This weekend is our son Isaac’s Bar Mitzvah.

I’ve been walking round for a couple of weeks in a super-excited, hyper-anxious haze, struggling to concentrate on any more mundane issues (eg looking after my children, feeding myself, sleeping).

But after all, I keep telling myself, what could seriously go wrong?

Well…

My brother-in-law David had his Bar Mitzvah in April 1981. A week beforehand, the family got a phone call to say that the banqueting suite of Hillel House in Euston, where they were having the party, had flooded. They managed to find a last-minute alternative and all seemed well again.

Then on the Friday of the Bar Mitzvah weekend, the Brixton Riot began. This was something of a problem, because the service was taking place in Brixton Synagogue.

The family’s friends and relatives from north London were already inclined to view anywhere south of the river as a desolate wasteland, wild and dangerous with nowhere to buy chocolate rugelach. This whole riot situation did little to dissuade them.

Special measures had been put in place limiting public gatherings of more than a handful of people without permission from the police. Fortunately, their next-door neighbour was the local police chief superintendent — and a Bar Mitzvah guest — so that solved that problem and the service was able to go ahead.

“So was it all OK in the end?” I asked my mother-in-law.

“Oh yes!” she said. “The atmosphere was wonderful!”

As I fret about whether everything this weekend is going to go exactly and perfectly to plan, I feel there’s an important lesson to be learned here about just how wrong things can go without the occasion being ruined.

I’m a Jewish mother, though, so I’m still finding plenty to worry about.

For example, at a friend’s recent Bar Mitzvah, Isaac threw a handful of sweets at the end of the Haftarah reading, one of which completely missed its target, instead hitting the head of the gentleman a few rows in front of him and knocking off his kippah.

“So then what happened?” I asked Isaac when he told me about it.

“I went over and said sorry,” he replied. “But he still looked annoyed. So I said, ‘Look, it’s going to be my Bar Mitzvah in two weeks’ time. I give you full permission to come and sit in the front row with some sweets, and when I’ve finished my portion you can take deadly aim at my head.’”

“And what did the man say?” I asked.

“He laughed and shook my hand, and said ‘Shabbat Shalom’.”

Which just goes to show that a bit of charm can solve a lot of problems.

Like any proud parents, we’re hoping that everyone will see the very best of Isaac this weekend. The other day we went for the offcial pre-Bar Mitzvah chat with our rabbi — an opportunity for him to find out what makes Isaac tick and then be able to speak about him with some personal insight on the day.

Isaac’s ‘thing’ is music — particularly playing the piano and singing, which he does pretty much all day long. This tendency generates in us a number of emotions ranging from pride — for example if he is performing on a stage — to fury, if he is hammering out a hit from Hamilton in the living room ten minutes before we’re meant to be going out, when he hasn’t had breakfast yet… which is what is happening as I write. One thing is certain though – music is something he’s passionate about.

“So Isaac, do you have any special interests?” asked the rabbi.

“Not really,” he grunted.

“Isaac!” I said, exasperated. I turned to the rabbi. “He loves music and musical theatre,” I said. “He’s obsessed with Hamilton.”

“What’s Hamilton about, Isaac?” asked the rabbi.

“It’s about this bloke,” said Isaac. “Called Hamilton.”

Things didn’t improve when we moved on to reading.

“I like books,” said Isaac, “but Dad’s banned me from the library”.

Or his Torah portion. The rabbi asked him if he’d considered doing any extra leyning (chanting from the Torah). “I wanted to,” he replied. “But Mum wouldn’t let me.”

Infuriatingly, the latter two statements were technically correct — just lacking the context that would have showed them to be entirely reasonable.

When it comes to things going wrong, my friend Rachel is very wise: “From what I’ve heard and experienced,” she said to me, “it’s all about the people. If the people aren’t there out of genuine love for, and warmth towards, the Bar/Bat Mitzvah child, there’d be no atmosphere and no sweet memories to relive.”

We are blessed with our friends and family, so I think we will be OK.

Though I’ll be on the lookout for a gentleman in the front row at the synagogue, holding a handful of sweets, with a vengeful glint in his eye.

@susanreuben