Yiddishe Mamas (45 page)

W
hen Israel’s, Rabbi Lau addressed the congregants at one Saturday morning service, he talked of officiating at funerals every week, sometimes going from one to the next.

When he was chief rabbi of Netanya, years ago, he officiated at the wedding of a young girl, Shira. Her family grew.

After the bombing of Sbarro, Shira’s sister called him. This time to officiate at the burial of Shira, her husband, and three children.

As he stood silently before the five coffins with tears welling in his eyes, the only words the rabbi could cry out in Hebrew were—“How much longer?”

He went to the hospital to visit the remaining child, now an eight-year-old orphan. Lau looked into her eyes, red with tears, and said, “Miriam, a long time ago there was a little boy, also eight years old, also an orphan. He came here and grew up.” He added, “You are looking at him now—a chief rabbi of our nation.”

“See what you can become? Be strong. You too can grow up to be a leader of our people.”

Throughout the interviews and research for this book, an extraordinary fact emerged.

The Jewish mother is often consumed by the seemingly contradictory values of pessimism in the now … yet hope and optimism for the future.

The last question I asked of those I interviewed who were Jewish was, “Will there always be a Jewish mother?” Regardless of any difference of opinion among them, on this singular question, there was absolute agreement.

All wanted to see the Jewish mother remain—always.

Today, we live in a world of chaos, fear, and disconnection. As neighborhoods have changed and families have scattered, we see “intimacy” by modem—a cold surrogate. In our daily lives, we hear of violence against innocent individuals, made worse, I believe, because our primary supports have fractured. We fear for our homeland and for ourselves.

And we experience a deep-seated, core loneliness, as we leave our roots not only geographically, but spiritually.

My fervent hope is that this book has, in some measure, restored some balance, providing a deeper understanding of the sensibility and range of the Jewish mother against the simplest, often offensive, and ignorant stereotype. And in doing so, we can see the positive values that have permeated our culture, and have given birth to extraordinary children—and ideas. Ideas that have made the world—and our children—more just, more humane, and more civilized. Ideas that took thousands of years to develop. Ideas based on a singular faith that, while at times has been insular, has nevertheless reached out to all as part of our mission to heal
the world—not tomorrow or in a next life—but today.

For today, for tomorrow, I, too, pray the Jewish mother will not be lost to us in a faulty haze of misunderstanding and misrepresentation.

I pray the truth of us is acknowledged.

I pray our magnificent ethno-type continues to reconnect us in love and peace.

I pray that we practice, restore, or reclaim our roots, and pass these on to questioning children. Children who will not only understand, but stand by the behavior and beliefs that are the basis of all Jewish thinking.

I pray that now we have struggled, questioned, and come so far in this new world, we are ready and able to return home and embrace all sides of us, so the term “Jewish mother” is once again a source of deep and abiding pride for us all.

And I pray that we thrive as long as humanity occupies this Earth.

Seven-year-old Hannah, sitting on her
bubbe’s
lap, was reading Hebrew to the old woman, who was now almost blind from her years in the camps and then the sweatshops.

From time to time, Hannah would take her eyes off the book and take her
bubbe’s
tired hand.

“Did God make you?” she asked.

“Yes, darling,” her
bubbe
answered, “God made me a long time ago … even before girls could study … or lead in the synagogue.”

“Really,
bubbe?”
asked Hannah, pondering. “I want to be a doctor … or an astronaut … or a rabbi—and a mommy.”

“That, my
kinder,
you can now do.”

She kissed
bubbe’s
wrinkled cheek. “
Bubbe,
did God make me too?”

“Yes, indeed, sweetheart,” she said, “God made you just a little while ago.”

After thinking this over, Hannah observed, “God is getting better at it.”

A
:
ASSISTANCE

Rachel, Sheva, and Rosalie, visited Gittel, mother of four, who was laid up with a bad back.

“Oy … such a shame,” exclaimed Rachel, sipping her tea.

“I know,” agreed Sheva. “The pain, and now the operation … such
tsouris you
have.”

“Well, let me tell you, darling,” said Rosalie. “We’ll pray for you every night!” as the other women nodded vehemently.

“Every night, instead,” said Gittel, “wash my dishes. Praying I can do myself.”

B
:
BUSINESS

Selma, Abie, and their four children ran a dry goods store on the Lower East Side. Over forty years, they expanded and made a fortune so they decided to go big time and buy a department store—Macy’s. They toured the huge store with Mr. Macy himself. Afterward, Abie wrote a check for the $10 million down payment, when Selma tugged at his sleeve.

“Abie, don’t buy!” she whispered adamantly.

“Why not?”

“You didn’t notice? There’s no apartment in the back!”

C
:
CEZANNE

Jake was very wealthy. For his mother’s birthday he went to a Sotheby’s auction, bought her a painting, and couldn’t wait to call her.

“Mama!” he said, “for your birthday, I bought you a Cezanne.”

“Wha …? You mean that nice girl in the deli?”

“No, Mama. That’s
Suzanne.
Paul Cezanne is a great painter!”

“Who knew?” she said.
“Bubbeleh,
ask him how much he’ll charge to paint mine ceiling.”

D
: DON’T ASK

Frieda and Shana, old friends, ran into each other in the deli. “So how’s your Morty?” asked Frieda.

