By I thought I was the only Jew who ignored my mom’s advice growing up and now lives with the consequences. And the remorse. For the High Holidays, I started a meet up group and titled it, “What If Our Jewish Mothers Were Right…Shouldn’t We Apologize?” Fifteen people showed up, including one therapist. Perfect! I put her in charge of offering insight and astute commentary as we began our discussion. A 16th straggler strolled in late, looking extremely cross-eyed. We all nodded knowingly while simultaneously chanting, “If you keep crossing your eyes like that, your face will freeze that way!” He sheepishly gave a thumbs up, admitting he’d been to every ophthalmologist in the country. No remedy. But at least his mother hadn’t said, “I told you so.” (I watched the therapist jot a note saying, ‘Research classic Jewish mother facial prophecies.’)
Another woman named Edna began to sob, “I didn’t listen to my mom about leftovers. She warned me not to throw a kugel away because I could always finish it tomorrow.” We all leaned forward in our seats, “And…?” the therapist asked. Edna continued, “I threw the kugel away.” The therapist’s pen was poised. “And…?” she asked again. Edna looked down in shame. “Two days later I had a craving for kugel!” We nearly fell off our chairs. The silver lining was that at least her mother hadn’t said, “If you want more kugel, don’t come crying to me.” (I watched the therapist jot a note that said, ‘Did Jewish mothers invent Tupperware and Ziploc?’) A woman named Rochelle raised her hand. “My mother told me never go grocery shopping when I’m hungry.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “And…?” the therapist prodded. “I wheeled a cart into Ralphs totally famished.” We knew where this was going. “And…?” Rochelle looked up at the ceiling. “I came home with six cakes, eight gallons of mint n’ chip, four pounds of Oreos and a ham.” We gasped. “But you’re supposed to be Jewish?” Rochelle gulped and responded barely above a whisper, “Yes. My mother told our Rabbi who still delivers a sermon about the incident to this day.” (I watched the therapist scribble, ‘Google if Jewish mothers created WeightWatchers?’)
“Does anyone else have other advice they didn’t heed?” the therapist inquired eagerly. A man named Jordan wearing a bathing suit with fins on his feet sadly lamented, “I remain in a constant state of wanting to do the backstroke in my swimming pool but it’s always too close to digesting my meal so I never get to.” I finally took pity on the poor guy and blurted out, “Our moms only told us we’d get cramps and drown if we didn’t wait three hours after eating so they could gossip with each other after lunch, without needing to supervise us.” Jordan was incredulous. (I watched as the therapist wrote, ‘Jewish mothers early attempts at self-care.’)
A lady named Miriam switched the subject to ambulances. I vaguely recalled some advice my mother had given me concerning hospitals. But what was it again? Miriam looked mortified as she confided, “After my auto accident, the paramedics at Scripps Memorial were totally appalled when they glimpsed the stained, stretched-out elastic in my slightly ripped underwear. My mother always said if I had to be unconscious, she didn’t want some nurse wondering ‘Who raised this woman?’ I’m sorry mom! Can you forgive me?” (I watched the therapist jot down ‘Find out if there’s a connection between Jewish moms and Victoria’s Secret.’)
As the meeting went on, people admitted they’d rather freeze to death than listen to their mother say, “Wear a sweater. Because I’m chilled.” And how they went out in public with soaking wet hair only to catch their death of cold AND run into their future employers. Many suffered broken legs jumping off bridges and cliffs because all their friends did. All along, the therapist took down copious odd notes, never contributing anything healing or therapeutic to our session. Finally, she bid her goodbyes, thanking us for a wonderful article she’d be writing for L’Chaim magazine in defense of Jewish moms on Mother’s Day. Just then my cellphone rang and I reluctantly answered to hear my own mother’s voice, “Nu? I hear you’re starting a support group to kvetch about me.
Always ask for credentials if anyone claims to be a professional in the psychology field. There’s a lot of quacks running around nowadays.” Oy.
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