Elliot Rothpearl who normally co-writes articles with Mel Yahre each month for the Megillah, specifically requested that I inform our Megillah family members that Mel is entirely responsible for having written this month's piece. He wanted to be sure that we all understood the depths of feeling Mel had for his mother, and still holds in his heart. So sit back, relax and enjoy this touching, humourous and loving article.

What better subject matter than mothers? I’m sure each one of us has much to say and share, and I’d like to tell you about mine.

My mother always felt a son could grow up to be one of three things: a doctor, a lawyer or a failure. She encouraged us, my brother and me, to be one or the other of the first two as we were growing up. If she could have opened a doctor’s office or put a shingle on the lawn for me when I was five years old, she would have.

Such high standards for a woman born in 1904, being the 11th of 12 siblings. She shared stories of how her father had been beaten to death by the Polish soldiers, and how her mom and family lived in a one room shack with a dirt floor, with no inside toilet facilities and water drawn from a pump a distance away. For food, they were given permission to eat from the perimeter of the farmer’s land, a very biblical instruction. Somehow this 4’11” bundle of joy, at the age of 12, was shipped off to America to live with her uncle who helped her get a job. So in 1916, Mama got on the big boat, alone and frightened, but spunky, and came to America.

Her uncle, my great Uncle Wolfe, got her a job in a sweatshop sewing. She said she had two changes of clothing, one for wearing and one for washing, and they lived on the Lower East Side. After what she had come from, she felt like a millionaire, an attitude she maintained till the day she died. Ah, only in this wonderful country can a person make money, send it back home and in a short while have another brother and sister sent over and together they lived, worked and brought over another family member. Eventually there were too many of them to live with Uncle Wolfe and Tante, so they got their own flat and together the children shared the apartment. By 1920, there was my Mom, Aunt Minnie, Aunt Lillie, Uncle Willie all in America and Uncle Sol or Shlomo as he was called, the youngest, was on his way. The last person to arrive was my Grandmother Rifka. The rest of the family stayed in Poland and did not survive the Holocaust.

Together they worked and eventually moved to St. John’s Place in Brooklyn. Now Mama really felt like a millionaire. It was time for her to get married and raise a family, but because most of her time was spent working, she needed a matchmaker. Mom wasn’t one to mince words. “I needed a husband, so I had someone find me one,” she told me. This guy was a nice Jewish boy, also from Poland, who had migrated to Cuba. Mom flew to Cuba, met him, and within the year they were married, a match made in heaven. They spent many years working and didn’t begin to raise a family until 1936 when my brother Herb was born. I was born 7 years later, a fraternal twin. My sister died within the first 6 months of life, leaving my Mom with two sons.

My Dad went into his own business, worked hard and supported the family as best he could. My Mother would find that there were times when she had to work. Mom stayed home for Herb’s upbringing but when I turned ten, business took a turn for the worse and she went back to work as a seamstress in the garment center.

Mom was the strong one and the smart one in the family. She was assertive and knew what she wanted and what she would put up with. There were two ways she saw things…her way and her way. We moved to Queens and she was crowned street mayor 12 minutes after arrival. Now everyone was going to do things her way. In Brooklyn, she had people much like herself, but in Flushing, Queens, during the 50’s, she was the item. Much to my amusement, when she spoke, people listened. She knew how to hammer my Dad and get him to do everything she wanted. Max, Pop, was a quiet man and never argued with her. All he wanted to do was come home, have his dinner, finish with a glass of tea with a shot of schnapps in it and he was a happy man. He’d watch his news nightly, Meet the Press on Sunday, wrestling during the week and read his DER TAG, the daily Jewish newspaper.

Mom’s rules…

Always take off your shoes before coming in the house.
Don’t sit on the plastic couch covers, they can get dirty too.
Don’t stay in the bathroom for more than 5 minutes without expecting banging on the door.
Don’t date a shicksa
Don’t bring anyone that’s not Jewish into the house because they’ll beat the crap out of you later and you’ll regret it.
A half a grapefruit is good for you, even if you never like it.
Always argue with someone in the family and take sides, but don’t tell them too much because they’ll use it against you when they’re angry with you.
Walk, it’s healthier and doesn’t cost money.
Finish the food on your plate, the children in Europe are starving.
On and on she’d go… a rule for every situation… all not to be broken.

