Yiddishe Mamas (2 page)

There were many mavens I turned to for their vast fund of information and support. In particular, I’d like to thank author Tim Boxer, who knows “everything” about “everyone,” and was incredibly generous with his “everything.” Binyamin Jolkovsky and Harry Leichter were invaluable in providing source material, as well as their own views, anecdotes, and experiences. Dr. Ruth Gruber, a true legend, gave me so much of her valuable time and insight. Dr. Myrna Hant, an expert on Jewish mothers, along with media, was a fountain of information, as was Dr. Eileen Warshaw, who not only knows her Jewish pioneers, but can tell a story better than Louis L’Amour. Rabbis Sally Priesand, Colonel Bonnie Koppel, and Yocheved Mintz were enormously helpful and provided religious explanations with enthusiasm and joy.

On a personal level, I
don’t
thank the lady I brought in to help clean up the
schmutz
(dirt) while I was working. When I asked her, at 9:00 a.m., if she was thirsty, she polished off the vodka and disappeared. Also, I’m
not
thanking the company that made the electronic hoodinky and turtle girdle I had to wear after spinal surgery, which gave me such an allergy I scratched my way through the writing. (I know. I’m kvetching.)

I do, however, wish to thank my husband, Ian, who took over the meals (and now has an uncommon relationship with take-out), my son, Simon, the critic, who thought the book “wasn’t half bad.” Also, my various publishers and editors of my
Ask Sadie
and other columns, Michael Chihak, editor and publisher; Lorrie Cohen, assistant news editor; editors Dina Doolen, Gabrielle Fimbres, and the staff of the
Tucson Citizen;
Caroline Orzes, publisher of
Jewish Life and Style;
and, once again, Binyamin Jolkovsky of
Jewishworldreview.com
and Harry Leichter of
schmoozenews.com
. Sherry and Dr. George Ritter, as always, are simply
there,
and I adore them, as I do my cousin Stephanie Winston, who is part advisor, part “sister.” Then there’s Dr. Howard Cohen, the greatest mensch (good person) I know, whose spirit, unbridled support, and love informs and enriches everyone he touches. My enduring love as well for Craig Kelso, my oldest and dearest friend.

Then there are my publishers. I owe a great debt to my friends at Andrews McMeel Publishing—the editors, art department, publicity department, and sales. Patty Rice, my editor, who, with graciousness and understanding (not to mention humanity), has been right there with me, along with her right hand, Katie Anderson. Copy chief Michelle Daniel was a terrific resource. Designer Diane Marsh did a beautiful job of Herculean proportions. Michael Nonbello, calendar editor, who took a chance on me, has been with me for over ten years. I also want to thank their staffs who pick up the phone when the others don’t want to talk to me. Then there’s Jennifer Collet, public relations, whose generosity and support can’t be described—here’s a lady who not only knows her stuff, but supplied one hundred copies of
A Little Joy, A Little Oy
calendars and books to our service people overseas. And of course, none of this would be possible without Hugh Andrews.

W
e’ve all heard them. The Jewish mother stereotypes, borne of ridicule, heightened by Borscht Belt comics, portrayed in media—and casually accepted by Americans who go for the joke, the easy
zetz
(punch). And so, we have become the “cartoon.” The prototype of the overzealous, overinvolved, overworried, overprotective, overnurturing, overbearing presence that has invaded popular culture.

There have also been scholars who have written volumes on the etymology of the “Jewish mother” as an ethnic subgroup that has no precise peer in other cultures. But some, in defense, have even denied the existence of the “Jewish mother,” or, like the Biblical Deborah, waved swords, to swash away the images.

But those who have looked beyond the stereotype are not being heard loud enough. There are few popular spotlights on our reality. But then, the quick sound bite, the joke, is easier. It ends with a laugh, a “period.”

As a journalist, I’ve been forced to look beyond that period. At the commas, the exclamation points, the 5,000-year-old clauses that have come before.

I’ve also been forced to examine my own experience as a Jewish daughter and mother and critically evaluate many viewpoints to arrive at my own truth. The journey has been an emotional one, and yes, tears have been shed. Self-examination is always emotional, if done honestly.

In every stereotype, there is an element of truth. I recall my late mother ripping the heads off photos of boys who dumped me. (The litter blanketed Queens, New York.) She also had a great sense of humor. My brother would have been born later, if my mother hadn’t been having cake with Rose and Birdie—two of the funniest women alive. With Marty Allen’s looks and Totie Fields’s timing, the pair could fell you with a story. (Is it so unusual for two women to suddenly accuse each other of adultery—then chase each other on the El train in Brooklyn—simply to make the ride to work more interesting?) My mother’s hysteria brought on labor pains. I can’t think of a nicer way.

My grandmother was hilarious, though she didn’t know it. Her entire reason for living after the death of my grandfather was “to move in” with us. From her mission came stories and anecdotes only a Carl Reiner could write. When my mother was in intensive care, my grandma somehow got through on the phone. She had to tell my ailing mother that “Harry Truman died.” Only moderately sympathetic, my mother replied, “That’s too bad,” to which Gram responded, “I bet Bess will now move in ‘mit’ Margaret!” My mother, near death, laughed.

Yes, my grandmother sounded selfish. But then we look
beyond
at the woman who bribed border guards to get to America before the Nazis took over, leaving her birth family behind—forever.

