C (3:27)
My mother was born in 1922, and when she started grammar school, she would leave every day at 3 o'clock and run across the street to the synagogue to sit in the Hebrew school class. Girls didn't go to Hebrew school. It was 33 boys and one girl. And she went every single day for seven years after school and sat in the boys Hebrew school class voluntarily. When the boys became bar mitzvahed, after they had all become bar mitzvahed, they decided they were going to do something a little special and sort of confirm my mother on Shavuos, which is the holiday which tells the story of Ruth. And my mother's name is Ruth. So they confirmed her at the synagogue. Something small. She of course called it the first bat mitzvah, but I looked it up and it was not the first bat mitzvah. But she thinks everything she does is just grant. So when I was growing up, my mother of course had a very kosher home. Every Friday night we had Shabbat dinner. Every Friday night we went to synagogue. I hated going, but they did have brownies afterwards, which I really enjoyed. We were very religious, I mean, in a conservative sort of way. We had a sukkah in the backyard and my mother would not knit on the weekends or there were certain things. I mean, we would drive sometimes, but you know, she kept her little rules. And anytime we used the wrong spoon, you know, meat spoon for dairy, say we used a meat spoon for ice cream, my mother would take a huge screaming fit. The entire neighborhood would wake up. And then instead of, I don't know if you know this, that you have to actually, in order to re kosher the utensil, you have to bury it in the earth for three days. So in our case we we used house plants. And we grew up with all these Jewish customs and traditions and my mother made us go to Hebrew School. And she made us, my brother and sister and I, she made us go to Hebrew High School. And I hated it. I hated it so much. I grew up in suburban New Jersey. My mother grew up on the Upper west side. And she would tell me stories about the city and how suburban New Jersey was like living with a bunch of farmers. So that was really positive and wonderful, but the girls were really kind of jappy. And when it came to bat mitzvah time, you know, I was already 6ft tall and in the marching band, so I wasn't really popular. And I was invited to a few bat mitzvahs, and they were so lavish and over the top. I remember Mindy Weissman came out of a cake with sparklers, very religious. Lori Blinder rented this entire hall. Everyone had, like, ball gowns on. They had live bands, virgin daiquiris. It was. It was the most. And people went to Shea State. It was. It was unbelievable. So when it got to my bat mitzvah time, I thought, all right, this is my time to be cool. I'm gonna be popular. I'm gonna have a really cool party. And my mother said to me, listen, Judith, it's not about the party. It's about the religious experience. And I was like, ma, look at me. I need this party. She said, too bad, Judith. And we had a little dinner before, then my bat mitzvah, then a little dessert after. And for the prizes, you know, they used to give these giveaways. My mother got little change purses for the girls and keychains for the boys. I remained a complete nerd for the rest of my time in suburban New Jersey. I was completely unpopular. And I got to high school and, you know, it was kind of annoying. My parents were very old. They were 20 years older than most of my friends parents. They told me everyone hated the Jews on a daily basis. And anytime I brought a friend home and I would introduce them, my mother would ask me if I thought they would hide me. So I grew up in this paranoid religious household. If the paperboy came to collect his money on Sabbath or on a Jewish holiday, my mother would take a screaming fit at the door. I never ate school lunch because it wasn't kosher. So when it became my adolescence and my time to rebel, I started sneaking Burger King in the backyard. I would take newspaper and put it over our picnic table in order to not decosher or anything. It was sort of my kosher Switzerland zone. And there I would eat my cheeseburgers. You know, everyone else was smoking pot and drinking And I was eating cheeseburgers in the backyard. When I got to college, I thought, I'm free. I discovered shellfish, lobster. I rebelled completely. I was like, I'm done with this. I am going to assimilate 100%, and that's it. I'm sick of all this crap. Well, I graduated college and I realized I was gay now. I realized I was gay when I was growing up, but I kind of came out after college to my inner circ. And I also started. I moved to New York two blocks from where my mother had grown up. And I started doing stand up comedy when I was 27. I was living with my partner, and I had come home that afternoon and there was a message on my answering machine from my mother. And she said she thought that my father had had a heart attack, that they were at the swim club and that I should come to the hospital. So