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March 9, 2001/Adar 14, 5761, Vol. 53, No.23
No dancing the night away
VICKI CABOT
Contributing Editor
It's spring and a young man's fancy turns to prom. Or not.
Just ask Aaron Kravitz, the Horizon High School senior who was looking forward to his school's Saturday, April 21, gala. A scheduling conflict forced organizers to change the date to the preceding Friday night. So now, instead of dancing the night away with his friends, Kravitz will spend a quiet Shabbat at home with his family.
Kravitz and his parents, Robert and Helen Kravitz, (Robert Kravitz, a rabbi, is area executive director for the American Jewish Committee) approached Horizon with an alternative venue, available on the originally scheduled Saturday night. School officials and student organizers nixed the proposal.
Kravitz then took his concerns public, with a letter to the Arizona Republic. Enterprising reporter Anne Ryman spotted it and put together a story that ran Page One on the newspaper's Valley section last week. Then the Republic editorial board took up Kravitz's charge, suggesting that Horizon change the date.
So far that's not happened.
I admit that my initial reaction to Kravitz's story was dismissive. Was this just another kid with overcharged hormones and oversized convictions eager to make a point? Was this just the all-too-familiar (as any parent who has survived the teenage years can attest) teenage inclination to perversity, when personal principle rules and societal rules be damned? Was this a case of much ado about nothing, making a big deal about a frivolous issue, when more substantive ones confront us?
The answer, in a word, is "no."
No, for any mom and dad who have ever shopped for the dream dress, chosen the flowers, planned (and paid for) the pre-prom dinner, and snapped photos of their suddenly grown-up offspring. Don't I still have faint memories of my own big night: hair a mountain of curls; long, glamorous gown; elbow-length white gloves? (Oh, do I date myself.)
And no, for any Jew who understands the holiness of Shabbat and knows the joy and peace of its observance. And no again, for any Jew who knows who he or she is and who values the freedom to assert it.
It was hard for me not to recoil at Aaron's public airing. I grew up in a town with just a handful of Jews, where being different was not easy. The risk of a hurtful remark, an insensitive joke, always hovered just below the surface. Being Jewish meant keeping a low profile.
So at an occasion like prom - spending an evening with my gang of non-Jewish friends - my guard was up. Yes, they knew I was Jewish, but most had no clue what that meant. For me, it meant I didn't fit in, that I was an outsider - the ultimate curse for a high schooler.
So perhaps it was those feelings that came out when I first read of Aaron's campaign. Teenage insecurities die hard.
But as I spoke to Aaron, then to his parents, then to others in the community, I began to realize that indeed what Aaron did was laudable. And brave. And right. It's easy to dress up and play the part, to put on a tux and go to the prom and not say anything. It's hard to stand up for what we believe and sacrifice our own enjoyment so that others will not have to make hard choices.
Thirty-five years ago, I wouldn't have had the guts to do what Aaron did. Now, I am grateful he did.
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