This past Saturday, December 2, was the 17th anniversary of my Bas Mitzvah. A few months ago I called the rabbi at the Conservative shul in Connecticut where I grew up and asked if I could come back and sing my torah portion again. He was excited to hear that I wanted to come back, but there was another Bas Mitzvah that morning – since I was applying to cantorial school, he asked, would I like to come and be chazzan(it) that morning? My first cantorial gig outside of New York? Of course I said yes.

Over the next months my rabbi and I played phone tag as the plans shifted and changed, and he finally sent me a tape of the morning service so I’d be singing familiar nusach (music) for as much of the service as possible. Yes, a tape. There was a rumor that he might send me MP3s, but in the end it was an audio tape, sent with no case through regular mail in a plain envelope. After a long and embarrassing search, I bought a walkman and started preparing.

My boyfriend and I arrived at the shul early, and I quickly met the Bas Mitzvah girl and her family before the service started. I was even wearing one of the kippot from my Bas Mitzvah; is was regrettably pink, but authentically 1989. The service went well, the three of us taking turns leading different prayers, the rabbi commenting and translating for the guests who weren’t familiar with the service, the Bas Mitzvah girl leading like she’d been doing it her whole life.

And during the torah service, they gave me an aliyah. I was surprised at that – after all, it was supposed to be the Bas Mitzvah girl’s day, not mine. And not only did they give me an aliyah, the rabbi announced the anniversary and the congregation sang to me. I felt like I was 13 all over again, except that this time, thankfully, I wasn’t wearing a pink and white taffeta dress.

Afterwards at the kiddush the Bas Mitzvah girl and I congratulated each other in between plates of salmon and pasta. My rabbi waxed poetic to everyone at our table about how I had graduated from his Hebrew School and was now applying to cantorial school. I was sitting with my boyfriend and my mother at the table with the rabbi, my fourth-grade Hebrew School teacher and the Executive Director of the shul, a cantor himself. Instantly everyone wanted to know – where was I applying? Hebrew Union College, I said, the School of Sacred Music. The school for the Reform movement. Why not the Jewish Theological Seminary, they asked? Why not the Conservative school?

I hesitated. The last time I’d been to Or Shalom I’d been completely closeted, and I still have to work at been openly queer around my mother. Not to mention that it’s hard to explain to people that I’m queer when they see me sitting next to a boy. But I had to be honest about my reasons, so I took a deep breath and told them. Even if I wanted to apply to JTS, I said, they wouldn’t want to admit me, or anyone like me. They don’t accept gays or lesbians, they don’t accept that the queer community is authentically Jewish enough to be considered as potential clergy. Even if I was straight, I said, I wouldn’t consider applying.

There was nodding around the table as the next question came – why not wait and see what happens this week, when the Conservative movement might actually change the policy? I shook my head and told them that I still couldn’t feel comfortable in the Conservative movement until I saw some serious change. One vote, even if it goes well, does not eradicate the deep prejudice that exists in so much of the Conservative community. And in the meantime, other movements have taken progressive steps to include all members of the community as equals without throwing out the torah with the bathwater.

The conversation ended on a note of hope, my rabbi the most vehement in his hope that the movement would change, that people would come to their senses and vote for change.

Later, the Bas Mitzvah girl’s mother was talking to my mother, and my mom thanked her for being so generous and sharing their day with me. The girl’s mother told my mother: No, I should be thanking you. We’re so glad that our daughter gets to see that this day isn’t the end of her Jewish education; it’s the beginning.

My hope for the Bas Mitzvah girl, and for all B’nai Mitzvahs, is that regardless of what kind of adult each becomes, each is able to find a home in whichever movement feels right. That will be true progress.