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A man calls his mother: “Mom, how are you?”
“Not too good,” she says. “I’ve been very weak.”
“Why are you so weak?” he asks.
“Because I haven’t eaten in 38 days.”
“That’s terrible! Why haven’t you eaten?”
“Because I didn’t want my mouth to be filled with food if you should call.”
Like so many Jewish jokes, it lands because, while hyperbolic, it also rings true. Jewish mothers, in all their legendary devotion, give and give and give. The least we can do, the joke reminds us, is to call them (sorry, Mom, I’ll do better!).
Thankfully, our very first Jewish mother, Sarah, raised a son who remembered her. In Bereshit we read: “Isaac brought Rebekah into the tent of his mother Sarah, and he took Rebekah as his wife. Isaac loved her and thus found comfort after his mother’s death.” There is something profoundly tender here. Isaac doesn’t just move forward, he carries Sarah with him. Love becomes a bridge between generations.
And then, quietly but powerfully, we begin to see that Rebekah is not so different from Sarah. Both women struggle with infertility. Both speak honestly, boldly, to God. Both are described by our tradition as prophets. And both make morally complicated choices in the name of love and devotion to their children. These are not one-dimensional figures. They are not idealized into perfection. They are, instead, deeply human—imperfectly perfect mothers of our people.
And that’s exactly why their stories still resonate. Because Mother’s Day is never just one thing.
It is for those who had a Jewish mother and miss her still. For those who longed to be mothers and struggled, or whose dream was never realized. And for those who hoped to become grandmothers and carry that quiet ache. For grandmothers and great-grandmothers who carry “oodles of love” (as my own 108.5-year-old grandmother likes to say). For those still lovingly “bossed around” by a Jewish mother, whether the one who raised them or the one they married. Mother’s Day is for all of us because all of us come from Sarah and Rebekah, “the mother of myriads.” Their legacy is not perfection. Their legacy is complexity, courage, love and resilience. To expand how we see them, to honor everything they brought to the Jewish story, is to begin to see ourselves more fully as well.
Personally, this month holds a special kind of motherly joy for me. I am officially entering serious kvell mode as our Maya becomes bat mitzvah on May 30. You are all warmly invited to join us for the service and for the kiddush lunch that follows. It would mean so much to celebrate this simchah together as a community. Wishing you all a sweet Mother’s Day filled with memory, reflection, laughter, maybe a phone call or two and many blessings.
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