It's been two decades since I was a bar and bat mitzvah regular. That was back when We Didn't Start the Fire blared in a continual loop on the stereo, Pretty Woman ruled at the box office, and "Multiples" fashions lined my closet.

It's been a long time since I fit the bar and bat mitzvah-attending demographic-back when I was a bat mitzvah myself, nervously chanting Torah, dancing a "snowball" dance, and drinking my bat mitzvah drink, a tween-made concoction so gross I'll spare you its contents.

Oh, how I don't miss those years.

But now it looks like I'm back on the circuit again. I've been invited to four b'nai mitzvot in a six-week period, including a bar mitzvah two weeks ago and a bat mitzvah last weekend.

In the past 20 years, since my own big day, the bar and bat mitzvah industry has gotten out of hand.  We hear too often about over-the-top affairs, where families are competing over who can throw the most lavish, gluttonous party, sometimes complete with circus animals and celebrity guest appearances.

I remember once reading about a Titanic-themed bar mitzvah back when the movie was at the height of its hype. Leonardo DiCaprio even made a cameo at the party. How odd to connect this beautiful coming-of-age celebration to a movie about such a horrible disaster.

Then, there was the infamous invitation, an image that will forever be seared into my mind's eye. My friend once showed me the invite for a bat mitzvah party, to be held at a nightclub with a name so erotic that I will chose to omit it from this family-friendly blog. The design of the invitation showed the 13-year-old girl wearing bright pink lipstick, a scantily clad, leopard outfit, and a seductive expression on her face. That's taking this "becoming an adult thing" too far.

Why do we want our kids to grow up so fast? Why would any parent do this to their child? Why would a parent send their kid to a party like this? Just…why?

The bar and bat mitzvah I attended during the last two weeks bore no resemblance to these ridiculous affairs. In fact, the celebrations were haimish, with sweet, poised young people at their centers. These are good kids raised by wonderful parents with an understanding of what our most core Jewish values are.

Indeed, it's not all over-the-top celebrations that I see. On the flip side, thankfully, there's been a wonderful trend of putting the mitzvah back in bar and bat mitzvah. Families and synagogues are making service projects a central park of children's bar/bat mitzvah year, infusing more meaning and the Jewish concepts of tzedakah (charity, justice) and gemilut hasadim (acts of loving kindness) into the process. 

Do you remember the 2006 film Keeping Up With the Steins? The small, underrated film offers a commentary on how too many Jewish families overlook the meaning behind the bar and bat mitzvah, and view this time of life as an excuse to throw an outrageous party. In the end of the film, though, the bar mitzvah boy ends up forgoing the fancy shmancy party, in part because of the downturned economy, for a simple celebration in his backyard-and he and his friends love every minute of it.

And, maybe, that's all kids ultimately want. To experience this special rite of passage in an authentic way. To gracefully take on the responsibilities of becoming Jewish young adults in front of their family, friends, and community.

JUF's TOV volunteer network offers guides to making mitzvoth part of the bar/bat mitzvah. Visit www.juf.org/pdf/tov/BBM_Guide.pdf for more information.

This week, my fiancé and I hosted our first seder together. Actually, it was the first seder I'd ever hosted. After all the years of joining other people's celebrations, this was a seder we could call our own.

The holiday was a pre-marriage team building exercise for my fiancé and me--and I think we passed with flying colors. If we could deal with the stress of cleaning and leading a seder for 20, we could deal with anything that came our way, right?

The Passover prep started days before the holiday, the two of us scrubbing the fridge until we could see our reflections in it. This process was new for me, but not for my fiancé, who comes from a more observant Jewish background. In years past, I had certainly refrained from eating leavening during the holiday. But coating the counters with tinfoil? That was new to me.

Then, once the kitchen was kashered, the Passover cooking and food prep began. We turned the premises into a Pesach factory. Eggs and shank bones and gefilte fish oh my. As we cooked--magenta horseradish, red wine, and charoset fixings landing on the counters Jackson Pollack-style--my fiancé and I taught each other about our Passover rituals of the past and how we hoped to merge our holiday tradition into one in our new journey together.

Somehow, after the late nights of cleaning, cooking, and prepping, we were seder-ready--and with 50 minutes on the clock to spare too!

