Yiddishe Mamas (6 page)

“Phone Home” wasn’t invented by E.T. (But no doubt Steven Spielberg heard it somewhere.)

“She has a map with pins so she can trail us,” chuckles Harry Leichter, describing his mother-in-law, when he and his wife are traveling. On normal days, “She wants the kids (now early boomers) to check in twice a day. If we’re not home by five, she asks ‘where were you?’ She wants to know exactly where we are at all times. And if we don’t call her, she’ll call us.”

Like a Jewish Mrs. Claus, somehow, the Jewish mother “knows” if her kids have been naughty or nice. The intimate relationship gives the Jewish mama what she believes is special insight bordering on mystical powers—and if not? Logic.

Control is a natural consequence of worry. Keeping tight reins was a role that was vital in shtetl life, where, as outsiders in a hostile world, religious tradition and survival was constantly threatened—and even the
kinder
understood the roots, often viewing mom as a majestic figure.

“Strong personalities and opinions!” says Mexican-born Rabbi Felipe Goodman, spiritual leader of Temple Beth Sholom, in Las Vegas, when describing Jewish mamas. “They want the best for the people they love and will stop at nothing. They’ll also tell you to put on a sweater when
they’re cold.”

“Rigid,” offers actress/singer, Lainie Kazan, who drew raves for her Mama role in
My Big Fat Greek Wedding.

“She’s domineering, but then you can also call the Jewish mother an aggressive survivor.”

When these women came to America, however, the very traits that meant survival in the shtetl community were seen as “neurotic,” especially when the youngsters who were “insiders” became desperate to move “out” into a world of freedom— including freedom from Mama’s control. Disharmony between mother and child developed rather suddenly, and pain was the result, which provided fodder for both humor—and shrinks.

“[My mother] was a mixture of lovable, but she was more tyrannical than she’d like to believe,” says the versatile actor/singer Theodore Bikel. “She devoted herself to being overly protective of me to the point where after she died, she ‘kept’ family away from me which was eminently disturbable.”

I’m hiding under my desk, but … hey, it came up—once or twice. Of course not all Jewish mothers operate using manipulation and guilt (other people do it too). But face it. A large dollop of sacrifice, even when seen by the children as love, can be a mega guilt-producer.

While the environment may have changed, the shtetl impetus to sacrifice for the
kinder
—if not for food, then for private schools, dancing lessons, college, or making a lavish bar mitzvah or wedding—persists as part of our kidsfirst ethno-type.

Yet, the flip side, especially when “sacrifice” is no longer equated with survival or Jewish values, is guilt. And in our brave new world, the benefactors are not always thrilled with the price.

“My parents come on the phone: ‘What size is your dining room? I’m thinking of getting you a dining set. We ordered it for ourselves, but we’ll see if the guy can drop it off to you from Florida to Arizona—and we’ll live with the old one,’” describes Laurie Cohen, newspaper editor and comic. “Then, my mother tells me to ‘run get measuring tape.’ I don’t have one. ‘OK, so go get a ruler. Go the store, get a ruler, then come right home and call us.’” Oy!

The most famous example is the classic, oft-repeated Mike Nichols, Elaine May routine, “Mother and Son,” where his mother claims to have waited by the phone for three days, near fainting from hunger, because she didn’t want her mouth to be full when her son called. Even his explanation that he was busy sending up the Vanguard led her to kvetch, “it’s always something.”

“What is the other side of the mother’s bountifulness?” poses Dr. Myrna Hant. “The major obligation of the child is to bring
nakhes
[joy] to his mother … it is the epitome of life’s goodness. Defining success in the shtetl, as success in any culture, is complex and dependent upon many factors. Certainly, for the daughter success [was] defined as marrying well, being an efficient and skillful housekeeper … conducting a Yiddish
hoyz
[Jewish house] … keeping harmony in her family … being the mistress of a beautiful household, a real
baleboste.
For a boy, success [was] defined as scholarly prowess in Jewish studies.”

Jewish mothers make lousy mimes. Boom! Passionate, open, with both a natural and trained flair for the verbal, you know where she stands and how she feels. Always. About most everything. And there’s an excellent chance you’ll hear it over and over again.

Jewish mothers are also funny. Yes, I believe funnier than many other ethno-types. (Think Swedish.)

She’s born into a religious tradition of Talmudic argumentation, honed by
mama-loshen
(Yiddish), the ultimate language of feeling, humor, wit, irony, misery, judgment, triumph, and intensity—she’s “out there.” She’s vocal. She’s passionate. And she’s sharp.

Recall the scene in Woody Allen’s
Annie Hall
in split screen. Alvy Singer, having dinner with his girlfriend’s “proper” (if not insane) non-Jewish family, as he compares it with his own—a wild madding free-for-all. The volume alone is an ad for Miracle Ear, as his family argues, yells, and debates.

I chose this scene because, despite Allen’s exaggerated portrayal, I’ve rarely seen a quiet Jewish home—especially over food. Some of the most enjoyable moments of my life were over the family dinner table listening as the adults talked, argued, and laughed. The Jewish mother has flair and drama, whether in agony or ecstasy.

Of course not all Jewish mothers are kvetchers or hollerers, but the ethno-type is high verbal—in praise, in criticism, in advice— in doing laundry, or yes, even in organizing a labor strike. As you will see in ensuing chapters, the other side of “out there” also spirits determination and a fearlessness to express opinions that go beyond “sweaters” and “clean underwear.”

Our religion and our cultural tradition instructs us to be change-makers.
Tikkun olam
is our responsibility to try and heal the world. And not just within the world of the Jews, but injustices to all peoples. Silence to the persecution of others is not an option for the Jewish mother.