Mom liked attention and thought her calling was to be in the theater. If she liked the music on the radio, she’d start dancing, and if she knew the words, she’d sing along and say, “See, I sing better than she does.” She was uninhibited and one would never know when or where she’d start dancing. This became more humorous as she entered her 80’s and 90’s. It was wonderful to see a silver haired woman singing, dancing and telling stories.

When other people owned cars my family went by train, bus or walking…why not? “Didn’t G-d give us feet to walk?” She felt like a millionaire, she would say, ’cause a car cost a few thousand dollars, a train a million. She felt like a millionaire and acted the part.

At the age of 63, my father lost his hearing - first in one ear and then in the other. She’d talk to him and watch as he adjusted the level on the hearing aids (seemed as if he lowered them). He would smile and sometimes shake his head as she talked and then he’d look at me and wink. I knew he had turned them off.

Mom was the religious one, she insisted that we go to cheyder, get bar mitzvah, and attend shul on a regular bases.

Here are some more stories…

Visiting my factory…

Mom came to visit my factory. She wanted to see the kind of work I did. I manufactured crucifixes for caskets. When she walked in, she saw crucifixes hanging on the walls. She grabbed her heart and I thought she was going to have a heart attack. “Sonny,” she said, “It’s better maybe you should get an ice cream truck and sell ice cream!” I think of that often because it was only when she was in her 90’s that she finally admitted you can be successful without being a doctor or a lawyer.

Eating Out…

I always marveled how my Mom would know what my Father wanted to eat. When we’d dine out, the waiter would ask my father, “Are you ready to order?” She’d say, “Yes, he’ll have …the tuna fish sandwich, not too much mayo, butter the bread, a thin slice of tomato, not too thick, coleslaw, a pickle, and coffee. Bring the coffee first, and make sure it’s hot, he likes it that way.” My Dad would look at her with admiring eyes and a slight smile.

Grapefruit…

Mom would always serve grapefruit at the start of the Friday night Shabbos dinner. I didn’t eat grapefruit. She continued to put it in front of me till she was 90 years old. “Ma, I don’t eat grapefruit,” I would say. “Just eat a little,” she’d say or “Melvin, you don’t eat grapefruit? Since when ??”


Follow that car…

We were driving to my brother’s new apartment house in Brooklyn, my Mom, Dad, Arlene my beautifully wife, and me. I got lost…Mom had the solution…”Follow the car in front of you, he knows where he’s going and maybe he lives near your brother.”

Florida…

My parents purchased a condo in Florida and a year and a half in retirement there, Dad passed away. Mom tried to throw herself in the grave as he was being buried. Every time we’d visit, we’d also visit Pop at the cemetery. He’d been dead about 15 years and Mom, as usual, was running ahead of us to Dad’s grave. She stopped, said, “This is it,” and immediately threw herself on top of the sod and began crying… “Max, why didn’t they take me first?” I noticed that the marker had someone else’s name on it and said, “Mom, this is not Dad’s grave.” She immediately stopped crying, stood up, brushed herself off and said, “Ok, follow me. I think I know where it is.”

Pal of my Cradle Days…
My Mom had my brother learn one song which she sang to us regularly. The words were “Pal of my cradle days, I’ll love you always. When I was a baby upon your knee, you sacrificed everything for me. I stole the gold from your hair, I put the silver threads there. I don’t know anyway I can ever repay …the pal of my cradle days.” Watch a 90 year old woman sing that and two 50 year old men cry.

The 90th Birthday Party…

Mom called and asked if we were going to be with her to celebrate her 90th Birthday. “We’ll all fly in,” I said. I asked if she wanted a dinner out with her family. She said, “I’d like to invite a few friends.” “Sure, Mom,” I said. “Can I invite three people?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. “Can I invite more?” “Of course,” I said. “Ok, I’ll make reservations and we’ll eat out,” she said.
We arrived in Florida and Mom said, “We’re eating at the Holiday Inn.” I was walking towards the restaurant when she called me back. “I got a hall,” she told me. “Hmm,” I thought, “what is she up to?” Sure enough, about 60 people were sitting at tables. She invited everyone in the condo!!! As I was paying the check, she stood up and said, “My son is taking everyone out for breakfast tomorrow morning.” My brother Herb walked over to her and said “Mom, it’s not fair to Mel, don’t do it.” So she announced that breakfast was off!

