A MOTHER

I wear, on the ring finger of my right hand, a small solitaire diamond ring. The stone is modest, about half a carat, cut in an old-fashioned brilliant style, set in a fine filigree white gold or platinum band. The stone is small but it is of great clarity. I don’t know the official terms but it is clear as water and catches the light when I move my hand.

This was my mother’s engagement ring. I am pretty sure that I have worn it a lot more than she ever did, because she put on weight after she had her first child and the ring was too tight to wear any longer. She could have had it resized but she chose to put it away in a little velvet box, and that was the box that my father gave me after she passed away 27 years ago.

It’s the strangest thing, but the older I get and the longer my mother has been in Gan Eden, the more I think of her. We didn’t really have such a close huggy-kissy relationship, mainly because of my own innate standoffishness and secretiveness, but when we did relate, it was all honest.

So as her 27^th yohrzeit is approaching, 10^th Sivan, I will once more commemorate the life of my late mother, who passed away too soon, and who is not remembered by my children at all. They were only 4, 3 and 1 years old and the youngest three were born after she was gone. So really, they only know of her through my stories and some photos- very few photos as she was camera-shy- so the stories become more important somehow.

To recap, she was born in 1919 in Melbourne to parents who came from Tzefat, Palestine. (My grandparents were Palestinians. This was once a term reserved for the Jews of Palestine before 1947. Really.) She was raised in Perth, where her father and uncles ran a bakery. It seems to me that her father, my Zeida Moishe, whom I barely remember as he passed away when I was 2 (longevity was not a strong suit in my mother’s family), was a bit of a maverick; his brothers stayed and settled in Perth but he left for Melbourne, married, returned, and was heavily involved in Perth’s Yiddish Theatre. My mother was pretty feisty too, and left home to play in the Maccabean Games in Melbourne at the age of 17 (basketball! She was 5’ 1” tall!), and then refused to return as Melbourne had a more vibrant Jewish scene. Her parents eventually joined her. She worked as a secretary and supported herself, sharing a flat with some girls in St Kilda Rd. My mother had a lovely singing voice –dramatic soprano- and had won a scholarship to train at La Scala in Milan in 1938, but as Italy was fascist and the drums of war were beating, she stayed home. She enlisted when WW2 began and worked in the Navy Code Room, but was also involved in the Armed Forces Entertainment Troupe, and sang in variety shows for soldiers as well as in civilian entertainments; I have playbills and programs to prove all of this. So she had an interesting life. Not your usual normal Jewish girl’s sort of background. My Dad was a tailor from the Poilishe shtetl, and came to Australia early 1939, sponsored by his sister who had married an English guy and lived in Newcastle, NSW. His plan was to get together money and papers to bring out his wife and 2 little sons, but time ran out and he failed. His family was murdered by the Nazis.

Fast forward to 1946. My father had confirmed reports of the fate of his family, met my mother at a Jewish social evening where she had been chaperoned by her mother- at age 26!- and they married Dec 29^th 1946.

Well, after that, she didn’t really sing much more, as back in the day, that’s not what married ladies did. She had 3 children, I was the youngest, and she worked like a dog. My sweet-natured dad wasn’t much of a businessman, and long story short, they worked in the market, selling underwear, t-shirts etc. They made a living. Then, on the brink of retirement, she got sick and died of ovarian cancer, age 65. Her own mother had died of the same disease, age 55. (I know, I know, I’ve had genetic testing and I don’t carry the gene BH).

She was a witty woman, short, round, with a big temper and, of course, a voice that she could project from one end of the house to the other. She never needed to smack us to keep us in line, she just yelled, and that was more than enough. She was a bit embittered by her life’s trajectory, maybe a bit depressed, and she struggled with her weight forever, but my father adored her and she had close friends.

Like her engagement ring diamond, she was small but she sparkled. And she was, in a way, shut away in a box where few saw her brilliance.

