I’m writing this piece on Mother’s Day. Is it a Jewish holiday? Not at all. But in Judaism, every day is Mother’s Day—and Father’s Day, too, for that matter.
“Honor Thy Father and Mother” is the fifth of the Ten Commandments, and it is a constant rule, not something reserved for one day per annum. But as this day is now being recognized globally, this week I decided not to focus on the Torah portion but on our mothers.
You may know the story of the husband who walks into his house to find total chaos: the kids’ toys are all over the place, the lamps are knocked over, the phone is ringing, and the kitchen is a disaster. The whole house is in a total mess. He’s never seen his house looking like this.
He finds his wife sitting on the couch, relaxing.
Horrified, he asks, “What on earth happened here today?!”
The wife calmly replies, “Nothing.”
As he stared blankly, she adds, “You know how every day when you come home from work, you ask me, ‘What the heck do you do all day?’”
“Yeah ... ,” he replies, still in shock.
She smiles and says, “Well, today, I didn’t do what I do all day.”
I think it’s fair to say that we take our wives and mothers for granted. If we had to add up the sum total of the vast array of different things they do in a day, we might have new respect for them.
In fact, the title “Superwoman” is not an exaggeration at all. The capable wife and mother’s multitasking is incredible—way beyond what most men can handle. The old song, “My Yiddishe Momma,” singing the praises of our mothers, is not only touching and poignant; it is absolutely correct.
Some years ago, Time magazine ran a cover story titled, “The Case for Staying Home.” It was all about how more and more mothers were opting out of the “rat race.” It highlighted how a growing number of young women were putting their careers on hold to stay home and raise their children. It was a trend that went against the prevailing notion of career first, family second.
Indeed, when I would counsel young women about their career choices, I advised them to choose a profession that would allow them to raise a family while working, so as not always to be torn between childcare and the workplace. Remote choices certainly help in that regard, though not all of our preferred professions allow for that.
I once got a call from a gentleman in my congregation who told me his mother had passed away, and would I please officiate at the funeral. “Certainly,” I replied. “Would you please tell me something about your mother since I didn’t know her personally?”
“Rabbi, what should I tell you? She was my mother!”
Well, I have done many funerals in my time, and I believe I deliver pretty good eulogies, but what kind of eulogy could I possibly give with that rather bland bit of information? What was I supposed to say, “Sadie was Mervyn’s mother. Now say Kaddish?”
I suppose Mervyn was traumatized and still in shock from his dear mom’s passing, so he was understandably inarticulate. But the more I thought of it, the more I realized that he had actually given me all the information I needed.
In my eulogy at the gravesite, I shared my conversation with Mervyn. And I said, “You know what? Mervyn said it all. She was his mother. What more needed to be said? A mother!” And I waxed as eloquently as I could on motherhood and Jewish mothers, in particular. It was a great eulogy.
Do we really have any idea what our mothers do for us? Is there any better example of unconditional love in the whole wide world?
And yet, we continue to have unrealistic expectations of our wives. “She should cook like my mother and look like Megan Fox,” some proclaim.
Hey, brother, I’ve got news for you. Your mother didn’t look like Megan Fox, and Megan Fox can’t cook!
Years ago, I heard a story from Rabbi Yirmiyeh Aloy of Johannesburg about Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who was the chief rabbi of British-controlled Palestine back in the 1920s and 1930s until his passing in 1935. Apparently, he lost his mother at a very advanced age. Yet during the mourning period, Rav Kook was quite devastated.
Someone asked him, “Rabbi, I don’t understand. Your mother was a very old woman. She had a good and long life. You are already a middle-aged chief rabbi. Why are you so inconsolable?”
Rav Kook looked at the man somewhat pityingly and said, “Yes, you truly do not understand. Don’t you realize that the only person in this world who could say to me the words,mein kind (‘my child’) is no longer alive?”
So, in this week of Mother’s Day, I doff my yarmulka to the mothers of this world and, yes, especially the Jewish mothers, who go way beyond the norm and are the most dedicated, loving mothers we could ever hope for. They continuously put the needs of their families ahead of their own.
To you all, we truly do value how much you do for our families and for us. We shall remain eternally grateful for generations to come. God bless you, now and always.
