Here's Why 'You're So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah' Made Me Cringe—But in the Best Way

The Netflix movie is a time machine to my own bat mitzvah complete with friendship drama, puberty woes, and first crushes.

Fact checked by Sarah Scott

The new Netflix/Adam Sandler film You’re So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah is actually a time machine that flew me back to 1990, the epicenter of my confusing, tumultuous, exhilarating junior high days.

The film tells the story of Stacy and Lydia, best friends since kindergarten, counting down to their respective bat mitzvahs. And it's a family affair! The movie also stars Sandler's wife and daughters. His wife Jackie plays Lydia's mother, and his daughters Sunny and Sadie play his daughters Stacy and Ronnie.

The best day of their lives is all planned out from themes (Lydia’s is Candyland, Stacy’s is New York City) to special assignments (Lydia will write Stacy’s speech and Stacy will create Lydia’s epic entrance video) to booking the “it” DJ in town—DJ Schmuley—so they can dance the night away—together—at their parties.

That is until crushes, popular girls, and puberty wreak havoc on their plans and friendships. It doesn’t matter if you’re Jewish or had a bat mitzvah—this movie is mandatory viewing for anyone who was once 13 years old (or is parenting a 13-year-old or will parent one). But let's be honest for those who are Jewish, there aren't very many movies out there about this traditional rite of passage.

You’re So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah perfectly hits on the frustrations every 13-year-old feels, and the mixed messages becoming a bar/bat mitzvah sends. In the eyes of Judaism, you’re now an adult. But how is that possible when you still live at home under your parents' rules? Shouldn’t adults be independent? Isn’t it okay to be selfish, spread your wings, or test boundaries?  And of course, it’s extra confusing trying to become your own person but still needing (and in many situations—wanting) your parents’ guidance.

I watched You’re So Not Invited to My Bat Mitzvah with my 8-year-old daughter, making me emotional thinking about the challenges that lie ahead for us both. I already worry about my daughter navigating friendships as she gets older. I never want to see her sad, left out, or fearful to stand up for herself. I hope she’s confident enough to follow her passions, even if they differ from her peers. I want my daughter to find the “Lydia” to her “Stacy.” I also want to stay out of it and let her make her own mistakes but it’s hard given my own experiences leading up to my bat mitzvah—which are not that different from what Stacy goes through in the movie.

"I want my daughter to find the “Lydia” to her “Stacy.” I also want to stay out of it and let her make her own mistakes."

Lauren Brown West-Rosenthal

The pressure of my bat mitzvah came at the same time as raging hormones, confusion (and shame) around my first period, and attempting to fit in with a “popular” clique. For me, seventh grade was defined by crushing awkwardness, overwhelming insecurities, and the beginning of lifelong body dysmorphia. Add bat mitzvah preparation to the mix—with all eyes on you—and it was the perfect storm of breakouts and breakdowns.

Bat mitzvah dress shopping was torture. My mom and I had very different ideas of what was “stylish” and what was “flattering” on a newly developing body with boobs and baby fat that refused to melt away. I couldn’t figure out the right hairstyle for my round face so I regrettably opted for a perm. I was going for Jesse Spano from Saved by the Bell vibes but was more “wet poodle chic.”

I hated studying my Haftorah portion and all the prayers I needed to know by heart for the two services I would lead the weekend of my bat mitzvah. I was terrified of freezing up and forgetting all the Hebrew I had to chant. If that happened, would I never become a “woman?”

One thing motivating me was my hopeless crush on my bat mitzvah tutor. I loved our sessions together—and daydreamed about having my first kiss with him in the rabbi’s study. Alas, I never stood a chance considering he was about to start college, had a girlfriend, and was not amused by my obsession with New Kids on the Block.

Then an even bigger nightmare, one I never considered, came true.

Roughly six months before my bat mitzvah, ALL of my friends ditched me in one fell swoop. There was a misunderstanding over whether I was “talking crap” about a close girlfriend. I was not (I swear to this day) but the close girlfriend refused to believe me and deemed this an unforgivable offense.

She immediately turned against me—and the entire 7th grade followed suit. It was the end of the world. I was an outcast, false rumors about me spread like wildfire and even teachers knew I’d become a social pariah. It was so unbearable that I faked a stomach ache and didn’t go to school for three days. Existing on dry toast, tea, and Three’s Company reruns was better than being teased in the halls, retrieving mean notes out of my locker, and eating lunch alone.

But my biggest heartbreak? The realization that I was on track to having a “friendless” bat mitzvah. The big ballroom at a fancy hotel was already booked, and my theme, “movies”, was locked in. I even had a “photo shoot” behind the concession stand at a local movie theater for my sign-in board photo.

We hired the “it” DJ in town—David Wood—Wood You Party?—to play all my favorite songs. But what did it all matter without besties chanting my name during my grand entrance or having “wing women” to make the boys slow dance with me since it was my big day? How could I celebrate becoming a “woman” without a single friend to get crazy with during the hora or tearfully hug during the “goodbye” circle?

"How could I celebrate becoming a “woman” without a single friend to get crazy with during the hora or tearfully hug during the “goodbye” circle?  "

Lauren Brown West-Rosenthal

Alas, by the time my bat mitzvah invitations were sent out, a new school year had begun. In the 8th grade, I was no longer an outcast though I didn’t feel popular. I had new friends at my bat mitzvah who got ultra-competitive when the “limbo” stick came out and happily took the microphone to present me with a “memory candle" (a concoction of candles and tiny shreds of the centerpieces melted into a stolen wine glass to symbolize our friendship).

But did I become a woman on my bat mitzvah day? Last year, I digitized my bat mitzvah video (yes, it was on VHS) so I could share it with my daughter. Watching it as an actual adult woman is surreal. I remember everything going through my mind at the exact moment David Wood hyped up the ballroom for my grand entrance in my poofy, magenta dress, half-grown-out perm, and panicked eyes.

As all my friends and family cheered me on, I was distracted by thoughts such as: Please don’t let me trip! Why are the boys I had to invite from Hebrew school having a dinner roll fight? This dress is itchy . . . why didn’t I wear black? Would black have been more slimming? Is my mom crying again? Why am I not crying? What if I get my period on the dance floor? Do I have pads? Did I bring a purse? Should I turn around and run out the door? Will these new friends ditch me one day too? 

I didn't become a full-fledged woman on my bat mitzvah day because it’s truly a lifelong process. It’s counterintuitive that you’re expected to be eloquent, poised, and self-assured amid unprecedented attention and pressure. I still catch myself making “rookie” 13-year-old-esque mistakes in my social life. I’m accomplished in my life and career but I very much still consider myself to be a work in progress.

Yet, the seeds of adulthood were planted on October 13th, 1990. On that day, I experienced self-respect and pride for the first time. I studied hard for over a year and nailed my Haftorah. I walked into my party already armed with tough lessons about trust, loyalty, and friendship. And I didn’t even throw a tantrum when my cake was wheeled out with an extra “e” in my name, reading “Happy Bat Mitzvah, Laureen.”

Related: Teenagers and Toddlers Are Eerily Similar—Here's the Proof

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