I took a shower and I got in the car and I drove to New Jersey. And by that time, it had been early evening. And I walked into the icu and there was my mother sitting there in her bathing suit, and she still had her bathing suit on. And I brought her home, and I opened the refrigerator, and there was this bowl filled with bean salad that she had made for my father for dinner that evening. And I thought, my father's never going to eat this bean salad. He was on a life support system for six days. And at the end of those six days, when we finally unplugged him, my brother, sister, mother and I were standing around his bed when he took his last breath. And we all looked at each other and recited the 23rd Psalm. When I got home, we met with the rabbi. The funeral was the following morning. And the one thing I remember at the funeral, two things I remember at the funeral, is that I was getting picked up in a limo. And I thought, God, I thought the first time I got picked up in a limo, I'd be going to some award show or something, not my father's funeral. And. And I remember the sound of the dirt hitting the coffin. And I thought, this is so final. And we all got home and there's a Jewish custom where you wash your hands after you visit a cemetery. After you go to a funeral. You wash your hands before you enter your home to wash the death off of your hands. So I followed that custom. I washed my hands. And for seven days, my family and I sat shiva. Every night, people from all over the community came and they recited the mincha service, the Maarif service, and the Mourners, Kaddish, and the whole community came together. And I followed all of these customs. And after the seven days, there's another custom where you walk around the block as for the first time, not as a mourner, and you re enter society not as a mourner. So my brother had gone home to Arizona, and my mother and I and my sister decided we were going to take this walk around the block. And we took our walk. And on that walk, I thought to myself, what would I have done the past two weeks if I didn't have Judaism? I wouldn't have known what to do. I know how to mourn, and now I know how to enter society not as a mourner. And I decided I was going to go wherever I was doing stand up, I was going to find a synagogue and go, say mourners cottage every Saturday. So I went on the road. I was, you know, Cleveland, Albuquerque, Boston, and I would look up conservative synagogues and, you know, meanwhile, all night I'm, you know, cursing over the sound of a blender in a comedy club, People smoking and calling me a dyke. And then Saturday morning I would get up and I'd put on a skirt and I call a cab and I'd go say mourner's cottage for my father. And I remember thinking, I know all these songs. And I remember looking at the people thinking, God, I know everything that's in their refrigerator. Well, a few years later, my partner and I decided that we were going to have children. And we got an anonymous sperm donor. And I looked at the religion catalog and picked a Jew. And I decided to kosher my kitchen because that's how I had grown up. And I decided that I wanted my son to have Friday night dinners just like I had growing up. So we started this tradition where I didn't work on Friday nights and my kitchen was kosher. And I would scream anytime someone used the wrong utensil, but I did not put them in the plants. I couldn't deal with that. But plus, we live in New York and I don't even have any plants. I don't know what I'm talking about. But I sort of embraced this whole tradition, even though I had the most non traditional life that anyone could have. And last year, last year, Henry, my older son, I enrolled them both in Hebrew school because I have to go to Hebrew school, they have to go to Hebrew school. Henry is 14, Ben is 9, and they both go to Hebrew school. And last year, Henry became a bar mitzvah, my partner. And I had broken up a few years earlier and I had met a nice Jewish therapist and we are in a relationship. My partner is in a relationship with someone else as well. And when I introduced my mother to my partner, we went out to lunch and my mother said she wanted to pick up the check and asked if I could go into her purse and get out her change purse. And I went inside and there was the change purse from my bat Mitzvah. And a year later Henry became a bar mitzvah and we went to synagogue and he stood on the bema and his four moms, his two moms and his two step moms stood on either side of him. I opened the ark, he took out the Torah and he started walking around the synagogue before he read his Torah portion. And I walked behind him and everyone kept going in my face saying mazel tov, mazel tov, mazel tov, mazel tov. And I just was overwhelmed with emotion. And he brought the Torah back to the bema and he put it down and it was the same bima that his grandmother had got confirmed on 74 years before. I thought to myself, oh my God, I am the ultimate Jewish mother. I have created a Jewish man.