As we were leaving for breakfast out the next morning, one of the men from the condo said, “Since you’re not taking everyone out for breakfast, can you bring me something back?”

Compassion…

Mom was in her nineties when I became a “Born-again Jew” having been an agnostic married to an atheist, my kind-hearted wife. We came to the realization that Yeshua (Jesus) was the Jewish Messiah. I told my brother and asked him not to tell Mom. It might break her heart and since she was not well, I didn’t want to cause her grief (something I did a lot). I know my brother felt different because we were visiting on a Friday night and I said to my Mom, “I’d like to go to Shul for a few hours.” She looked at me and said, “Your brother told me you believe that Jesus is the Mashiach.” I answered “Yes.” She said to me, “Who is to say He isn’t?” She then looked at my brother Herb and cousin Jan who were with me and said, “You boys, go with him, you never go to Shul. I’ll be alright.” With that, the three of us drove to Aaron HaKodesh, a Jewish Messianic Congregation in Fort Lauderdale…silence from my brother.

Bring a roll of quarters…

Mom used to ask me to bring a roll of quarters for the washing machines when I’d visit. When she passed away, I found plastic discs in her top drawer. I asked her neighbor what they were for. She said they were for the washer and dryer. I noticed a Tzedakeh box next to her bed that was filled with quarters. That’s my Mom.

I know I’m describing her eccentricities, but isn’t that what makes people unique? To say my parents were loving, caring and charitable, we’d have to say that’s nice. To say they helped bring family over from Europe, my Father’s side as well, and save them from the Holocaust, is to say that’s good. But to say I have a Mom that rode a tricycle in her 90’s and was more like Charlie’s Aunt than Charlie’s Aunt is to say-- oh boy!

Mom loves G-d and her Jewishness….

Mom prayed all throughout the day. She was always talking to G- d and she had much faith that He’d answer her prayers; after all, He had made her a millionaire in America. She liked the Shabbos and holiday prayers and melodies and would sing and recite them when the mood would strike.
Mom was 97 years old and my beautiful wife, my brother and I were visiting her. She looked old; she was almost totally deaf and could just see light. She would take my hand, kiss it and call me by name. I noticed she did the same to my brother. My brother is a smoker and that’s how she could tell us apart even though there is a 100 lb difference between us which she could no longer see. We were sitting at the table and this time I started singing just as she had. I held her hand in mine and brought it to my lips singing, O Sey Shalom Bim Ra Mov. She felt the vibrations and knew the melody. Her face began to glow, her mouth opened, and Yetta was singing again, going from one melody to the next, taking the lead. She became very animated and suddenly strong and vibrant. Herb looked at me shaking his head and said, “You want to kill her?” All of a sudden she stopped, and began to go pale; a clammy cold sweat was covering her small frame. We gave her nitroglycerin and called the paramedics.

At the hospital….

She was brought to the hospital into the emergency room. They would not let us go in to be her advocate. We sat and waited, my cousin arrived, we talked and every few minutes we’d ask to go in but they said no, not until after the doctor was through examining her. Finally, they asked us to go in. Mom was on the bed resting and with a big smile on her face. The doctor said he’d gotten all the information from her that he’d need. We told him it was impossible, as my Mother was nearly totally deaf and blind. As I approached her, she grabbed my hand and I put my ear to her mouth. “Sonny, I’m smiling and said yes to everything. I think they’ll let me go home.” She was trying to pull a fast one on them, even at that age and unable to really communicate. We explained to the doctor and gave him the proper information.

We had promised my Mom we’d never put her in a nursing home, which was her biggest fear, and also that she’d never have to live with either of us, which was her second biggest fear. She had been her own boss since the age of 12 and wasn’t going to be giving that up ever. We arranged for 24 hour care for her in her apartment. We received a call from her caretaker that she died peacefully while saying her morning prayers.

My brother and I gave the eulogy at her funeral and when I looked at all the people in attendance, I explained that my Mom would really have loved seeing everyone. She lived for people, and that it was sad that she wasn’t here to welcome them.

As they filled in the grave, I looked down at the marker on my Father’s side, a lifetime of memories flashed by, and I exclaimed, “Move over, Pop, your days of peace and quiet are over, now you’re with my Yiddisha Mama.”

Happy New Year and Shalom,
El and Mel