it all his, the entire screen his too. Just Rabbi Jonathan visible, smiling and absorbed.

Barely believably, given his challenges and sensitivities, Isaac had remained as still throughout the ceremony as the rapt reactions of the many muted family and friends – I swear you could have heard a virtual pin drop as he told us so much. These mini stories ran into double figures, including:

“My first journey on the Jubilee line. Here I was in a buggy, I remember the sound and the smell of it.”

And how, “Luckily I have a photo of this, and here it is with my young mum who looks much the same.”

We saw the Bakerloo line, and he spoke about how “in 2014, travelling on the trains would take away my worries about school.”

Family members were referenced as living near some of the destinations he showed us.

We discovered that being in Tel Aviv in 2018 and 2019 was “soo cool, because I filmed the double decker trains, with two levels. At Rehovot, I just couldn’t believe my eyes!”

The Berlin trip to film U-Bahn trips was discussed and he said how he was “so happy with the models of trains being yellow, my sister Tabitha’s favourite colour. Well done Tabitha!”

Each had a purpose. Each possessed nuggets that wedded learnt facts and personal truths. His journeys may have taken place some 5,000 years after Abraham’s, but they were bound together.

The schedule and order of the day had been scripted as if by an ancient scholar transcribing the Torah; no room for deviations just absolute fact. So Isaac knew my speech word for word; my “mumbling and those silly, like, half sentences you speak” needed ruling out.

He also knew that Rabbi Jonathan would introduce the ceremony and speak before and after his presentation. He was allowed some latitude and indeed his words were wonderful. His engagement with Isaac – instinctive pauses and a mastery of Zoom too – alchemised the day.

“I loved our conversations of trains and Jewish things, Isaac,” Rabbi Jonathan opened, linking to the chat they had had the week before. He showed the Hebrew in an actual Torah scroll, where Lech Lecha is.

Before building clearly on Abraham’s travel stories – on donkeys and foot, maybe not trains, but as explorative and full of discovery.

When the only hitch happened (Eliza’s tech talents were seamless), Rabbi Jonathan improvised that there was nothing to worry about – imagine we are just waiting on a platform. Gorgeous.

“Did you like my voice expression?” Isaac had asked him after his presentation. He said he’d loved it, and the pictures and stories; so fantastic. Authenticity and admiration at every moment.

Rabbi Jonathan subsequently spoke about how he could imagine Isaac on trains, inquisitive and enraptured.

He brought laughter with tales of his own journeys, where his dog had caused giggling on a packed tube train, and how one of Isaac’s trips to Kintbury train station was one he’d been on, enjoying the Canal there.

He sewed together this stupendous sermon by bringing it back to the Torah and Abraham’s journey. The first chapter – Bereshit – let’s call it the Bereshit line, he decided. It tells us that everything in the world matters, everything is special and every person, special. Just like how you see trains and people, Isaac, a conclusion that I could barely cope with.

Sticking to the schedule, everything else slotted into place:

Isaac said, in Hebrew, the prayer over the wine. Isaac’s Godfather, Jacob, said the haunting Priestly blessing, in such a heartfelt manner, that I could barely breath. Eliza’s words made me melt, such were her love and commitment to her son. Tabitha added a ray of sunshine speaking adoringly about her big brother. Plus, of course, that demand by Isaac to be called a man.

The day was perfection, each sumptuous part made magic by Eliza’s planning and dedication. Isaac even allowed us at the end a screen share of everybody waving and smiling. Hopefully taking in Isaac in his true light had been a counter to these slightly gloomy days.

And then, 48 hours later, it was over to the school, who decided to throw a party. A silent disco, a presentation on Bar Mitzvahs by Isaac, sheer fun for all. Something I can’t do justice to here, except shout and holler my appreciation. A school-wide celebration that Isaac said was “stunning, but I shan’t tell you about it all, dad,” in true Isaac form. When one of his teachers greeted him that day, they boldly declared, “Good morning Bar Mitzvah Man,” and there and then, emotional yet again, I knew this Bar Mitzvah like no other had landed in the consciousness of our small world.

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