Jewish Mamales

The other day, as I sat in my friend Lee’s car, listening to him tell a tale about his yiddisha momma.

Yes, I know what you’re thinking. “Mort, another story about Jewish moms—like we haven’t heard enough about these creatures parceling out love, wisdom, and pain in equal measures.”

To which I reply, “Remember, as the Good Book says, ‘There will never be enough stories about Jewish mothers.'”

Now let’s get back to my friend’s story.

“Mort, years ago, my wife and I weren’t invited to one of my favorite cousin’s daughters’ weddings. I still don’t know why. And I still smart over the rejection. But I loved those cousins.. I helped them out when they were in trouble. And now they dissed us, like we were smelly five-day-old gefilte fish. I felt betrayed. It was worse than being stabbed by a butcher’s knife in the rib cage.”

“Lee, I’ve been there. I know that feeling. Rejection is a bitter pill to swallow. Especially when it comes from mishpocha.”

So I went to my mom’s house to tell her my woes.

“Mom, we weren’t invited to the wedding. Were you?”

“Honey, we were, but based on you not being invited, we’re not going.”

Lee continued, “I felt relieved. My loving mom was an ally; I could always count on her.”

A week later, Lee got a call from his mom. “Honey, your father and I decided we’re going to the wedding ceremony, but we’re not going to the reception. We won’t break challah with those people, those scoundrels, after they rejected you.”

“Thanks, Mom, I appreciate the gesture,” Lee said.

Out of curiosity, the day after the wedding, Lee called his mom to get an update.

“Hi Mom, how was the wedding last night?”

“Honey it was a beautiful wedding. So we changed our minds and went to the dinner but we didn’t eat the cake.”