June 13, 2019
My Mother
84 years.
There is a lifetime of stories to choose from which illustrate her kindness, consideration and character. But I don’t need to go back that far.
Let me just tell you about this month.
We flew back from Florida on April 1st and my mother made a point of telling me that she was not going to eat on the plane. She told me on the car ride to the airport, she told me in the lounge at the gate, and she told me as we took off from Fort Lauderdale to Toronto. When the stewardess came by with the choices for dinner, my mom perked up and said, “Montre moi le menu.” Show me the menu.
The choices were beef, ravioli, or chicken curry. When the stewardess came back, I chose the ravioli and my mother said to the stewardess, “I'll have the chicken, but I don’t like curry. How else can you make it?”
She had the chicken curry and proclaimed it to be the most tender piece of chicken she had ever had. When she finished her dinner, she began wildly motioning in order to get the attention of the stewardess.
“Mom,” I said, trying desperately to avoid a scene, “just tell me what you want and I'll get it for you.” “Que ce que ça te regard,” she said, what is to you, “Je ve lui parler.” She finally caught the stewardess' eye, and she came over as I tried to shrink into my seat.
“Yes, ma’am," said the stewardess.
“My compliments to the chef,” replied my mom with a smile.
That was my mother.
I pick her up at her condo on the way to the first seder. I have called from the road. “Come on down?” she says with no preamble. Yes. This is our ritual. She is waiting in the lobby and makes her way to my car with her walker—her Cadillac, she calls it. The ritual continues. Walker thrown in the trunk. She sidles into the front seat and declares, like she has every time before, “Il fait un froid de diable.” It could be 92 degrees, but even the slightest breeze merits the wearing of a coat. I ease away from the circular driveway and the ritual continues. “Wait until I put on my seatbelt.” The drive to Dov and Caroline's from the condo is a short one. But a silent journey is not an option. My mother likes to talk. And it is not a regular conversation. It starts with a series of non sequiturs. Free verse like the poets of San Francisco in the 60s. The continuation of a conversation from earlier in the day. From earlier in the week. This day, she does not disappoint. It is a beauty.
“Odette,” she declares, “does not like Mr. Wonderful.” It is less hard to decipher. We used to watch Shark Tank together. I would often check my answering machine and the message from my mom was "Shark Tank at 8:00.” And no more. She was always trying to connect with you. “Tiger Woods, is taking a break from golf.” Click. That was her message. Her radio in both Florida and Toronto was tuned, not to classical, not to the CBC, but to Top 40 so she could share the music with her grandchildren.
That was my mother.
At the seders, after pronouncing for the umpteenth time that she, too, had left Egypt, she took her turn reading the Haggadah and could not resist adding a dramatic flare in order to get a laugh from the table. She mispronounces words. She does it on purpose. I am convinced of it. Every day she watched Wheel of Fortune at 7:00 and Jeopardy at 7:30. But she insisted on pronouncing it “Jopordy.” On purpose. It was her thing. “I make you laugh, don’t I,” she proclaimed proudly. And then, without missing a beat, would sternly announce, “Il y a une fenetre ouverte quelque par.” “There's a window open somewhere.”
That was my mother.
And just a week ago, she called to tell me that the wifi was not working in her condo. I said that one of the girls would come by later in order to help her. But my mom was never a big fan of later. My mom was a big fan of now. It was Chol HaMoed and she wanted to FaceTime with her family in Israel. So she got on the phone and spent an hour with Rogers Customer Service and figured it out herself. And then called me to let me know. An 84-year-old from Cairo who, a year earlier, had never even heard of the word wifi.
In the coming hours, days, weeks, months, and yes, years, many of us in this room will continue to share stories about this remarkable woman. And we will say that she lived a full life. And, in part, we will be right. A life that took her from Egypt to Israel to Canada. A life in which she raised a family and traveled to exotic parts of the world. A life with children, grandchildren, and yes, even a great grandchild. A life surrounded by friends and one in which she left a lasting impression on everyone she met. And I know it is true. And I also know that she got a Kindle at 80, and an iPad at 82. And that although she was not always clear on the difference between Facebook and FaceTime, that she would have figured out how to use the great scientific and technological discoveries which lay ahead of us if it were a way to get her closer and connect to her family, her children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, and all the people she loved and who loved her.
And so, if we believe in haolam haba, the world to come, I would like to think of my mom in a room with my dad, she has asked Hashem to please turn down the air conditioning, and she is watching Jopordy, and on the phone with technical support, trying to figure out a way to send a message to the people she loved.
Because, that is my mother.
And I will miss her.
The end.