Then it is my turn to speak.

“Dear family and friends,” I begin. The room is quiet, listening to me, and suddenly my stomach feels like Mrs. Wine’s food processor again—whirring and pulsing. I smooth down my beautiful blue dress made by Mrs. Sandler and then finger Aginéni’s butterfly brooch, which she has given to me as a bat mitzvah gift. She said I don’t need it to make me more sparkly; it just shows on the outside what I’m feeling on the inside. I smile at her sitting at the table closest to where I am standing and then I smile out at the audience. “First of all, I would like to thank my Aunty Steph, who no matter what was going on this year made time to learn with me at least once a week and worked on this speech with me.”

Aunty Steph gives me a thumbs-up, and next to her is my mother, her face turned toward me expectantly. I smile again.

“The Sages say that naming a baby is a statement of her character, her specialness, and her path in life, and it’s a most profound spiritual moment. The Midrash teaches us that there is one small area in which we are granted a glimpse of Divine wisdom. It comes to parents when they think hard to find the right name for their children.

“The names parents give their children are the result of a partnership between their effort and God’s response. Some even say that an angel comes to the parents and whispers the Jewish name that the new baby will embody.

“The Hebrew word for soul is neshama. The middle two letters—‘shin’ and ‘mem’—make the word ‘shem,’ Hebrew for ‘name.’ Your name is the key to your soul.” I smooth my dress again and look down at all my friends, who have come to the front for the speeches, sitting cross-legged on the dance floor in front of me. Out of the blur of faces, I register Honey, who is nodding and giving me two thumbs up. I nod back, silently appreciating how, in such small signals, Honey and I can acknowledge so many things all at once.

“My name is Milla,” I continue. “And as everyone who goes to school with me knows, my Jewish name is Rut. And no offense to my parents, but the name Ruth, or Rut, never meant that much to me.” There’s a soft not-quite-laughter from the room at my admission. But my mother smiles ruefully from her table, and I beam an extra flash of gratitude her way: I’ve realized that my mom might not be very silly, but she’s very good at seeing the funny side of things, even when it’s about herself. I make a note to myself that maybe that’s something I should try to do too.

“Nevertheless,” I say, sending a special smile to my mom. “I was named Rut because I was born just before the holiday of Shavuot when the Book of Ruth is read. So when it came time to prepare for my bat mitzvah, my aunt and I decided to combine the two and study names as well as explore the significance of Ruth.