“Responsibility and commitment are deeply indebted in the Jewish notion convenant,” says religious feminist author Blu Greenberg. “We take this responsibility and partnership with our children.”

In the pursuit of justice or fairness you’ll rarely find the timid. If the Jewish mother is demanding and sometimes “loud” or outspoken, she’s a fighter. She’s out there shaking up “the system.”

My paternal grandmother, a Russian immigrant to Canada, was legion. She fell in love with a much older widower with two children. Despite disapproval from her family, she leaped from a window and hopped on a horse, and the two lovers took off.

Within ten years or so, she had four more children, and she, too, was widowed and without funds while still in her twenties. Not only did she raise all the children, she ran a farm, took in sewing, was a magnificent cook, provided shelter and food for family from the old country, and still found time to work with a Jewish girls club. When a store raised the price of milk by a penny, she led a strike—and won.

“What a mouth she had on her!” says the family.

Her name was Manya and she died before I was born. As is the custom, I was named for her and take great pride in this amazing woman. Her unsung story is one of millions of typical Jewish mamas of her day—and today.

History is rife with examples of the Jewish mother, acting on her beliefs with almost unprecedented chutzpah! These attributes of strong verbal skills, courage, an acute sense of values, and determination have given rise to some of our most influential civic leaders, activists, and feminists—from Biblical Jewish mothers to pioneers, to modern-day Yentls such as Bella Abzug, Blu Greenberg, Betty Friedan, Barbra Streisand, Rabbi Bonnie Koppell, and Susan Weidman Schneider. These are but a few Jewish mothers, among many, who have changed the world, as well as our view of the Jewish woman.

Does the ethno-typical Jewish mother live through her children? Some do, not all. But as the
kinder
was the shtetl mother’s job, the buck stopped with her. If you were a CEO and your company explodes, are you not shamed? Blamed? And so it was with the Jewish mother. Her children were her bailiwick, and her “success” judged naturally by the success of her effort.

“Many do live vicariously through their children. … It’s for them,” says Dr. Eileen Warshaw. “I feel it was the same way in the shtetl. They felt the child’s success or failure would reflect on themselves.”

Comic-singer-impressionist painter Marilyn Michaels had her maternal hands full. She was the daughter of Jewish entertainment royalty as the child of the late famed cantoress, Fraydele Oysher and Metropolitan opera basso, Harold Sternberg, and niece to the legendary cantor and Yiddish star, Moishe Oysher.

My son and I attended her son’s birthday party when he was four or five. Grandma Fraydele was there. This tiny woman with the booming voice “encouraged” the boy to sing, which he finally did: “God Bless America.” Grandma’s response? “That you call singing?! Who’s gonna applaud for that?” Marilyn gave me a withered look.

Giving up the job of raising, advising, and being involved is not an easy task for any mother, but for one who is kidfirst it’s a tough balancing act—knowing when and how to hold on—and when to tape our mouths shut.

“You’re there for them when they’re struggling, when they’re adolescents,” says Zora Essman. “Then you have to let go. It’s hard to do. It’s hard not to say when to brush your teeth.”

Yet, despite the jokes and complaints, many adult children, while “protesting” overprotectiveness, nevertheless are grateful for the ongoing support and love they receive.

“Five years ago I was having some medical problems,” says actress Joanna Gleason, who’s married to Chris Sarandon. The couple has four children between them. “I was sleepless, agitated. I called my mom at 2:00 a.m. She’s at my house in three minutes flat. She climbed into bed with me, and later cooked.” Her mother, Marilyn, is still all about support for her grown children, a fact Joanna fiercely admires and emulates. “My mother is a Jewish mother, totally. Like all the women in my family, she’s a maven in a crisis, a self-possessed talented woman, a nurturer. We all behave the same way … protective, focused, and we keep a benign distance. We know when to push, when to let go—and how to make our children feel safe.”

Of course not all mamas, particularly several generations ago, were quite so educated on the art of letting go. My maternal grandmother, Bella, was Polish. She met my grandfather, Alec, a Russian, while he was on the run from the Russian Army with my infant mother. (So, who wasn’t?) Leaving their families behind, they got to America in the 1920s through bribery and boozing the border guards. She was one tough, critical, controlling mama but then, she had to be.

When my mother married, grandma had to take backseat. During one decision-making discussion, she ventured her opinion. My father disagreed and explained patiently that now he and mom would make their own decisions. Shocked at being outsourced, Grandma screamed: “OY!!! I’m no longer the Cap’n, I’m only the Foist Mate!” Anchors oy vey!

The Jewish mother: loving, nurturing, sacrificing, child-centered, bossy, verbal, tribal, overfeeding, hilarious, protective, “out there,” an activist—a woman whose background has been molded by religion, tradition, unbearable hardship and loss, and hope. All of these are the Jewish mother, but interpreted by each of us in our own unique way. Where we stand on the continuum varies, but almost all share most of these cultural traits and hope to pass them on to our children as part of our great legacy.

I
n seventy or so years, our complex, multidimensional, ethno-type Jewish mom has gone from love songs in praise to a sitcom insult. She’s the butt of every joke, the cause of every neurosis, the one who poohs on her children’s parades, hacks through emotional borders, manipulates to gain her own ends, and is as sensitive as roadkill.

Jewish women, just like all women, have grown through education, feminism, and power. We have had the opportunity to be ourselves with far greater freedom and recognition than ever before.

Yet oddly, today, the Jewish mother is still portrayed as the most negative
caricature
of the shtetl mother.

As Jewish males predominated in TV and film, a great deal of our image has been manufactured by them and whether directly or indirectly, we have become the negative by-products of assimilation.