Our seder was an amalgam of guests all over the Jewish spectrum-from strictly kosher, shomer Shabbos friends to more culturally Jewish, less observant friends, including one hilarious friend of mine who told my fiancé that his kosher kitchen contrasted big time with the traif sitting at home in her fridge "right now."

When we sat down, we welcomed everyone to our seder and I felt little tears well up in my eyes. Then, as our friends' 4-year-old child sang the four questions in his sweet, soft voice, tears welled up even more. No, it wasn't time yet in the seder to commemorate the bitter tears of our people in Mitzrayim.

These were tears of joy, as I looked around the room and saw a big, beautiful Jewish melting pot of our friends. Tears of joy as I thought about how so many Jewish homes across the world that night were retelling the same story of our exodus to freedom. Tears of joy because my intended and I had pulled the whole seder together. Tears of joy because he and I would lead so many more future seders together as a couple, as a family.

People often ask us members of the tribe to self-label our Jewish affiliation, to pick a box--Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, or perhaps Reconstructionist, Traditional, or Humanist. But many of us can't pick just one box. Our religious Jewish identity is too overflowing to be contained.

My mom always told my sister and me she wanted us to grow up in a shul that was somewhere in the middle of the religious spectrum because she wanted us to feel "at home" in any synagogue we set foot in--from the very traditional to the very Reform.

I loved my synagogue growing up. I looked forward to putting on my Shabbat best, eating some leftover challah, and making my way to synagogue with my family. Even after my bat mitzvah, I relished the chance to go back and teach the younger students Torah trope for their own bar and bat mitzvah preparation. I loved the services too, both the children's service and then, in later years, the main sanctuary when I was old enough to join the adults. I reveled in the familiarity of the tunes of the tefilot (prayers), and adored sitting nestled between my family members as my senses took in all the beautiful pieces of the Shabbat service.

Years later, my parents switched to a large Reform congregation, a place they love and are very involved in today. Every Rosh Hashanah, I return home and join them at the new synagogue. We often join the student-led High Holiday service, which offers a feeling of hope for the future of the Jewish people and beautiful music with a Jewish camp-like feel to it. And the rabbis deliver Dvrei Torahs (talk related to Torah portion) so rich they leave me "soul" food for thought all year long.

Back in Chicago, I've been shul-hopping for many years to several wonderful synagogues of all types.

But for the past six months, I've found myself davening in a modern Orthodox shul almost every Shabbat, where my fiancé is a member. The congregation, with their superlative rabbi at the helm, is a welcoming place to Chicago-area Jews of all religious backgrounds, a melting pot of all the many beautiful ways to be Jewish. The shul--like its members--is joyous, inclusive, diverse, inspiring, and haimish. Even though I came from a less traditional Jewish background, I'm finding my niche at this special place.

Just as my mom had hoped for all those years ago, I feel "at home" there--and in any Jewish space I go to.

I've always had a strong Jewish identity, but until recently, resting on Shabbat was not part of that identity.

Over the last few months, I've been keeping Shabbat more strictly because my boyfriend is shomer Shabbos. At first, I wasn't so sure I could go a day without my iPod or pancakes at my favorite diner. But you know what? I kinda love it. I like having a break from the hustle and bustle of the work, activities, and chores of the typical week. I love that no matter what we're doing, on Friday at sundown, we just stop and shut everything off, and welcome in the Sabbath bride and the peaceful calm she brings with her. Then, we eat, drink, connect with the people in our lives, and reflect.

Recently, Shabbat couldn't come soon enough when coverage of the tragic Sandy Hook shootings enveloped the airwaves. As a journalist, I tend to obsess over news coverage. But on this particular Friday, just hours after the heartbreaking event occurred, I had to shut down my computer, my phone alerts, and my television—and transition into Shabbat.

Yvette Alt Miller, author of the book Angels at the Table: A Practical Guide to Celebrating Shabbat (Continuum International Publishing Group), writes about the beauty of shutting the noise of the outside world down on Shabbat.

Her book is a guide to the weekly practice of Shabbat, interweaving liturgical text, practical advice, information, anecdote and history to tap into the Shabbat experience, no matter what the reader's level of religious observance or knowledge of the holiday.

Yvette and her husband have four children, ranging from ages 2 to 9. Working, raising the kids, and shuttling them to school and to their flurry of activities is a sprint every day. Every day, that is, except Shabbat. On Shabbat, life slows down for one beautiful day. Miller and her family, who live in Northbrook, have a chance to enjoy each other's company—to eat, sing, pray, play, and relax.