This is why I had to look
before
the period. I needed to see how the backgrounds and religion of these women played a critical role in the “stereotype.” The joke had a predecessor. And without examination, the meaning—and truth—is lost. And so are we, in trying to understand the underlying mind-set and principles that are far more important than the joke—a recent invention.

Many Jewish mother stereotypes are about intrusion, child-first suffocation, lack of boundaries, and wanting a good match for their offspring.

Yet these “traits” are also the very qualities—protection, education, nourishment and survival during pogroms, throughout the Holocaust, and other incalculable calamities—that have kept us alive and intact these 5,000 years.

In this work, I hope you will see the special soul of Jewish motherhood. You will read of the sacrifices, the extraordinary belief in the future through our children that Jewish women over the centuries have possessed. Our religion, from its earliest beginnings, knew that women have an internal fortitude that complements the male’s outward leanings. You will see greatness, not only of woman heralded, but of unsung Jewish mother heroes, who are valiant every day of their lives.

You will also read fascinating facts, anecdotes, and yes, humor that was vital and kept us going while we were running—always running. Jewish women simply—are funny. We often cry when we’re happy and laugh when we’re suffering. So yes … there are “the jokes.”

In the end, my truth is visual. I see an image of a very rare, precious tapestry, growing with each generation adding its own distinctive, complex pattern. Through thousands of years, the tapestry reflects our intricacy, complexity, and vibrance. And from it, we hear the echoes of women who have taken on as much as shoulders can bear and then some. We hear the strains of music, laughter, wisdom, tears, outrage,
tzedakah,
courage,
involvement…
and we see our children who have made extraordinary contributions to our culture and to humanity.

The jokes, then, are a part of this tapestry—before the “period.”
But when viewed in this light, they become, to me, celebrations.

And I worry. I worry the world will not know us. I worry that as the Jewish mothers assimilate and turn into pencil-thin blondes filled with Botox, who, in the words of Abraham Cahan, have become “alrightniks,” will we worship “things” and lose the very gifts we have been given?

I worry, as we get more unaffiliated, or, as my friend Rabbi Yechoved Mintz calls it, “unfullfiliated,” in this culture. The daunting task then, for the modern Jewish mother, is to reconcile the positive benefits of assimilation, without sacrificing our sense of Judaism and our parent-child purpose in a world that, more than ever, needs to believe in the power of the Jewish mother. Yes, it requires change and modification—but knowing what and how to modify is the great challenge.

At the start, I thought I was writing this for my ancestors. Today, I am sure I’m writing this for my descendants, who, I pray, will look
before
the periods—and add to our majestic tapestry in their own unique way. After all, what right does one stitch have to ignore the design?

“T
he Jewish mother.” Never has one tiny adjective evoked such a firestorm. Make a speech in front of any Sisterhood meeting and play a little word association. Wear protective gear. A barrage of answers will tumble out among reverberating all-knowing laughter: “Loves her kids—to death!” “Always with the food!” “She won’t
take
a ‘no.’” “Oy, the
guilt!”

And then, as the titters subside, slowly other associations emerge: “Kids come first.” “Smart.” “Funny.” “Determined.” “Cares.” “You can count on her.” And … “I miss her.”

There you have it. The core. The essence of a peculiar conundrum that Jewish mothers and their children have been facing for the better part of the last one hundred or so years, as many of these mamas have left their small European towns (shtetls) to come to the Golden Land.

As one of “the chosen people,” whose history is one of oppression, exile, and calamity, the modern Jewish mother is faced with the problem of imparting our heritage while ensuring that our children “make it” in the secular world. The balance is often, in the words of Tevye, “as shaky as a fiddler on the roof.” It requires the balance of a ballet master teaching Jewish practices while helping the child comprehend the death of 6 million; teaching values, pride, courage, and activism or
tikkun olam
(our responsibility to try and heal the world) in a world where millions would like to see the extermination of our homeland. And the ultimate landing is to raise children who are unafraid and proud to be Jewish.

Can we
be
all those things?

But more, do we
want to
be all those things?

Z
ora Essman, the delightful, funny mother of comedian/actress Susie Essman, who’s currently barbing with great success as the foul-mouthed wife of Larry David’s wimpy agent on
Curb Your Enthusiasm,
has just called me, out of breath. It seems she just got off a bus with twenty-five Hadassah women.

“I don’t know if there’s a Jewish mother,” she says, then quickly talks about the ladies on the bus. “The Jewish mother I know is a well-educated woman, a social worker, a psychologist. [Mrs. Essman is a linguist and former college teacher.] Every mother of my class and education level is the same. We share the same values. We all get something from our backgrounds … a certain style.” Clearly, Mrs. Essman sees a commonality, a familiarity she shares with her companions. And then…

“When my friends and I get together, we’re all in our seventies and eighties, we all say, ‘My daughter she did this and this—she married this one, she’s dating this one, I told my daughter not to do this or that’ … and we all say
don’t tell the daughter! Then we
talk about Bush.”

We have it! We see the highly educated, often hysterical, classy lady who isn’t about to buy into a stereotype “morph” as the conversation continues into one of the classical traits we associate with Jewish mothers.

“There’s
probably
a ‘Jewish mother,’” says Melanie Strug, mother of Kerri Strug, who made Olympic history in 1996, when, with torn ligaments, she nailed her final vault, landing the gold for the U.S. Women’s Gymnastic Team. Mrs. Strug, a determined, child-first mother, then goes on to describe the “probably.”