Anyone need anything from anywhere outside of this house? Preferably somewhere with
a reeeeeeally long line?
Oh….everything is closed.
Can I go toivel the dishes again just to be sure they got completely submerged?
I think it is safe to assume that although I truly love being home with my family, I’m not
the only father or husband who’s been more than thrilled to get out of the house these last
few weeks – for any reason. You know, just for a change of scenery or some fresh air.
(Also so I don’t punish my son and send him to his room for ten minutes and then
accidentally forget to tell him that the ten-minute timer went off. In fact, I may forget to
inform him ‘till school starts again. Mistakes happen, you know?)
Our nation has always had its heroes. Some unsung, some appropriately praised. But
throughout our history one thing is undeniable: the worthiest bearer of the title “hero” is
the Jewish mother. Unacknowledged as she might be, it’s simply a fact.
The busy, sleep-deprived, power-house frum mother who, as a result of this pandemic,
has now been openly revealed to be the sustaining force, the bedrock of the frum home.
Let’s be brutally honest for a moment: Of course, it’s very true that we men love going to
shul to daven and learn. It sustains us in a way that we perhaps have taken for granted
until now. But one of the fringe benefits of that luxury is that no matter what is going on,
we get to leave.
The front door swings behind us, our darlings inside. And often they aren’t
freshly-bathed, subdued little angels sitting nicely together in a circle playing Scrabble
while singing Little Neshomeleh. You know, once in a while, we leave houses that more
resemble war zones. The grenades may be of the Magnatile variety with multiple
mattresses requisitioned to form fortifications for the imminent enemy attack from the
living room, but still…that battlefield vibe. With tremendous mesiras nefesh (and while
the curiosity of which child might get stitches first may briefly haunt us), we
courageously put on our hats and jackets, grab our Gemaras, and swiftly leave the chaos
behind. (Torah knights in shining armor, I say.)
Well, now all that has come to a screeching halt.
We frum fathers are now in the trenches all day and night with the whole crew. Of course
the davening and learning are continuing at home, and we certainly are enjoying all the family time, but the glaring, irrefutable truth is staring us in the face – we wouldn’t last a
day.
We’re watching in real time as the frum mother seamlessly transitions from chef to
family therapist to entertainer-in-chief. This new reality has thrust more tasks upon them
overnight, and we stand by, helping as much as we can, as they are busy deciphering
conference call schedules for multiple children, printing and sorting the necessary
materials, all while perhaps still juggling their own jobs from home or dealing with
babies and toddlers who have no remote schooling at all.
This is not to say that the frum mother and wife has ever been taken for granted; they
most certainly have not been. But this is a whole new level – and we men now have front
row seats.
Yes, there is much heroism to speak of in all this.
Our Hatzalah volunteers and medical professionals are literally putting their lives on the
line daily and rising to the occasion in a way that demands our tremendous respect and
hakaras ha’tov. It’s so obvious, everyone gets it.
Our Shul Rabbonim, whose working hours have tripled these past few weeks, have yet
been a voice of clarity, strength and resilience to their respective kehillos. With their
creativity and brilliance, they have responded to sheilos never before asked, and with
their deep concern and love they have invented ways to give a virtual hug and provide
nechama from a distance to their mispallelim who are mourning alone. They are holding
up our kehillos – everyone gets it.
And of course, we can’t neglect to praise the husbands and fathers who, while in many
cases are worrying about financial security, have still stepped up to assist in the day to
day running of the home. Most importantly, the men of the home who have a chiyuv to be
mechanech their sons, but who are now, in the absence of Yeshivos and shuls, bearing
the full weight of ensuring their son’s learning and davening stays vibrant and geshmak.
Everyone should get it.
Our countless chessed mosdos have gone into overdrive doing what we yidden do best –
caring for each other. Of course they should be lauded. We get it.
But the most unsung of them all is still the frum Jewish mother.
Though sorting through a pile of clean laundry and making sure the size seven socks
don’t end up where the size eights are meant to be is far less glamorous than buildingfield hospitals or going on a Hatzalah call, she is the reason all of that can happen – and
she is a hero.
While no one writes headlines about women who gain strength by courageously
confiding in friends that all this is difficult, and confessing to them that honestly, there
are times she feels she might break - she is a hero, because she hasn’t broken. And even
if she feels like she has – she is a hero for staying in the game, for starting fresh the next
day. For taking little breathers so she can come back a stronger and better mother.
While undoubtedly this extraordinary world event has put an added level of tension and
strain on our homes; for many the atmosphere at home might at times feel far more
high-strung than it did a few weeks ago. But each parent traversing this new road needs
to know that if their homes are still standing, they are doing a fantastic job.
By and large, the frum home is still functioning as the happy, wholesome, nurturing place
it has been since time immemorial. Our homes are still pulsating strongly as the unrivaled
and absolute epicenter of our children’s lives. The foods at our Shabbos and Yuntif meals
are still as enjoyable and nourishing as the spirit and conversation. The decisions about
what the ruchniyus of our homes should look like are being weighed and evaluated now
more than ever. And the driving force behind it all is the frum mother.
The list goes on. This one got her assignment done, that one heard hamalach ha’goel
sung to him just as he likes it. This one’s medicine needs to be refilled and that one needs
Mommy’s attention right now to address some wardrobe crisis.
The frum mother, for the most part, has put a smile on her face through this historically
challenging time, knowing full well the truths of the axiom “If momma ain’t happy, ain’t
nobody happy.” She’s the reason our lucky sons will find out right when that ten-minute
timer beeps, and she’s the general who makes sure the living room warzone from the
day’s active play is eventually disassembled and converted back to the happy home by
the next morning. And when the youngest child wakes her before the birds are chirping,
she’ll be as refreshed as possible and ready to do the things no one will ever talk about –
because that’s what real heroes do.
-Yosef Wartelsky