Yiddishe Mamas (18 page)

She recalled one Passover when her father sat on her mother’s lap and, as she kissed him, rejoiced in the fact that they had “done it”: nine grandchildren. Wasserstein wondered if she would ever accomplish something that would make her feel as fulfilled or whether she would be able to love as totally and selflessly as her mother.

One of Bella Abzug’s two daughters, Liz, now head of her own consultant firm, says: “My mother was a great politician, a great mother—and a great friend. She was a mother who enlightened us. … She did say to us, ‘It’s great to marry a good Jewish man at the end of the day.’”

Although Liz was once engaged to a Jewish man, both of her daughters found great Jewish partners in women. “My mother knew, and was fine with it,” says Liz.

“My mother was way ahead of her time,” says Jody Lopatin. “She went to university. We girls were always encouraged as there were no boys! … My mother, who’s almost eighty recently said, ‘when you’re calling someone an SOB … always remember to do it with a smile on your face.’”

“My mother sat on a myriad of boards,” says Rabbi Shira Stern of her mother Vera Stern. “She did more than twelve people could. Her interests were many: the arts, Israel, indigent musicians. My father [Isaac Stern] couldn’t have been who he was without her. She helped direct him into creative areas. She was a Holocaust survivor. She was incredibly strong. [She taught me] to be fierce and protect my family; to speak up, protect, and defend others. I was given an award, and [I realized] it was for what I learned from her. I am what I am because of my mother: We are all six degrees of separation—and one should always be cognizant of the connection.”

“My mother, Lily, is a phenomenal parent,” says actress/singer Tovah Feldshuh. “She was the connoisseur of tough love. She would say:

• ’Selfish people are the loneliest people in the world.
  

• ’Never beg a man for a hat… you buy your own.
  

• ’When you walk into a room, see what’s wanted and needed in that space.
  

• ‘Be ruthlessly honest.’”
  

Tovah, herself the mother two, has her own philosophy. “To be a good mother, Jewish or otherwise, you need to do two things: love your children unconditionally—and show up.”

“My mother was twenty when I was born on the Lower East Side,” says Congresswoman Shelley Berkley (D-NV) about her late mother, Estelle Auslander. “Three things were her life: her family, Israel, and the Democratic Party,” describes the bright, earthy, and hysterically funny congresswoman. “Though she wasn’t an activist, she was a major big shot in our house—and very opinionated. She’d yell at the Republicans on TV and was beside herself during the Clinton impeachment hearings.

“Eight years ago, when I was first running for Congress and dating my husband Larry (I finally met a doctor, she was thrilled), after a few dates, he told me he had a confession to make. Oy, I thought… another one. Then Larry admitted: ‘I’m a Republican.’ I was so relieved. But I told him, ‘Don’t tell my mother. If she brings up politics, here’s what you say, no matter
what she says or screams: ‘Your daughter is wonderful. Your grandchildren are great.’ That’s it.

“So every time she expressed an opinion he’d say ‘Your daughter is wonderful. Your grandchildren are great.’ Finally, my mother turned to me and said, ‘I’ve never seen a man more in love.’

“Anyway, we’re all at the jewelers choosing an engagement ring. My mother was sitting in a chair reading a paper … and we hear a shriek: There it was, in the paper, ‘Democratic Congressional Candidate Engaged to a Republican.’

“She rose up, ‘HOW COME I DIDN’T KNOW?!’ Then … she looks at the diamond, looks at Larry, looks at the diamond, looks at Larry … ‘It’s OK.’

“I am a Jewish mother, absolutely. I have two children and two stepchildren. … I always carry my cell phone set at ON, and if it’s one of the children … I’d make a president hold.”

“My mother said I drove her crazy. I did not drive my mother crazy. I flew her there. It was faster,” says Robin Tyler, comic, event organizer, and creator of the comedy album
Always a Bridesmaid, Never a Groom.

“When I told my mother that I was a lesbian, in 1959, she took it very well. She did not say ‘Here, take a knife, stab me! Pour salt in the wound.’ She picked up the knife and tried to stab herself! I stopped her, because why should I take that privilege away from my father?

“My mother used to introduce my brothers and I in the following way:

’Here is my son, the doctor.

Here is my son, the accountant.

Here is my daughter, the lesbian.’”

“Mom served as one of three presidentially appointed public delegates to the United Nations in 1983,” wrote Lee M. Hendler, author of
The Year Mom Got Religion,
about her mother, Lenore (Lyn) Pancoe Meyerhoff, politician, activist, and philanthropist who died of cancer in 1988.

“Mom claimed that she was born defiant. … Alternately reckless, mischievous or courageous, Mom’s defiance had a triple edge. At ten, she secretly smoked a corncob pipe stuffed with stolen tobacco. She was arrested at age fourteen for driving her Aunt Minnie’s car at ninety miles an hour without a license. [Her adored maternal aunt, a nonconformist herself, was in the car at the time.]

“[Mom] confronted a prominent trial lawyer who imported illegal domestic help and paid them slave wages. He stopped. She helped women survive grueling and degrading divorces.

