What Every Jewish Girl Learns From Her Mother

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Long before “helicopter parenting” became a trend, the archetype of the Jewish Mother was already in full effect. These mothers are all-knowing, fiercely loving, and perpetually ready with a comforting bowl of chicken soup to mend any ailment or boost our spirits. Forget your aspirations, dear—first, let me whip up a plate for you. You’re far too thin! You haven’t eaten enough?

The fine art of food-pushing is just one of the many lessons imparted to every Jewish girl by her mother. Regardless of whether she’s squeezing into skinny jeans or lounging in comfy ones, when it comes to meal prep or hosting holiday feasts, the motto is clear: more is always better. A Jewish mother will never believe we’ve had enough to eat and will always send us home with a Bloomingdale’s bag brimming with leftovers—beet salad, brisket, kasha varnishkes, and matzo balls to sustain us for days. “You’ll need it, just in case,” she’ll insist.

Through gentle nudges, we learn the importance of marrying a “nice Jewish boy.” But if we happen to wander off the beaten path, we’re forgiven, with a reminder that Jewish identity flows through the maternal line. “As long as you raise Jewish grandchildren,” she’ll declare, and indeed, there should be many.

Daughters of Jewish mothers are truly a unique breed. Some lessons are explicit, while others are more nuanced. For instance, our weekly Shabbat dinners often prioritize family bonding over strict religious observance. When assessing whether a boyfriend is worthy of our time, we use Shabbat dinner as a benchmark: if we’re comfortable bringing him to meet our mother, he’s a keeper; if not, it might be time to reconsider.

We learn that intelligence and a bit of awkwardness outweigh wealth and looks when searching for a life partner. Smart partners will find a way to earn a living, and a dorky one will treat us like royalty—though a little financial stability never hurts.

Some lessons seem universal, yet they feel distinctly like they originated from our Jewish mothers. Picture Emily Post converting and rebranding herself as Emily “Shayna Punim” Postensteinowitzky-berger, and you’ll see the rules we follow. One cardinal rule: never arrive at someone’s home empty-handed; always bring a gift for the host.

In uncertain social situations, we’ve learned to offer food. When someone is facing hardship, it’s customary to deliver a platter of bagels rather than flowers. And yes, that magical chicken soup deserves its own food group—especially when introducing solids to our little ones.

From our mothers, we also absorb a curious blend of guilt and superstition. Every possible misfortune is just around the corner. Guilt becomes a way of life, applicable to every scenario—guilt for eating, guilt for skipping meals, guilt for visiting, guilt for not visiting, and so on. Yet, our mothers will claim they’re okay with any choices we make, as long as those choices align perfectly with what they would have chosen themselves. “I’m fine, don’t change plans for me,” translates to “I’m uncomfortable. Please alter everything for my comfort.” We learn to tell our children to put on a sweater if we’re feeling chilly ourselves.

We also discover that nothing is ever quite satisfactory—whether it’s the first table offered at a restaurant or the initial hotel room assigned to us. When selecting bread, we never take the loaf in front; we always opt for the one behind it, ensuring fewer hands have handled it. Even if we observe the bakery clerk serve a half-loaf to the customer ahead of us, we must insist on a “fresh one.”

Ultimately, every Jewish girl emerges as a nurturer, overflowing with love and compassion, albeit with a hint of worry and anxiety. Every nugget of wisdom passed down from our mothers proves invaluable, even those we once vowed to ignore. As a result, we become reflections of our mothers, much to the amusement—and sometimes exasperation—of our husbands.

In conclusion, the lessons learned from our Jewish mothers shape us in profound ways, teaching us about love, family, and the unique quirks that define our cultural identity.

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Lessons from Jewish Mothers
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