Yiddishe Mamas (4 page)

Melanie Strug, for example, describes her home when the children were growing up as a “cafeteria.” As they were all involved in athletics, she was
forever
shlepping. “I picked one up at six, got another at seven, got another at eight,” she says. “Our home life was centered around the kids. I’m a Jewish mother in the sense that the children came first.”

“She resides in Brooklyn,” joked Binyamin Jolkovsy, editor in chief of
Jewishworldreview.com
. “But she’s selfless, puts her children above herself, sees her role as nurturer and molder of character and conscience. That’s how the Jewish mothers in my environment are and I hope each and everyone lives up to that ‘stereotype.’”

“Driven!” adds Dr. Eileen Warshaw. “Our careers come second, if it’s good for the children.”

Sacrifice and exceptional commitment to children is echoed by Orthodox author, lecturer, and feminist, Blu Greenberg, who proudly talks of her five children and nineteen grandchildren.

“She’s me. She’s very sensitive, compassionate, feely, huggy, kissy,” says Jody Lopatin of Romanian ancestry, who, in addition
to raising four children, was head mistress of an Orthodox Danish preschool. “But she’s also sturdy, very strong, a mother hen who will protect her children—and anyone else’s children.”

And this devotion often knows few bounds. The Jewish mother ethno-type is not “minimalist.” Children are not merely given opportunities, but are often pampered, to bring joy to both mother and child.

“Who puts a child in costume on a plane and privately buys out a candy store for the
passengers to
give to your five-year-old so she won’t miss trick or treating?” laughs educator, political bigwig, and CEO of Rayburn Musical Instruments Company, Rona Ginott, describing a trip to Italy during Halloween. “I valued making life happy for my kids. I was gratified when that happened. I wanted to experience Halloween with my child.”

And where is the Jewish father in all this? Despite media mocking, many are strong, involved, and share their wives’ vision for the children. My own father was such a man. Yet … I understand the old joke “I decide the big things, like who should be president and how to achieve world peace. My wife decides the little things, like where we should live, and how we’re raising the kids.” This still exists in some Jewish families.

“The Jewish woman doesn’t even pretend her husband is the boss. Italians and Greeks do. If mommy’s not happy, nobody’s happy,” quips Mallory Lewis, daughter of Shari Lewis.

“Your husband is secondary to our role as mothers,” says Rona Ginott. “I did whatever I had to, to help my child first.”

“We did expect the kids to do well,” says Melanie Strug. “My husband was working all the time. Moonlighting so our kids could have the best education, private schools, training—whatever they needed,” she adds.

The majority of Jewish fathers no longer spend their days studying Talmud, which formerly gave them status within the Jewish community. Instead,
today’s
status and a father’s contribution is
gelt
(money) and
power,
making the money and the “connections” within and outside of the community to further his child and his family. NOTE: There are those within the Jewish community who don’t necessarily see this change from spiritual to financial status as a good thing.

Annoyed and backburnered at times, these men usually take enormous pride in their wive’s indefatigable spirit and commitment to their children.

What of the rest of family? Important, yes. Especially to support the survival and success of the children.

“Kerri visits her older sister once a month, and lives minutes from her brother. We’re a very close family,” says Melanie Strug. “If Kerri’s air-conditioning unit doesn’t work she calls her brother.”

Commitment to family may be sacrosanct, but peace and harmony? That’s another matter. Our ethno-type often includes what, to outsiders, may seem a peculiar scene. In my own family, there was the odd coexistence of absolute loyalty and constant kvetching about various family members. For example, there was the spendthrift who couldn’t pay his mortgage, but wore silk underwear. And the “rumor-spreader.” Then there was the family “matriarch” who redecorated our house, then invited guests to live in it—while my mother was out shopping. And who could
forget the miser who ordered half the menu, stuck you with the check—and took home the leftovers.

All families have them, but the Jewish mother talks, debates, and argues—sometimes fiercely. These family fightin’ words might put a scare into many non-Jews. To the Jewish mother “letting it out,” then coming together in passionate forgiveness, is perfectly normal. And even with a litany of complaints, she’ll still expect the group to rally for celebrations, holidays, and deaths. This dichotomy has been the fodder of Jewish humor for years.

