Adam, our eldest son, had read my article
about my Mom titled “My Yiddisha Mama” and he too had stories to tell when
the subject quickly changed to Arlene, my beautiful wife, his
Yiddisha Mama. Here is HIS take on today's Yiddisha Mama.
“It’s OK, don’t worry about me,
I’ll be fine”, Arlene, my Yiddisha Mother used to say. Actually, that’s not even
slightly true. She grew up in 1950s Brooklyn but doesn’t always fit the Jewish
A few months ago Dad asked if I
could elucidate differences between the modern Yiddisha Mama, and generations
past. Of course I jumped at the opportunity but decided to wait for just the
right inspiration to hit. That inspiration, along with 11 voicemails saying
“It’s OK, don’t worry if you can’t get to it, I’ll do it myself” (Yiddisha Dad's
can also give Jewish guilt shtick quite effectively) helped set the stage for
Would you care for some
Some of my favorite memories as
a kid growing up were summers spent in Fort Lauderdale. Grandma treated us
grandkids like gold, and in return we tried to follow her rules, and requests,
no matter how strange they seemed at the time. I soon realized it was impossible
to win when the subject was food.
On most days 15 meals were
served, not including snacks. If you left anything on the plate it was grounds
for interrogation. “What’s the matter, I didn’t cook it right?” No Grandma, it’s
great but my stomach only holds so much.” “You don’t like it” she decides, and
there’s no convincing her otherwise. Later I eavesdrop on the MacYetta Report to
my parents. “He didn’t finish his _______. I’m really worried about starvation.
Do you think he could be sick?”
My mother was a bit more
reasonable when it came to portion size, and frequency. Typical fare were chili,
hotdogs, PB&J, and burgers. There was always a bowl filled with fresh fruit
on the kitchen counter for a snack. It was rare to see whitefish staring back at
me from the table, if you know what I mean. That privilege was saved for
holidays, and weekend visits to our relatives in Queens, NY. Then it was a
smorgasbord of potato pancakes, tuna, lox, and salmon croquettes. I’m ashamed to
say it, but somewhere along the way I got addicted to challah. I would polish
off half a loaf with each piece slathered in butter until I was about to burst.
It’s a gateway food that can lead to other issues down the road, sometimes
involving gefilte fish.
I can’t recall Mom ever putting
a guilt trip on my brother Lew, or me. Raising two boys three years
apart must have given her thick skin. I remember punishments being handed out
for each infraction, but then we quickly moved on. At the time I was naive to
think the rest of the world grew up the same way, Jewish or otherwise. Only
years later did I learn to appreciate the head-games my Mother was nice enough
not to give us.
Where have you been?
One day a friend and I got the
bright idea to drive from Long Island, NY to DC to buy fireworks for the 4th of
July. The plan was to make believe we were going to high school, but then head
over the bridges, out of NY, and down I-95 South. If everything went well we’d
be back before the end of the school day, and no one would be the wiser. Of
course an accident at the Baltimore tunnel took hours to clear so we didn’t make
it back until midnight. But Mom was cool as a cucumber. Sure, we got punished
for being out late (at the time I told her we were at the mall) but it wasn’t
the end of the world. Years later I finally told the truth, and how that trip
ultimately took us to Virginia, and back. She just smiled and said “Yeah,
To this day she still doesn’t believe me.
I’m confident that newly
developed DNA tests will prove our family genes are rife with non-life
threatening, and annoying but exceptionally rare, and difficult to diagnose
maladies. Combined with folks living long lives this often results in a case of
On any given visit we compare
ailments and schedules. “Mom, how are you feeling?” “The specialist cancelled
the last 2 appointments but next Thursday might work if they can fit me in.
Apparently Blue Cross will only cover treatment if administered during a full
How about you son? “That rash I
told you about is now the size of Seattle. I go back to the Doc on Friday. Last
time I overheard him telling the nurse he’d never seen anything like it
I used to think everyone owned
dogs, and cats, and they were just part of the family, right? Grandma felt quite
differently. “Feh, the animals are dirty, Melvelah throw them outside where they
belong”. Most of my other relatives had the same outlook with maybe a goldfish
or two among them.
Our house today is a veritable
zoo full of giant dogs, crazy cats, kamikaze birds, and other assorted
creatures. I place the majority of blame on my wife but also believe Mom should
take a little credit. When my Mom married my Dad they lived in a tiny studio
apartment where a small pet was all that would work, so they had Barney the
Guinea pig, whose cage was a lot bigger than he was. My Dad's Yiddisha Mama
Grandma Yetta told my Mom that she wouldn't have a need for
animals in the house once the baby (me) came. By the time the baby (still
me)was toddling, we had a house, and cats, kittens, and a large formerly
homeless dog of unknown origin, who sat on our front lawn for days til she was
invited in to become part of the family. I thought every toddler had a kitten to
taunt, and tails to pull.
If I close my eyes I can still
picture the plastic covers on Grandma’s couch like it was yesterday. She kept
her A/C a bit warmer than most so your legs would start to perspire and
eventually stick to it. In the beginning it was fun making raspberry sounds but
eventually I’d abandon the couch, and sit on the much more comfortable
floor for our visit.
Mom, I just want to say thanks
for not putting plastic on the furniture.
I love you,
Until next month, enjoy the
beautiful weather, and remember…eat kosher.
Mel (the fat