So before this gets too maudlin, I just want to share 2 things she used to say to me (my kids have heard this before):

Every now and then, she would marvel at the naivete of her genius daughter, the medical student, and say ‘I don’t know about you, Shyrla: clever, clever, clever, clever, stupid.’ Boy, do I get that now. I see it in some of my own kids.

And from her showbiz years- ‘Always leave them wanting more.’ What great advice. I try to live by it.

A Mazel Tov- sibling assisted

Just a short note. Last week I did a lightning visit to NY because my son became a chosson and we met up the the kallah and her family, and it was all wonderful, thank G-d. And I am only mentioning this because the shidduch was done by my daughter in conjunction with the girl's sister. So a sibling-mediated shidduch. Yes, I gave shadchanim a chance but, I repeat, if it can be done by family and/or friends, looking out for each other, it is so much better. Not wishing to deprive matchmakers of their livelihood, but it's the truth.
So siblings! Look out for siblings. And friends! Help your friends. And singles! Let them help you. And mazel tov to all.

THE PHILOSOPHY OF CHEESECAKE

Shavuot is coming and that means CHEESECAKE. Also cheese blintzes and other dairy dainties. Sure, you can go and buy a cheesecake but what is better than homemade? You might need to practice a bit but this recipe is pretty much the bones of the idea of cheesecake, which is why I call it the Philosophy of Cheesecake. Adapt it to whatever ingredients you can get.

I used to be intimidated by cheesecake recipes calling for pastry bases, separation of eggs, whipped whites yada yada. It doesn’t have to be that hard! Cheesecake is not an exact science because cheese will vary in moisture content, texture and fat content, so results will vary but the cheesecake will taste good no matter what. So do not fear the cheesecake!

You will need:

For the cheese filling:

• 400-500g* white cheese, either cottage cheese, continental-style, farmer cheese, quarg, ricotta, whatever, as long as it is not salty
• A container, about 300ml sour cream, the thicker the better
• 3-4 large eggs
• ¾ cup sugar
• 2 tspn vanilla
• 100-200ml milk, about 1/2 or 3/4 cup
• 2 Tb cornflour**

For the crust:

• 1 packet plain biscuits (about 200g) like Marie biscuits or Grahams
• 120g/ a stick of butter
• Cinnamon, a few shakes

• A springform cake tin, 24cm, lined with baking paper, or lightly greased and floured on the sides
• A large bowl of electric mixer
• Small bowl to mix the butter and crushed biscuits

Preheat oven to 160C (150C fan forced)/ 325F

Crush the biscuits, either by pulsing in food processor or by placing in a plastic bag and rolling with a rolling pin.

Melt the butter, mix with the crumbs in a small bowl, then place in the prepared cake tin. With your fingers, press out the crumbs in an even layer over the bottom of the tin. Sprinkle with cinnamon. Refrigerate while you make the filling.

In the large bowl of the mixer, place the sugar and 3 eggs and beat well, until pale and creamy. Add the cheese about a quarter at a time, beating, then add the sour cream and vanilla.

Here’s where you have to make some judgements. If the mixture is so stiff the beaters can’t really get through it, add the milk, 100mls at a time, beating well. You are aiming for a consistency like thick dollops of cream. If the cheese was very soft, you will not need to add the milk, but you may need the 4^th egg to give the mix more setting power.

Then add the cornflour, mix well.

Pour the batter into the prepared baking tin and bake for about 1 hour.

The top should not get too brown. The cake will rise in the tin a bit like a soufflé, but don’t get too excited as it WILL settle. To test if it is done, give the tin a little shake; the cake should just give a little jiggle, not slosh around.

Once the cake seems done enough, turn off the oven and leave the cake in the oven to cool; it will continue to set and won’t collapse as dramatically.

Once cool, refrigerate.

To serve, remove from springform tin. Once the cake is cold, it shouldn’t be too hard to peel off the paper and slide the cake onto a serving platter. Decorate with fresh berries and whipped cream if you like, but it’s not necessary.

