The best jokes are about Jewish mothers — taking pleasure in the idiosyncrasies of their characters. Being a Jewish mother continues in our family with a sense of delight and fun.
Ma Regina showed her love through cooking. Nuts and chopped liver while you shmoozed, followed by soup, an appetizer, always stuffed cabbage. The main course was a minimum of three of the kosher creatures that Noah put on his Ark, two vegetables and European cucumber salad. I am too full to mention dessert. Ma Regina would kvell with pride as family and friends rolled with laughter at her table and rolled home with a smile on their face.
My mom is no ordinary human being. She’s an extraordinary human doing, always engaging in some fun activity. Growing up, Sundays were family day. If I got my say, we’d be headed to the Kennedy Center (“You kids should get some culture!”); and when Mara got hers, we’d hike at Great Falls (“I’m bringing a little sweater and a nice piece of fruit for you both!”) Today, she’s still on the go. If she’s not out on a date (“Know a nice Jewish doctor?”), she’s carousing with her cronies or on her way to the Hollywood ballroom.
My sister is now a mom. Her home is pervaded with happiness and laughter. Her daughter, Lindsay, can’t talk yet, but she has the greatest smile. She knows that some day she’ll get a laugh by telling us her favorite Jewish mother joke.