“Socially, she preferred men over women because she was attracted to power, but she was vigilant over its abuse by others and considered herself the champion of the powerless.

“[She] believed that children learn and grow best by taking physical and emotional risks. Her teaching may seem hardhearted now, but we experienced it as liberating because she gave us the gift of confidence. When we were very little, she would perch us in trees and then walk away. If we whined, she’d tell us to stop whining and figure out how to get out of the tree if we wanted to get down so badly. Soon, we were tree monkeys. … Mom insisted that we take on teachers who were petty or unfair. She handled medical emergencies with the aplomb of a trained medic, teaching us that keeping our heads in a crisis was not only admirable, but lifesaving.”

In Fred A. Bernstein’s
The Jewish Mothers’ Hall of Fame,
Estelle Bauer, mother of Dr. Joyce Brothers, described her famous daughter with her own brand of common sense:

“Joyce was bright from the start. She has a retentive mind. At fifteen, she went away to Cornell. But the courses weren’t enough for her. She wrote home asking for more money so she could take more classes.”

Mrs. Bauer also had thoughts about parents who can’t let go:

“Selfish, selfish, selfish. They kill the child. Nature provides that when a child is old enough, it feels its wings. If you don’t let it, you’re destroying the child’s character.”

“You have to understand our household—there was always music,” said Ruth Manchester, mother of singer/songwriter Melissa Manchester, in
The Jewish Mothers’ Hall of Fame.
Ruth knew right from the start that her daughter was unusual, even by the standards of a family that revered music. “David, my husband, is a bassoonist. You’d play ‘Greensleeves’ and she’d [Melissa] go twirling around. And you would always hear her singing.” Yet despite fame and star pals such as Burt Bacharach, Carol Bayer Sager, and Barry Manilow, Ruth said her daughter is still the Melissa who calls and says, “Ma, what are you cooking tonight?”

“J
ewish men make the best husbands.” We’ve all heard, read, or thought it. Behind the compliment, I believe, there’s an implication of docility or pliance in the Jewish male, who’s been “house-broken” by his mother, even as he’s conquering new fields in medicine or science. And, in truth, I’ve seen it: The guilty, ambivalent Jewish son (or husband), who will appease at any price, through clenched teeth. Certainly, not all fit this model, but enough do to make the argument that “the Jewish son”— even today—often has a highly complicated relationship with his mother that includes anything from resentment, to confusion, to adulation, or a combination of all three.

I have long argued that for a mother who feels powerless in her female role as a woman and wife, her son, then, is not only her child, but may become her vehicle into the world. Prior to feminism, mothers of all persuasions, particularly those that came from a strongly religious or cultural patriarchy, sometimes saw their sons as their private “chosen” ones, who would deliver “Mama,” vicariously, all the power she herself was denied.

Such a mother might alternatively treat her sons as gods on earth, showering them with unswerving adoration, or more negatively, she might use her
own
maternal power to manipulate them, especially, if she also feels powerless with her mate. Her son, then, instead of being treated as a child whose needs are supported toward independence, becomes a surrogate power force, or may be assigned the “husband” role, providing attention, affection, and protection.

The son, then, is not only the promise, but a male that she, as mother, could control and live through vicariously. For the son, this powerful love was a double-edged sword and could also lead to a strongly bonded connection with mom, or resentment and the need to break away—or most often ambivalence. The Jewish mother, already “kidfirst,” who fell into this category, would, then, have a Herculean effect on her sons. And letting go, for these mothers, is difficult, if not impossible, as it means truly letting go of a significant part of herself and her own identity.

On the other hand, the Jewish mother who gives her son unconditional love, a strong sense of himself, and supports his need to fly free has given many a Jewish male uncommon confidence and courage.

What does a Jewish mama do when her son is running for vice president? What the late Marcia “Baba” Lieberman, Senator Joseph Lieberman’s mother did: play matchmaker for
machers
(bigshots) and send food. Following her son’s acceptance speech for his party’s nomination in 2000, “Baba” invited Al Gore over for a little cheesecake and coffee. She also sent reporters care packages that included Manischewitz bagel chips, postcards
(to write their mothers)—and the following handwritten note: “Please be kind to my son! Enjoy. Marcia Lieberman (Joe’s mom!)” When reporter Charlie Gibson asked her how the press responded to this “bribery,” she quipped, “They love it.”

In 1888 Leah and Moses Baline had one son, Irving. In 1888, when the Cossacks burned Jewish homes in Siberia, they left for New York where Moses worked as a cantor, gave Hebrew lessons, and toiled in a slaughterhouse. After Moses died of overwork, Irving (Izzy) quit school at age eight to peddle newspapers, hoping to get mom a rocking chair. Izzy also sang in saloons, playing only the black keys to accompany himself. A printing error on sheet music he wrote anointed him, “I. Berlin (Irving Berlin).” He created ragtime and composed “White Christmas” and “Easter Parade”—two of the most popular Christian songs ever written, got mom a new rocker—and a mansion!