I had my bat mitzvah on Oct. 9, 1987, the second day of Sukkot—on a Friday morning. Unlike my younger brother, who protested that he was a secular humanist every time my parents told him to study Torah, I was not opposed on principle to having a bat mitzvah; I just didn't want any of my peers to see it. Once we turned 12, we were required to attend Shabbat services every week, so if I'd had it on a Saturday morning, there was a high chance of a classmate sitting in the sanctuary. Friday morning, on the second day of Sukkot, none of them were present.
In middle school I was a social outcast, the bottom rung of the social ladder. I was a sturdy, intense girl, with thick, tangled dark hair that I couldn't seem to brush, and I had a penchant for wearing anything but pants: In the winter I often wore flowered shorts and legwarmers pulled over my knees, long before that might have been considered cool. I was a straight-A student, and the teachers liked me, but when we changed classes, kids would bark at me in the hallways. Ruff-Ruff-Rosie!
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