Our Baruch was born with severe disabilities, so that his first few years of life were touch and go. We lived with the knowledge that he could be taken from us at any moment. Yet he survived and triumphed time and again.

Now, at age 13, Baruch is still deaf, has a trachea tube in his throat, and eats only through a gastrostomy tube in his stomach; but for a boy whose doctors thought would never walk, understand or interact, he has proven them wrong.

As his 13th birthday loomed closer, my husband wondered what to do. At first we thought nothing at all. How could we "celebrate" a "Bar Mitzvah" that wasn't? But then we realized that there is much we could celebrate. We had reached many milestones. Baruch was still alive. He was learning and progressing, sharing smiles and hugs with all who met him. He attended synagogue each week and was part of the "shul family." We felt uncomfortable making a big affair, yet we could not just ignore the day.

Soon it was March and Passover preparations began. We tried to get Baruch involved. We made him a Haggadah with simple sentences and pictures. We put the pages in a display folder with plastic pockets to protect it from saliva, and we went through it with Baruch a number of times. Baruch would not let go of his "Haggadah." He sat through the first Seder, and actually signed the Four Questions. We were very proud.

We went to our cousins’ house for the second Seder. There were 22 people there. Would Baruch sign again?

For the other children, not all the adults kept quiet, but when Baruch signed the Four Questions, you could hear a pin drop. Baruch, who said nothing at all, signed in absolute silence!

This was the turning point. "If he can accomplish this, why can't he sign the Torah blessings in the synagogue?"

Right after Passover we began planning a "Bar Mitzvah book." We took pictures of the shul, the Torah and the Bimah, and of Baruch. We came up with a few ideas of what “responsibility” could mean for him: Keeping his kippa on his head, washing his hands in the morning, not mixing up my milk and meat dishes in his attempt to help clean up, keeping his room clean, and not switching lights on and off on Shabbat. These became the basis of the Bar Mitzvah book.

We started with the order of the Bar Mitzvah day: Baruch will go to shul with his family; the Ark will be opened, the Torah will be taken out; Baruch will be called up to the Torah, Baruch will sign. And we included the blessings. We sent the book to school so his teachers could also practice with him.

We called the synagogue and explained that we would sponsor the Kiddush refreshments in honor of Baruch's birthday. We asked that they notify everyone since we were not sending out formal invitations. We catered it ourselves. My husband and I made salads, my cousins and friends pitched in with gefilte fish, spreads and cakes. We thought it would be a small affair.

We didn’t realize the impact Baruch made. Word spread and people began wishing us Mazel Tov and our "invitation list" grew. The shul was packed. We were nervous. Baruch can get silly in a crowd. Would he sign the blessings as he had practiced, or would he become silly and shy?

Baruch went up to the bimah with his father, who would translate into English what Baruch was signing and then recite the actual blessings on the Torah. When Baruch got up he began shyly, with one hand in his mouth. Signing with one hand is not comprehensible, but he slowly gained confidence and he beautifully signed the blessing after the reading. The whole shul erupted in a spontaneous Mazel Tov dance. Baruch was raised on his father's shoulders and everyone danced in a circle around the reading table.

I cried. Many people did. A bar mitzvah celebration is supposed to be the day when a young boy becomes a "man," responsible for his actions. For us, this is not the case. Baruch still functions at a six-year-old level, and will probably do so for a number of years. But that was not why I cried. I can't really tell you why I cried. I just did. Maybe it was the pent-up emotion of all the years. Maybe it was the relief that my son who could have died twelve years ago was standing at the Torah blessing G-d who had given him life. Maybe it was the outpouring of support from all the people in the shul. Maybe it was because my immediate family wasn’t there to witness the moment. Maybe and maybe not.

Baruch shook everybody’s hands and gave spontaneous hugs. The Kiddush continued for a few hours. One by one, family members and friends rose to say how they had been touched by Baruch. It was very humbling for me, as were the comments many people wrote on the web.

I do not see myself as a "courageous woman" as some have called me. I struggle, I make mistakes. But I forge ahead. I do not think of what could have been, but of what I need to do. I am not "brave." I have my down times, I am human. But knowing that I have a G-dly soul, that we all do, gives me strength when I need it. Each of us has our challenges. They are all different, but they are challenges that we struggle through.

It is one thing to believe that all G-d does is for the good, and it is quite another thing to see the good in a revealed way. Of course "good" is relative, and there are many levels. But when I see how much Baruch affected the people around him, when I hear that people are more patient, more forgiving, more thankful and more tolerant because of Baruch, that helps me to continue what I need to do.

Courtesy of chabad.org