Serve with coffee, or as a dessert with berries.

Variations:

This can be gluten-free if you use either gluten-free biscuits or shredded coconut as the base, and make sure that the cornflour is not wheat-based.

Use crushed plain chocolate biscuits or gingersnaps if you prefer these to plain biscuits. Or add desiccated coconut to the biscuit crumbs.

Add shredded lemon zest and the juice of a lemon to the cheese mixture for a lemon cheesecake.

Or swirl chocolate syrup through the mixture, just a little swirled with the tip of a skewer when the cheese mixture is already in the cake tin.

Or swirl blueberries or raspberries through the mixture before baking.

You can leave out the sour cream completely or you can use the sour cream as a topping; beat it with ¼ cup sugar and pour this over the cheese filling before baking. You can add the berries into this sour cream-sugar mixture and pour over the cheese mixture.

You can do a lower fat version by using low fat cheese and milk and leaving out the sour cream and the crust, but it won’t be the same. Still nice, but not the same.

* About a pound of cheese
** Cornstarch


This was published on Kveller about a year ago when I was Ask the Bubbeh, before I got kicked off for expressing my opinions in an inappropriate manner. That's why I started my own blog even though I think I only have about 10 readers (Bless you all). So I don't think I am infringing any intellectual property laws by publishing it here, is what I'm saying.

MOTHERS’ DAY- PART 2

So now my kids are grown and out of the house, and 4 are married and I have grandchildren. This is a very different place from where I was from 1980-2005, which years encompass infancy, childhood and early adolescence of all my kids. They all kind of grew up and cleared out, one way or another. Then I saw that there really is life after kids, quiet after tumult, order after chaos. For a few years. And then my kids had kids and it all changed. Oh well. At least, as they say, I can give them back when they cry!

But there really is such delight in hanging out with little kids. I have been spending time with a 2 year-old dynamo who is visiting with his mum from Israel. Yeah, he is known for being, shall we say, a little too physical with other kids, as well as having a great pitcher’s arm for throwing unwanted food across the room (we are working on this). But his zest for life is enchanting. We are lucky, the weather has been lovely and sunny, and he has really enjoyed our back yard, especially the in-ground trampoline which kids of all ages gravitate to. I am proud to announce that he has actually coaxed me, Booba, on to the trampoline, and I am equally happy to report that my pelvic floor muscles are better than I thought they were. OK. Moving right along.

So every day is full of discovery for him, and every day his vocabulary grows- he is bilingual, and when I ask him to say ‘please’, he usually says ‘Bevakasha’, which is a cute trick. If he hears Hebrew spoken, he will speak in Hebrew, but a lot of the time it does sounds like Two. OK, he had a meltdown in Target today. He picked out the toy I was buying for him, (an Elmo, surprise) but then almost imploded trying to get it out of the packaging while I was trying to explain the concept of paying for something first. The nice man at the checkout gave me scissors to help free Elmo, and Shalom Al Yisrael. For a few minutes. We won’t talk about the Cupcake Fiasco shortly after.

Isn’t it a funny thing, how small children NEVER learn anything good from each other? Only naughty things. Picture 2x 2 year olds, each with a new Magnadoodle and a gorgeous, cream topped cupcake. I mean, why just pick up the cake and eat it, when you can take the stylus of the Magnadoodle and use that as an eating utensil? And when one tot does it, of course the other must put down her spoon and use the stylus too. Why not?

The Stylus-fork

It’s been fun, but I am knackered. This really is a young woman’s game. So no matter how wonderful it is to have the grandies over, it is always such a relief when they leave! (Sorry kids, but it’s true. I hope you will see for yourself one day.)

My mother used to say, when the grandchildren come, you say ‘Baruch HaBa!’ (Welcome!) and when they leave, it’s ‘Baruch HaShem!’ (Thank G-d!).