What Yvette loves about Shabbat is that it's sacred, set apart from the routine of the rest of the week. "I like the slow pace of the day. On Shabbos, no one has anywhere to go. I find I have the best conversations, especially with my family—my children and husband," Yvette once told me in an interview, adding that she first met her husband at a Shabbat lunch in Manhattan, contributing to her love for the holiday. "Another part of Shabbos is you use your best stuff that day, you get dressed up, you use your china, it makes the day so gracious and pretty."

"You can do Shabbat in your own way, it's there for you," she said. "It's your tradition to dip into. It doesn't have to be all or nothing. It's your tradition so own it."

It's only recently that I realized Shabbat really is there for me—it's there for all of us.

Shabbat Shalom!

I did a new thing the other week. I tasted cholent for the first time.   

Somehow in my 35 years of being Jewish, despite the pervasiveness of Judaism in my life and my love of fattening foods, I had never tried the stuff before.

For those of you who don't know, cholent, a weekly staple of the Jewish people, is a stew usually made with meat and beans, served on Shabbat, but slow cooked starting the day before to avoid breaking the Jewish law against utilizing fire on Shabbat.

Back in Russia, before he left for America in 1923, my grandpa would eat cholent on Shabbat with his family in a shtetl outside of Minsk.

I finally broke my cholent-free streak one recent Shabbat while attending a cholent cook-off at a Chicago apartment with 20 other young Jews. In the taste test, my Shabbat lunch companions and I sampled six variations of cholent--from a traditional stew to a spicy Mexican chili-like version, and an Indian curry variety too.

We stuffed ourselves with the rich stews, which culminated with the need for a blissful Shabbat nap.

And we washed the meal down with shots of vodka--perhaps just as my grandma's family used to drink back in Russia. 

I'm guessing the conversations around my modern-day Shabbat table have changed since my grandma's days in the shtetl. At my recent lunch, for instance, the topics of Facebook and Twitter emerged, as they so often do these days. But, we also talked about Jewish identity, assimilation, our jobs, and relationships, all topics that could possibly have crept into my grandmother's Shabbat table dialogue too.

As I ate, I connected to my grandpa and the many generations that came before me. I experienced the power of Jewish continuity--in its culinary form--eating the same meal as that of my family members, and the Jewish people as a whole.

Cholent, more than just a stew, is the soul food of our people. The meal has been served throughout the centuries as a centerpiece to our Jewish lives--a witness at our table to our conversations, songs, tears, laughter, and narrative.

Next up on my list of Jewish foods to try is kishke, made from intestines. Hmmm, on second thought, maybe I'll just have another bowl of cholent instead.

My grandparents are always saying they wish they could see their four adult granddaughters more--scattered around the country in Portland, Ore., Brooklyn, San Diego and Chicago--but this isn't quite what they had in mind.

When Hurricane Sandy struck last week, my grandparents--both approaching 90 and still very much in love after 65 years of marriage in a beach town called Long Beach, Long Island--were evacuated and displaced from their home like millions of others on the East Coast.

Their 27-year-old granddaughter, my wonderful cousin Heidi, and her boyfriend have taken them in, sheltering them from Sandy in their Brooklyn apartment, where they've all been staying for more than a week. They did not go willingly. My grandfather, a World War II combat vet in the Pacific theatre, does not frighten much. I guess being on a troop ship in a typhoon will do that to you.

When I first heard about the sleeping arrangements, I thought it might be a bit too close for comfort, even though my grandparents and Heidi are big fans of each other. But then I got a little envious. I wished I could have been there to help my grandparents out in their time of crisis too.

When I call them each day, despite their reason for being there, they sound like they're making the best of it, eating lasagna together, watching TV together, or just hanging out together. I picture my grandma in the kitchen, dishing to Heidi about some anecdote from the Sher archives about a great uncle or a long-lost cousin on the family tree. The storm knocked down plenty of trees outside, but family trees were strengthened during this trying time.

Granted, these are not ideal conditions to be bonding with the family, but their reunion is the silver lining of an awful situation. And my grandparents were just one of millions of gatherings of generosity and compassion among family, friends, and even strangers happening up and down the East Coast in the wake of Sandy.

