When you have your bat mitzvah in your 50s, the only question everyone has for you is “Why?”

But let’s start with the how instead of the why. How I got here.

Whilst preparing for my day, I looked up the meaning of the word “rabbi”. Definition: “A Jewish scholar or teacher”.

So, of course, there is my rabbi, Jonathan Romain (who has just retired from Maidenhead Synagogue), but then there have been a huge number of other teachers, not ordained, but who have been a big influence and who have shaped my learning and opinions.

First there was my grandma. I’m calling her Rabbi Sadie. When I was little, she seemed to cook a roast every single day, whilst having my sister Philippa and me running around her ankles, with all the noise and kerfuffle and people coming in and out of the house. She was a real businesswoman, with architect’s plans laid out on the kitchen table whilst cooking chicken soup on the hob and baking a cake. She was busy, always laughing, with grandma arms that were like pillows – an inspiration.

"Rabbi Sadie", Jo Berman's grandma (right) with her twin sister Doris (Photo: courtesy of Jo Berman)

She organised Hebrew lessons at home for us, but I was difficult, disruptive and asked far too many questions. Some things went in, but not as much as should have. The story of Esther, the odd Hebrew word, but that was about it

But my grandparents pushed on, lit the candles on Friday nights and laid on a Seder meal every Passover. I don’t recall any other festivals really, but there was always a Jewish thread that gave me a sense of heritage and family.

I watched my grandma make chopped liver with an old metal mincer bolted to the kitchen table, saw her study every copy of the Jewish Chronicle that arrived through the door and got taken to Bloom’s and Harry Morgan every so often, drinking borsht and eating halva. They were the best of memories.

Jo Berman (left) and her sister, Philippa, as children (Photo: courtesy of Jo Berman)

I had one Jewish friend at school, Cathy. There weren’t many of us there, but she had a huge family that took me in for various Jewish customs and high holy days, which was wonderful. They kept the thread going although it was starting to get thinner and thinner.

One day in class – I was maybe ten – I was misbehaving, and the teacher got cross and shouted: “You dirty Jew”. Hmm, that didn’t seem right.

I told my Jewish friend. She was horrified, marched us off to the headmistress’s office and unleashed her anger.

What did I think about the incident? It was confusing, upsetting. The insult had come from an adult I respected. It got brushed under the carpet, but I’ve never forgotten it.

Then life moved on as I left school and focused on career and children, and there was a bit of a Jewish gap. A huge gap.

I lost my Jewish surname Levine to my first marriage, and things moved on. I moved from London to Ascot, and then suddenly, I was on Rabbi Romain’s radar. He clocked me!

It started gradually. My Jewish life returned, but it just consisted of reading the synagogue’s newsletter, Hadashot, once a month and feeling a sense of pride when I heard Rabbi Romain on Radio 4.

I emailed him once and said: “Wow! I loved hearing you on the radio today. Brilliant.”

He replied: “I realised, Jo, it was the only way I was ever going to reach you.”

I remember replying: “You know, I’m never going to drive half an hour to Maidenhead and actually go to anything at shul in person.” Ha! Now I’m here at least once a week.

Jo Berman and Rabbi Jonathan Romain at Jo's bat mitzvah (Photo: Mike Green Photography)

Then Covid hit, and life went onto Zoom, and there was my soft “in” to the Jewish community. I “went” to everything. Talks on Jewish life in the East End, antisemitism, book clubs, services, I was learning, reading… soaking up everything I could. I had knowledge, an opinion. I was hooked.

I never felt judged that I had some holes in my Jewish learning, just a warm hug from Maidenhead Synagogue, guidance and probably some sort of force-feeding along the way.

It felt like Davina McCall had appeared from Long Lost Family on ITV and said: “Good news! We’ve not just found one member of your family; we’ve found 1,021 of them! They’re all here, just through this door.” Incredible.

And then, as my confidence and curiosity grew, I spent more time with my future mentors.

Next up – my aunt, Rabbi Angela. No, not an actual rabbi, but in every other sense of the word, definitely.

She showed me how to have so much fun being Jewish. She describes herself as being like a stick of rock. If you cut her down the middle, her Jewish faith runs right to her core. Yep, I get it.

She connected me to a cousin, Nicole, and our regular lunches became a fixed date in our diaries. Called The Three Latkes, it’s a lunch where everyone is talking at the same time, eating lots of Jewish food, swapping family stories and beliefs, and there is so much laughing. It’s got to be a podcast in the making, I’m sure.

"The Three Latkes"

Then along the way, my work head, my marketing head kicked in and I started to think: “Why isn’t every Jew as proud as me? They are missing out.”

I spoke to Rabbi Romain and said we needed to get the word out; I needed to tackle the website. “Yep, okay. Great. Go ahead,” he said. Then another huge door opened, and I met my next set of “rabbis”.

Rabbi Martin, a regular member, who taught me that Saturday services are a reset from a heavy work week, a reminder of what’s important and getting rid of what isn’t. As he says, it’s the weekly meditation after a week of work stupid. Thank you. I am very grateful.

And further afield, well, on my lap top actually…are Rabbi Maureen Lipman, Rabbi David Baddiel and the force for good that is Rabbi Jake Wallis Simons, the editor of the Jewish Chronicle. Okay, so I don’t know them personally and they don’t know me, but they shape me… they talk to me every day on Instagram, and I listen.

So, back to the why. People ask me: “Why on earth are you putting yourself through this now?”

It’s been all those conversations about “Why?” that have made this experience so incredible. The sometimes-awkward ones with clients or friends who didn’t know I was Jewish, or even ones within my own family…

The chats with Mary, my good friend and lay-minister, talking at her kitchen table about our different backgrounds and faiths. And talking to people here at shul and hearing their stories – their whys – of parents who were refugees or even in the camps, or families in Israel. Difficult stories to hear but ones that made up my reason why.

The conversations have been awkward at times, emotional most of the time, but fascinating every time.

So, for me, my bat mitzvah is about my Jewish heritage, identity and being part of something bigger, important and urgent.

Jo Berman was guided by a number of rabbis and "rabbis" on her batmitzvah journey

With the frightening rise in antisemitism, and more and more Jews being scared to wear their Star of David or tell their friends they are Jewish, this is a one-woman protest.​

Thank you so much to Rabbi Romain and all of my “rabbis” – and may the next ones in my life add to my learning, my waistline and my Jewish pride.