And on that note- Happy Mothers’ Day! To the mothers of my grandchildren, who so delight and exhaust me, and to all the hard-working mums out there. It’s all worth it in the end! 

MOTHERS’ DAY- PART 1

This time of year, when the catalogues are coming thick and fast in the mailbox, I can’t help thinking about my late mother, aleiha ha shalom. Not that she looked remotely like any of those model mothers in the Myer catalogue, who all must have had children when they were 12 in order to look the way they do with their model children; not even that we made such a big deal of Mothers’ Day when she was alive. (“Oy, such a waste of money, you shouldn’t have done it, such a nice thought, though.”) I just think about my mother, which is what the day is all about, and I reflect on what a rat I was before I became a mother myself. I hope that I made up for it when the time came, I believe I did; but that was after 25 years of her mothering, the last 10 or so of a big-mouth know-it-all. That’s a long time to put up with anything, but mothers don’t have  a lot of choice in the matter. I think that medals are in order, not slippers and hankies, or irons and vacuum cleaners (and what idiot would give his mother an iron or a vacuum cleaner, anyway?)

Well, the more I think about my mother, the more I think about the things she said, most of which I scoffed at at the time, most of which I now perceive as being true. Let me quote you a few examples. She was psychic, for instance:

“One day you’ll have a daughter, and she’ll say/do the same thing to you, then you’ll know what it’s like!” Too true, too true. And I’ve got a few years before  my Luna-Park mouth daughter becomes a mother herself, please G-d (Good grief, I even write the way my mother talked). Wow, what a thought.

She knew about sociology: “Make sure your nails are clean and tidy and your shoes aren’t down-at-heel; it’s the first thing a prospective mother-in-law looks at.” It was, too.

She was an expert on health, despite lack of a diploma. Consider these:

“Don’t go out with wet hair / walk barefoot / go out without a sweater, you’ll  catch a chill!” Boy, did I have heaps of scientific information to refute that old acorn, but it doesn’t stop me from saying it to my own children. It might as well be true.

“Don’t drink iced water when you’re hot, you’ll get a headache.” I do - now.

“Chicken soup is good for you!” How could I ever have doubted? I even give out recipes to my patients.

“Don’t slouch! Stand up straight, you’ll get a curvature of the spine!” Not exactly, but close. Are you listening, kids?

“Fat, shmat, what’s wrong with a little bit of fleish  anyway, not like these skinny rakes you see everywhere, feh!  And such a pretty face, too.” (Actually, my mother never said that, my father did. To both of us. What my mother said was “Don’t eat that, you’ll be sorry!” and “The older you are, the harder it is to lose weight!” She was right there too.)

She knew about baby care, (although I knocked her for a loop with my efforts at population):

“Sleep makes sleep.” This doesn’t seem to make sense at first, like some Zen Buddhist koan, or riddle, but it is absolutely true. I mean, if a baby had a good nap, why would it want to sleep at night? But it does.

“Simple foods are best, too many combinations strain the kishkas.” And I had to buy a book that said the same thing- “Fit for Life”.

So, Mum, you were right all along. Now tell me how I can convince my kids that I know what I’m talking about. Oh for Heaven’s sake, child, stop cracking your knuckles, you’ll get arthritis, G-d forbid! And stand up straight, walk nicely, or you’ll never find a husband! Don’t talk like that to a mother. Are you listening to me? One day you’ll have a daughter...

This was originally published in 1994 in the Australian Jewish News. Since then, my motor mouth daughter/s have had children, so maybe I'll muse on that in my next post. If my mojo has returned. Please G-d.

YOU GOTTA HAVE FRIEEENNNDDS...

