By My son graduated from college. I am very proud of him. I won’t tell you his degree, but four years ago it was quite impressive. We’ve since discovered “impressive and “employable” are not synonyms, so I accompanied him to an appointment with a Jewish career counselor and here’s what happened. Mrs. Goldstein told my son to try a career in Jewish Sales. “I’ll train you right now,” she said. “Ready? Never ask, ‘Would you like to buy this schmatta?’ Instead you badger, ‘Nu? You’re really not gonna buy this schmatta after EVERYTHING I’ve done for you?’ My son blinked. He asked for another option. “So try a career in Jewish hospitality,” Mrs. Goldstein coaxed. My son listened intently, pen poised. “Just make guests feel so welcome, they’re afraid to leave because they’ll offend you.” Mrs. Goldstein apparently had many more Jewish occupations on her list. “How’s about a Jewish Travel Agent? Plan clients’ vacations around three things … where to eat, where to eat after that, and where is a comfortable place to sit and discuss where to eat tomorrow?”
My son sighed. Sensing his discomfort, Mrs. Goldstein recommended Jewish Real Estate. “You show people a house and tell them, ‘This kitchen is beautiful.’ Then their mother says, ‘The kitchen is definitely too small.’ So you don’t sell the house to the mother.” At this point my son requested a vocation that didn’t involve being Jewish. I wisely kept quiet because Mrs. Goldstein was on a roll, had selective hearing, and began to rattle off five more Jewish professions. There was a Jewish Family Reunion Mediator, which is someone who specializes in determining who is still angry at whom and why. There was also a strong need for a Yom Kippur Apology Consultant … assisting congregants who want to apologize without actually admitting they are wrong. My son may have blanched at this, so it was suggested he try becoming a Jewish Guilt Management Specialist, helping clients reduce guilt from, “I know I should have called my Aunt Gertrude” to a much more manageable “Gertie babe! You do understand the phone works both ways, right?” But my personal favorite was my son specializing in Grandchild Public Relations Management. The job description? Making sure Bubbe receives sufficient photos, FaceTime calls, and unsolicited updates so she doesn’t call every member of the family kvetching, “Nobody tells me anything. Does anyone know what Nathan does in preschool?”
My son finally summoned up the chutzpa to inquire about a career in technology and suddenly there was a position in Jewish Artificial Intelligence. He asked what the work would entail and was told, “Reminding people it’s their sister’s birthday, telling family members they’re nothing but skin and bones, and recommending packing sweaters for trips to Florida.” My son openly stared at her and said, “But that’s not artificial intelligence. That’s…my mother.” And it was then, for one brief shiny moment I thought Mrs. Goldstein had actually hit upon my son’s true calling! She suggested he’d make a fantastic Professional Jewish Mother Interpreter, translating statements such as “Don’t worry, I’m fine” into “You have disappointed me deeply. Hold my hand and lead me to the nearest plotzing sofa.”
But it was when my (always hungry!) son asked about a career in the food industry, that a Portion Controller at a gentile restaurant was finally mentioned. You march into the kitchen, scrutinize the snively rack of lamb being placed on a diner’s plate, then admonish the chef by shouting, “You people call THAT a serving?” My son looked alarmed, so Mrs. Goldstein gently told him she just thought up the ideal job for him … a Professional Jewish Son! He looked at her suspiciously. “Relax” she said. “Your mama does everything. You just call her once a week, twice on her birthday, and for Mother’s Day, take her to D.Z. Akins. Let her send back her sweet n’ sour cabbage for being too spicy. Then allow her to say, ‘Well, as long as you’re gonna toss it in the garbage, pack it up, we’ll take it to-go.” I rejoiced at this scenario. “Yes!” I said, “So he can have it for lunch the next day during his long and arduous training at his Uncle Bernie’s law office. Because…wish us Mazel Tov … yesterday, Bernie the Attorney hired my boychick as a paralegal!” I triumphantly handed her his business card. Mrs. Goldstein looked incredulous, possibly wondering why we’d wasted all her time, so it was then I had to confess: I’m having a midlife crisis of my own (being a stale Jewish Humor Columnist) and had wanted to see what a Jewish Career Counselor did with herself all day long. Oy.
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