Secrets of a Jewish Mother: Real Advice, Real Family, Real Love (42 page)

J
ewish people tend to be incredibly superstitious, even if they are not religious. They are forever “pooh-poohing,” knocking wood, even if it happens to be Formica, and spitting. Aunt Cooky bites her tongue so often in the course of a single day that we wonder how she can swallow food. In Israel, Jews and Arabs alike wear the
hamsa,
a good-luck charm that looks like a hand with either an eye or a spiral drawn in the palm. What do all these superstitious behaviors purport to do? Keep away the dreaded evil eye. Many Jews can’t even give someone a compliment without first parenthetically saying the Yiddish expression
kaynahorah
to ward off the evil eye.

For example, a typical Jewish mother might utter this to her friend: “My daughter just got engaged (
kaynahorah,
pooh, pooh, spit) to a nice Jewish doctor and they are going to buy a house, God willing, less than ten minutes away.” This last bit requires at least another spit or two, in order to prevent the evil eye from swooping in to prevent such a miraculous stroke of good fortune.

Here is a typical exchange in our family:

The scary thing is that these superstitions are catching. We find ourselves passing down the biting-your-tongue and the spitting and the pooh-poohing thing to our husbands, friends, coworkers. It’s a bit silly. But who are we to laugh at the evil eye?

By the way, we understand from our good Italian friends that Jews aren’t the only ones with the superstitious behavior. Want a few more that we hadn’t heard of? Money walks out the door if you put shoes on the table. You cannot have thirteen at a table, because the oldest one dies. If you have money in your wallet on New Year’s Day you will have money all year long. Wear anything red to ward off evil, including underwear. Do not open an umbrella inside, it brings tears. We’re sure there are good reasons for these superstitions—we just have no idea what they are. Apparently, superstitions are universal.

One could philosophize that the real lesson of this superstition is not to tempt fate, not to assume something will happen before it actually does. For example, traditional Jews do not throw baby showers before the baby is born. We do not celebrate an event before it happens. We also don’t believe in furnishing baby rooms or bringing any gifts home before the joyful arrival. Is that superstition or wisdom? Is it because Jews do not want to tempt the evil eye to harm the baby, or is this a wise custom born of centuries of births that did not result in healthy babies? If, God forbid, the mother does not bring a baby home, then wouldn’t it be cruel for her to enter a home with a newly furnished baby room? We think it is better to wait and see and pray for a healthy baby.

Do you want another reason for the Jewish predisposition to superstition? Superstitions constantly remind you not to be too arrogant or proud. In between the pronoun “my” and the phrase “son the nuclear physicist,” if we insert a
“kaynahorah”
or two, or a “knock wood,” what we are really doing is saying out loud to God, “Look, God, we’d like this to happen, but we’re not counting on it. You shouldn’t think we are too full of ourselves to believe that maybe it’s not your plan for this to happen, and if, God forbid, it doesn’t happen, then at least make sure that our family stays healthy and no one we know gets into a car accident today, God forbid again, pooh, pooh.” You see what we mean?

Why did we include a section on superstitions? We’re superstitious, that’s why.

We have repeated a few clichés so often to ourselves that we now believe either we invented them or our grandmothers did. Here are the ones we live by:

These particular adages are really the shorthand conclusions we’ve reached about so many of the lessons we have learned about relationships, values and finding meaning in life. Take them to heart. We certainly do. Both our superstitions and the above “clichés” accomplish the same thing, in a way. They keep us mindful of our actions, our words and our place in the universe. Also, they remind us to be grateful to the people who taught us these lessons, may they live to be 120, God willing.

 

 

 

 

N
ow that you have learned our secrets, heard our stories,
kvell
ed from our
nachas,
shared our
tsuris
and answered some tough questions about your own life, it is time to ask yourself one final question: “Are you a real Jewish mother?” Or for that matter, do you want to be?

After reading this book, we hope you have realized that you do not need to be Jewish to be a Jewish mother. Nor do you need to be a parent. Being a Jewish mother means carrying yourself with a certain attitude that is not necessarily confrontational, but always assertive. We Jewish mothers stand up for what we believe is right, for ourselves and our loved ones. We question authority. We enforce high standards. We demand the best from ourselves and try to elicit the best from those around us.

But our biggest secret, the one that has kept us together, is that we do two things well: We laugh at ourselves, and we love each other.

As we have said often, we judge our lives by the quality of our relationships. It has been a blessing for our family to write
Secrets of a Jewish Mother
and share our rules for living. Now that you have read our words, you are welcome to join our family. Let’s face it; we could use more members of the tribe. But, before you can officially call yourself
mishpocheh,
turn the page to take our test. As Jewish mothers, we hope you pass with high marks. Remember, we are always watching your grades.