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I was one of 28 women in Hadassah Southern California's first B'not Mitzvah class on November 30, 1997. Since it was impossible to allow enough time for 28 women to give speeches at the B'not Mitzvah (plural for Bat Mitzvah), each of us wrote a "speech" about our own life story; and what we wrote was included in Hadassah Southern California's Bat Mitzvah Journal. Following is what I wrote for the Journal:

MY JOURNEY BACK TO JUDAISM

My father, Leon Aaron Rutberg, Chief Pharmacist's Mate, US Naval Reserve, sacrificed his life for our country on April 20, 1945. His first grave in Okinawa was marked with a Star of David. As a seven-year-old child, a picture of the grave was the only link I had with my Jewish heritage.

My dad couldn't wait to have a son, but he never had the opportunity to hand the Torah down to the son he wanted so much. Leon's son, (my brother, Gary) grew up without a father; and since Gary was only two years old at the time we lost our father, he does not have any memories of the dad we could have shared. That is why I feel it is important to read the Torah. The Torah must be handed down from generation to generation. It is a link with my ancestors.

While I was growing up, Jewish was just a label to me. I used to cringe if someone asked, "Are you Jewish?" I always wondered why a Star of David marked my father's grave - a Star that was surrounded by crosses in a far-off land. I wanted to know what the Star of David meant and I wanted to be proud of it.

The highlight of my childhood was when my cousin and I went to a Seder at the home of our Great Aunt Irene and Great Uncle Adolph. I remember that the Seder was all in Hebrew, and I thought we would never eat. At one point in the ceremony, I was led to a cupboard and was told that I found the matzos. For finding the hidden matzos (afikoman), I was rewarded with a shiny new bicycle. I still didn't know the meaning of Passover; but since my mom couldn't afford to buy a bike for me, the holiday will always be a very special one because I was given the opportunity to conquer another fear, which enabled me to learn how to ride a bike.

When my cousin and I wanted singing lessons, my step-grandfather, who was a cantor, taught us the Shema; but we didn't know what it meant. I consider learning the Shema from my step-grandfather a blessed memory; and I'm grateful that he wanted us to know the watchword of the Jewish people.

I remember the time when my cousin, Sam, and I were on the way to the San Fernando Mission.

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