“Oy … a bad cold.”

“And your children?”

“They, thank God, perfect.”

“And the business?”

“Never better. Listen, I’m in a hurry so—”

“Wait a minute,” said Frieda. “How come you never ask about me and mine?”

“You’re right. OK, darling, how’s by you?”

“Don’t ask.”

E
:
ENOUGH

Jewish mama, Rivka, tottered into a lawyer’s office and told him she wanted a divorce.

“A divorce?” asked the shocked lawyer. “Tell me, how old are you?”

“Ninety—this July,” answered Rivka.

“And how old is your husband?”

“He’s ninety-two.”

“And how long have you been married?” he asked in disbelief.

“September will be seventy years.”

“And children?”

“Four. Gorgeous.”

“Why would you want a divorce now?”

“Because,” said Rivka …
“enough is enough.”

F
:
THE FLASHER

A Yiddishe mama is walking in the park at dusk. All of a sudden a strange man, who was walking in front of her, blocks her path, opens his raincoat, and flashes her.

Unruffled, she takes a look, shakes her head, and remarks, “This you call a lining?”

G
:
THE GIFT

Sidney Cohen couldn’t believe God sent him Esther, such a perfect wife and mother.

“God,” he asked, “why did you make Esther so kind-hearted?”

God said, “so you could love her, my son.”

“And why so good-looking?”

“So you could love her, my son.”

“And such a cook?”

“So you could love her, my son.”

“And such a mother!”

“The only thing, God,” he said, “why with those gifts did you make her so stupid?”

“Oy … so, she could love
you,
my son.”

H
:
HINT

Myrna and David dated all through college, yet not once did David bring up the subject of marriage. Finally, Myrna’s mother sat her down.

“Darling, although David’s a doll, I think you’ve waited long enough. The very next time you’re out, try giving him a little hint, OK,
Mamala?”

The following Sunday night, David took Myrna to their favorite kosher Chinese restaurant. As he read the menu, he casually asked her, “Myrna, darling, how do you want your rice? Boiled? Or fried?”

Without hesitating, Myrna looked up at him, and replied, “Thrown.”

I
:
INSOMNIA

Dr. Friedman had been caring for an elderly
bubbe,
Mrs. Kantor, for over thirty years.

When he retired, he turned over his patients to young doctor Siegal, who asked Mrs. Kantor to bring her list of medications. Shocked, he saw the seventy-five-year-old had a prescription for birth control pills.

“Mrs. Kantor,” he said, “do you know that these are birth control pills?”

“Of course, doctor,” she replied. “They help me sleep at night.”

“Look, there is absolutely nothing in birth control pills that could help you sleep better.”

Hearing this, Mrs. Kantor patted the young doctor on his knee. “I know this,” she said, “but every morning I get up at six, grind up one of the pills, and mix it in the cereal for my sixteen-year-old granddaughter. After she’s has breakfast, oy, do I sleep better!”

J
:
JEWISH SURVIVAL

A new flood was predicted and nothing could prevent it. In three days, the waters would wipe out the world.

The Dalai Lama appeared on worldwide media and pleaded with humanity to follow Buddhist teachings to find nirvana in the wake of the disaster.

The pope issued a similar message, saying, “It is still not too late to accept Jesus as your Savior.”

The chief rabbi of Jerusalem took a slightly different approach: “My people,” he said, “we have three days to learn how to live under water.”

K
:
KREPLACHAPHOBIA

Fanny’s ten-year-old son, Marvin, went into a panic whenever she served kreplach. So she took him to a psychiatrist, who suggested the boy watch her prepare the dish, and once he saw the ingredients, the problem would be solved. That night, Fanny let Marvin watch her. She showed him the mound of dough and chopped meat.

“See, darling? Is there anything to worry about?”

“No, Ma,” said Marvin.

“Now I’m putting meat in the center of the dough and folding one corner.” Marvin was smiling. She folded a second and third corner. All was going terrifically.

Finally, she folded the final corner. Suddenly Marvin shouted: “Oy vey, kreplach!!”

L
:
LITTLE LOST BOY

A Jewish mother took her son shopping. The mall was a madhouse and the two were separated. The four year old started to wail until security came.

“Why are you crying, little boy?” asked the guard.

“I lost my mommy,” he said.

The guard brought him to the security desk. “What’s your name, little boy?” they asked.

“Shayna punum.”

M
:
THE MIGRAINE

Thelma went to see her rabbi about her migraines.

“Rabbi, my head’s thumping like a giant hammer.”

“What’s wrong?” asked the rabbi.

“I haven’t told a soul, but my son dropped out of dental school to become a clown. My daughter finally has a ‘significant other’—who’s married. My other daughter got her nose pierced. And worse, my younger son joined Jews for Jihad!”

“Oy-oy-oy,” said the rabbi, who commiserated.

“You know, rabbi,” said Thelma, “talking to such a learned man has cured me! My migraine’s gone!”

To which the rabbi replied, “No, it’s not.
I
have it now.”

N
:
NEVER MIND

Rosie’s husband Max didn’t come home from work one day, so her daughter suggested she call the police.

When the officer arrived, she said, “I can’t live without him. Please help me.”