Education, particularly Jewish education, is not only a mantra that is deeply embedded in Jewish history and tradition, but also a celebration! It was a religious expectation for young boys in the shtetl, but it also represented the very future of Judaism—a way to
keep the boys and girls who also learned the rudiments and were drilled by mama in her Jewish duties as
baleboste
(housewife) safely in the fold.

Picture it. A nineteenth-century mama, weeping with joy, dressed in little more than rags, carrying her six-year-old son in a prayer shawl, along with an apron filled with cake, honey, nuts, and raisins, for his first day of cheder (school). After his first “aleph” (the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet) the goodies are given out, with the child of the hour at the head of the line to celebrate his special day—the start of his formal learning.

Such an occasion! One that set the Jewish community apart. When 90 percent of the world was illiterate, the typical Jewish male over six was learning to read and write, often in at least three languages, including Hebrew, Yiddish, or Ladino.

Early on, while the men were studying,
someone had
to inspire, support, keep kosher, light candles, raise the children with values, milk the cows, earn a living, and make sure the house didn’t collapse! Like Rachel, wife of the great Rabbi Akiva who sacrificed when he left for years to study Torah, the Jewish mother sees education as a sacred obligation—and revels in the
nakhes,
the pride of raising learned children.

“25,000 miles! My wife drove a total of 25,000 miles—back and forth— from Coolidge to Tucson so our son could study for his bar mitzvah,” described Sig Lieberman, a former Arizona mayor with pioneer roots. “This is the sacrifice she made to keep the children involved in Judaism.”

“I was a permissive mother,” says Dr. Ruth Gruber, who sent both her children to Reform Sunday School. “But I was always very concerned about education. Education is what counted, never a car, a lethal instrument!”

“My brother had to travel two hours to get to an all boys Jewish school,” says Harry Leichter, creator of the over 5,500 Jewish Web sites,
www.Haruth.com
and the
Schmooze News.

Today, the dedication to education remains of prime importance, but there has been a shift to secular learning, representing a critical cultural change. Once the learned Jewish scholar was prized; now however many assimilated Jewish mothers look to the professions more than religious accomplishment—as status and success, or “making it,” in the New World.

“Homework! If one of my girls missed a day of school, there I was,” chuckles Rona Ginott, “shlepping in the snow, the rain to get it for them. Heaven forbid they should miss something!” All that shlepping worked. Her oldest daughter is a Harvard graduate and attending Yale Law School and her younger sister is not far behind.

“I scanned into my computer my son’s brilliant report cards and am happy to mail them to anyone who asks. Education is the most important thing in our family,” says Mallory Lewis.

Does this dedication work in the secular world? You bet. There are more Jewish doctors than Jewish children on work release.

According to Dr. Bruno Halioua, author of
Meres Juives des Hommes Célèbres (Jewish Mothers of Famous Men),
about 12,000 of France’s 150,000 physicians (8 percent) are Jews, whereas
Jews make up only 1 percent of the country’s overall population of 60 million.

“We got to talking about our mothers,” he said. “And I realized that most of my Jewish colleagues … got into medical studies because we were prompted to do so by our mothers. It’s the same all over for the children of Jewish immigrants—medicine or law!” laughs Dr. Halioua. “I think that is the secret of Jewish mothers, in giving not only love like all mothers, but tremendous self-assurance to their children.”

“
You’re absolutely certain your progeny is perfect!”

—Mallory Lewis

Alright. OK. Sure, Jewish mothers have wildly different MOs. Whether she’s the “‘A’ is good, now, let’s talk A-plus” sort, or as Rona Ginott calls it, “a facilitator,” who sets the tone by example and opportunity, the pursuit of excellence is part of our ethno-type.

“I was raised with the compulsion to do the best!” says Dr. Gruber. “‘Why didn’t you get 100?’ I was asked, if I got a 99.”

“I could do no wrong,” says Theodore Bikel. “According to my mother, I was a genius!” He adds that this particular characteristic was not always helpful. Though his mother was supportive of his performing, the truth is, her expectation of perfection “was wrong … we all do wrong.”

“The desires for high achievement are … characteristics that are disproportionately common in the Jewish community,” says Michael Medved.

This hope, vital to the Jewish mama’s spirits, is often met with an equal opposite reaction: Never (OK rarely) “satisfied,” excessive worry, and protection.