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Mom’s the word: CJN staff pay tribute to the influential women in their lives on Mother’s Day
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By: Arlene Fine
Mother-in-law blanketed me with love
My love affair with my mother-in-law began the moment my college sweetheart and newly minted fiancé Philip brought me to his University Heights home to meet his parents, Tillie and Al Fine.
Within moments of stepping into Phil’s boyhood home, I inhaled the rich aroma of Tillie’s apple strudel baking in the oven, petted an arthritic old dog, admired a pair of well-worn Shabbat candlesticks, smelled the faint odor of a Cuban cigar, heard the background din of a ballgame on TV, and saw a yellow plastic bowl overflowing with my father-in-law’s homegrown tomatoes.
I was home.
My sense of family and connection was confirmed when my eye caught a large banner hanging over the fireplace with the words “Welcome, Arlene” that Tillie had penciled in with joyful, lollipop colors.
As I bent down to give my 4’11” future mother-in-law the first of a lifetime of hugs, she grabbed me to her and whispered, “You’re the daughter I’ve been waiting for.” Click. The connection was made.
Before we sat down for lunch, Tillie brought out the first of many handmade gifts she was to give me over the years n a multicolored patchwork crocheted afghan she had just finished.
I was so touched by her gesture that I made her promise she would teach me how to crochet when I moved to Cleveland.
She kept her promise, and the early years of my married life were filled with many valuable lessons I learned at her side. She taught me how to make matzah balls so light you had to hold the lid on tight to prevent them fom flying out of the pot, how to make a complete seder for 12 people and fit them comfortably around a dining-room table that only seats eight, and how to always cheer for the home team, even when they are losing.
Tillie and Al are gone now. That beloved afghan she gave me as a 21-year-old girl is now, much like me, a bit tattered and worn. However, it still warms and comforts my body, just like the memory of the wonderful, kind woman whose life added invaluable meaning to my own.
Mom was determined to be there
By Margi Herwald Zitelli
In the years before my husband and I were engaged, my mother Susan Herwald must have fantasized about and theoretically planned my wedding a million times. So, when it actually came time to plan my real-life wedding, Mom was over-the-moon with excitement and bursting at the seams with ideas. The one dark cloud looming was that, at the time of my engagement, my mother was still recovering from four years of surgeries and post-surgical complications related to her Crohn’s disease. Every once in awhile, when we weren’t arguing over flowers, debating the guest list, or giggling about how excited we were, she would say, “I just hope I’m not sick and miss the wedding.”
Although my fiancé and I exhorted her to keep a positive attitude, her fears became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
As the bridal party gathered for the rehearsal the night before our wedding, my dad came rushing in late and frantic. Mom had been feeling ill and been unable to eat much solid food for the past several days, and, finally, my dad insisted she go back to the hospital. Better that she miss the rehearsal dinner, he reasoned, and focus on being well for the wedding. Shocked, worried, angry, worried again, resentful, numb, then ultimately nervously giddy, I went through the rehearsal with my aunt “understudying” for my mom. “I’m taking careful notes,” my aunt promised, “so I can tell Susie exactly what to do when she shows up tomorrow.”
The next day, as the bridal party and I were getting dressed in our suite, the phone rang. It was my mom. “I’m here!” she exalted. “I told you I wouldn’t miss it.”
What I didn’t know until later is what she had done to be there. As she was a frequent hospital patient, the nurses on her floor all knew my mom well. In fact, they’d been following my wedding plans for the past year, getting updates every time Mom was re-admitted. When my mom told the nurses her predicament, they formulated a plan together to get her to the wedding at any cost.
The morning of the wedding, the nurses helped my mom pack, get dressed and do her hair. My dad and my aunt came to whisk her off to the wedding, while the nurses created a false schedule and a number of excuses to keep hospital administrators and doctors from knowing my mom had left. She was out of the room getting tests. She was sleeping, and no one was allowed to go in and disturb her. They kept her room reserved and concealed her absence for over 24 hours. As soon as our post-wedding brunch was over, she returned to her hospital bed as if she’d never been gone.