My grandparents fared better than so many others devastated by Sandy's wrath. They were only victims of power and plumbing loss and a flooded crawlspace while the rest of their home remained relatively dry. They plan to stay in Brooklyn for a couple more days until their power and creature comforts are restored to their two-story duplex home. 

The same home they've lived in for 63 years, since my father was a baby. 

The same home my older sister and I would spend two weeks every summer of our childhoods, trekking to the beach and boardwalk (now destroyed) each day with our plastic pails and shovels, our cherry Italian ices, and our carefree, summertime joy, hand in hand with our grandparents and parents.

The same home where my grandparents and my grandma's mother--my bubbe--would share Shabbat dinner with my father and uncle when they were kids.

The same home decorated from top to bottom with warm and colorful family portraits painted by my grandfather, an artist in his spare time away from his job working at a paper factory. 

The same home where my grandma would do The New York Times crossword every day for 60 years, always picking up a few missing sports or celebrity names from my grandfather to complete the missing clues to the puzzle. She now googles them too. 

The same home where my dad and his brother, as kids, would dupe my grandma into believing they were practicing the clarinet, when really they were shooting fireworks in the backyard using the music stand as a crossbow.

The same home where my grandma would dust the house and clean the toilets every morning at 5 a.m. before she went off to a long day of work as a high school history teacher.

The same home where she would teach my sister and me to knit and my grandpa would teach us to play Rummy.

We're lucky my grandparents will soon make their way back home--and I pray that so many others will too.

For some, though, that won't be possible. But no matter what physical structures the hurricane destroyed in its path, it can never destroy the beautiful stories, histories, and memories that every home has to share.  

Today is the 21^st anniversary of my bat mitzvah. My bat mitzvah is a legal drinker! How'd that happen so fast? I remember on that day, Oct. 5, 1991, being so scared that I would suddenly get a case of the hiccups or go all "Peter Brady" and crack my voice during one of my Torah portions. Not to keep you in suspense, I was hiccup-free that day and the middle Brady brother was nowhere to be found in the sanctuary.

Looking back on that day, that unsure and awkward time in my life, I think about that 13-year-old me up there on the bimah and I want to tell her a few things--13 of them actually: 

1. Don't worry about what other people think. Now I know that's way easier said than done, but teens and--who am I kidding?--adults too, spend a lot of time concerned about how they come off to other people. We obsess that others are judging everything we do. But I got news for you: Everyone else is way too concerned about what they're doing so how could they be paying attention to your every move?
2. Go to Israel. Take advantage of the incredible opportunities in the Jewish community that will get you to our Jewish homeland. It will change you forever.
3. Listen to the stories your grandparents and parents tell you about your family tree. They're your roots and learning where you came from reflects on who you are and has a lot to do with who you will become.
4. Appreciate summer break. You're not always going to have the luxury to take three months off from the rest of the year to do something totally different.
5. Be kind to people--and treat them just like you'd want them to treat you.
6. Eat dinner with your family whenever you can-especially on Shabbat. The life and schedule of a teenager is kray-zee, but share a meal at the end of the day and week as much as you can to ground you from the chaos of our daily routines.
7. Be you. Don't just go with the crowd, wear stripes and polka dots together if you want to, and stand up for what you believe in--even if it's not the popular thing to do.
8. Tell the people you love that you love them.
9. Be nice to your little sister or brother. If they're anything like the little sister I was (and still am), they look up to you and want to be like you.
10.  Pick classes and activities you actually want to take in high school and college, as opposed to what's going to look good on your applications and resume. You've got the whole rest of your life to worry about your job. Taking courses you're interested in will make you a more well-rounded person--and more fun to talk to at cocktail parties.
11.  Send a letter. My 13-year-old self didn't know from cell phones and texting, but if she did, I'd tell her to occasionally write a letter to someone on good old-fashioned paper. I know you'll probably have to find where your family keeps the stamps because it's rare to use them these days, but think of how fun it is to receive a letter in the mail every once in a while.
12.  When you learn to drive in a couple years, try not to drive up onto your neighbor's lawn. You'll give your dad a heart attack. And never ever drink or text and drive!
13.  Remember that this too shall pass! You won't always have to go to school with that bully, you will one day pass geometry, and you're not always going to be in love with that one guy from your class. I promise you that next semester, you'll have a crush on someone else.