Uni High Gargoyle Staff Blog

As weird as I think it is, being Jewish and all, I was confirmed last night. In the reformed movement of Judaism, once a child reaches 16, he or she goes through a confimation ceremony that essentially represents his or her graduation from religious school.

And so, I, along with fellow Uni students Sam Imlay, Hannah Leskosky, and Laura Dripps, and the rest of the confirmation class, was honored in such a ceremony.

The evening consisted mainly of a service led by the confirmation class, as well as a speech by each confirmand. The service also celebrated Shavuot, the holiday on which God handed down the 10 commandments.

The whole thing was kind of uneventful. One kid messed up his prayer, no one stood up on cue, and someone else had to pee so bad that they were forced to get up and leave in the middle of the service.

But, other than that, nothing really happened.

Besides, for most people, this ceremony doesn’t mean anything. It isn’t like the Bar/Bat Mitzvah, the other big deal in a Jewish childhood. We didn’t have to read Torah, and we didn’t have to spend the whole year studying and practicing.

I especially felt no strong connection to this whole confirmation schtick. I had one of the lowest attendance rates during the classes. The essays that I had to write for the class were last-minute and awful. And, I didn’t volunteer to lead any parts of the service, so all I did last night was carry the Torah during a processional and then deliver my speech.

However, there was one aspect to the evening that was significant for me.

Let me tell you a little something about Champaign’s Sinai Temple: They think that we are still in the 19th century.

The rabbi was going to make us wear skirts for the service. When I requested that the girls be able to wear nice slacks instead, he flat out refused, saying that we had never done it that way. By that logic, no change would ever happen.

I wasn’t going to let this go. Skirts suck, and I wasn’t about to wear one to this confirmation service. Especially because we all had to sit on the bima, the raised platform where all the religious bulljive goes down, which put our crotches right at eye level to the congregation. So, unless some perverted old man wanted to see a lot of panties all night, then it seemed to me that skirts were not a good idea.

Finally, it just seems ridiculous to tell a girl that, in this day and age, where nice slacks are becoming just as fancy as skirts, that she can’t wear pants. We go to a reformed synagogue; women wear pants all the time.

Thanks for bearing with me through that little rant. The point of my story is that I won. The rabbi caved, and talked to the parents. Enough of the parents supported my side that the girls were able to wear slacks to the service, and four of the six took advantage. Yay!

And, in the spirit of the event, where we were celebrating our adulthood, I did feel very accomplished and grown up. People had listened to what I had to say.

Now, I don’t really know what one should take away from this rambling. But I guess now you know that the next time you are confirmed at Sinai Temple, you can wear pants regardless of gender.

— Sarah Pfander