It’s been hard to get to write anything since my last post. I don’t think anyone noticed, but I did: I only posted once last week. Partly- Yom HaShoa and Yom HaZikaron kind of dampen things. Then, here comes Mothers’ Day. And then I think of my Mum who has been gone 27 years- because in a few weeks is her Yohrzeit, 10^th Sivan, after Shavuot. And that makes me think of my eldest brother whose 5^th Yohrzeit is even sooner, 2^nd Sivan. So with Yom HaShoa, I think of all the unimaginable loss to the Jewish people, including my father’s family. And with Yom HaZikaron, I think of all the appalling loss to Israel and the Jewish people, of 25,000 killed in battle, in army accidents, in terrorist attacks, and I think of my brother Yehuda. And then I think about how I am last one standing in my immediate family. So it’s no wonder I’ve lost my mojo. And then I go play Words With Friends on my iPhone.

So I’ll talk about WWF! Despite accusations of my so-called addiction, (http://thehairpin.com/2011/11/the-league-of-ordinary-ladies-coffee-shops) * I actually function pretty well. I switch off on Shabbos without any real difficulty and wait at least a few minutes after sundown on Saturday night before I switch on, and I check my emails first, THEN I go to WWF. So that’s not what an addict would do, is it? And I don’t dream of dancing letters like I used to back in the day when Tetris was the thing to play, and all I dreamed of was descending block forms and Russian melodies.

I can go for hours without checking the phone (I don’t use the alerts because all these push notifications use up battery, did you know?) and if I’m working, I don’t think about it at all. I might not check from morning to evening.

Also, I used to waste time with Sudoku and crosswords, and now it’s all WWF. So it’s not like I am stealing time from something else.

But I can’t deny that, when business is slow, like now for some inexplicable reason, (possible something to do with feeling too low to check my voicemail, come to think of it), I am just non-stop fiddling with my phone. I go from email to WWF to Facebook to email to WWF until I get sick of myself and play a few rounds of Scramble Challenge- the old one, solo, no internet connection needed, up to round 1288- thus killing a few minutes before checking WWF again. And if I am working on my laptop and I have the phone close by, then I am looping from computer to phone with all these things, as well as Googling things that jump into my head, for use in an article somewhere, sometime in the future. And did I mention Facebook?

Why don’t I go volunteer in a shelter for the homeless or in a soup kitchen or nursing home? Because, not to put too fine a point on it, although I love the ideal of humanity, I have realized that I can’t stand people. I have been talking and listening to people for all my adult life, and getting paid for doing it, and I have helped a lot of folks, and so in my down time I can hardly bear to answer the telephone, let alone ‘do face time’. I have embraced SMS and texting, simply to avoid actually speaking to people. If it wasn’t for Shabbos, I think I wouldn’t talk face-to-face with anybody apart from some family members and 2 friends. According to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Orthodox Jews will be the last people who actually know how to converse, because of Shabbos.

And it might be a chicken-and-egg conundrum, but it could be contributing to my social inadequacy, especially in situations where I need to be the good corporate wife. I would much rather be working in the kitchen making the hors d’oeuvres than out in the cocktail party eating them, while making nice with people whom I either don’t know or cannot recognize, or if I do recognize them, cannot for the life of me remember their names. I am a useless gossip because I can never remember who did what to whom or when they did it, and usually I don’t care anyway. And all who know me will attest to the fact that I can’t make small talk. I usually end up being the bore who just bangs on passionately about something that others don’t care about but are too polite to shut me down. Or else I get into fights.  I know a guy with Asperger’s Syndrome and I enjoy his company most of the time, because there’s no small talk or lies or duplicity, just great swathes of fascinating information about whatever the subject he is expounding on. He’s just a bit hard to switch off. So I am a sort of non-Asperger’s fellow traveler/nerd, I think.

Anyway, there’s something about the WWF battle that is just magnetic. Sometimes I hate the game when I am getting thrashed, but there’s no better feeling than getting the J on the triple letter and then getting the triple word in a 7-letter word and scoring a gazillion, etc.

OK, I wrote this without once checking my phone, so all is not lost. (But if you want a game, I’m shyrlap.)

*This is a great comic strip written by my daughter Esther, and I am proud that I have featured in it, even though I am not quite as heartless as I am portrayed here.