When my mom showed up for pictures that afternoon, she was as radiant and composed as possible. It couldn’t have been easy for her, but she danced the night away, was the perfect hostess, and most importanly, was there to walk me down the aisle and stand by my side on the day I needed her the most. I will always cherish those memories, and I’m grateful she’s is now healthy able to help us with our new house!
Grandmother taught me the meaning of class
By Janet Dery
My parents divorced when I was 3 years old. From that time forward, when my father was awarded custody of his three daughters, my grandmother Elsie Dery became, in effect, my mother.
Shopping for grade-school clothes, and years later for the most beautiful high school graduation dress; making my favorite Cream of Wheat lumpy just for me; taking my sisters and me to our numerous appointments; even embracing our big golden retriever (she wasn’t exactly a dog person) — she was amazing. Now 94, she continues to amaze me with her inner strength and force of will. And we still manage to go shopping once in a while!
My grandmother taught me how to be considerate, how to write a beautiful thank-you note, how to respect your elders.
She taught me the meaning of class.
At Chanukah, my grandmother would spend days tracking down that one toy she knew we wanted above all else. One year my heart was set on a new electronic memory game called Simon. It was the most popular toy that year; I think she finally had to call the manufacturer in China to get one! Well, maybe not, but often it really did seem as if she made miracles happen.
I moved back to Cleveland soon after my grandfather Arthur died in 2003. My grandmother and I had always had a close bond, and I wanted to be there for her in any way I could. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through, saying goodbye to the love of her life after 68 years of marriage.
My grandmother is my role model. She is my daily reminder to live life with more mindfulness, more generosity, and above all, with more grace.
My mom and her shadow: Me!
By Jennifer Daddario
Ever since I can remember, my mom has been one of my closest friends. From putting up my hair in my signature pigtails as a young girl, to helping me pick out my prom dress and driving across the state to take me to soccer tournaments in high school, we’ve had plenty of time for mother-daughter bonding.
I talk about my mom and the time we spend together so much that co-workers and friends know exactly whom I am talking about when I mention “Claud.” Short for Claudia, although “no one was ever given permission to use that nickname,” according to her.
To my mom, there is nothing more important than her family. When we were young, she handmade my brothers’ and my Halloween costumes, and they were always intricately designed works of art.
In high school, I never participated in a sporting event without my mom present, decked out in school colors, cheering my name. As a cross- country and track runner, I could always hear her in the crowd during races, yelling for me to beat my nearest competitor. I would later learn she usually apologized to the crowd around her in case she was encouraging me to beat their daughter.
Even though I said on more than one occasion that the college I would choose would be as far away from home as possible, I settled on The Ohio State University and called my mom at least twice a day when I was there. On multiple occasions, she made the two-hour drive to Columbus to spend the day with me, usually bringing tons of food, gifts and hugs not only for me, but for my roommates, too.
As a 23-year-old young professional living in Cleveland, I know more than ever that my mom loves me, because so far, she hasn’t kicked me out of my parent’s house. Now that I’m back home, my mom and I spend more time together having dinner, shopping, or just hanging out at home gossiping. When we are together, people sometimes are surprised to find out we are mother/ daughter and not sisters!
Claud taught me how to embrace my Italian-Jewish heritage in the kitchen, showing me how to make the perfect pot of red sauce (dad’s side) along with a fabulous brisket (her side). She taught me to respect my elders, to be passionate about life and what I believe in, and to be a “simple woman.” Recently, she has shown me that any hard time can be mended with laughter, fun and a big hug. My mom has shown me what it is I aspire to be “when I grow up.”
CJN reader shares reflections about her mom
JUDY FRIEDMAN
Special to the CJN
It’s been 10 years since I lost my beloved mother Janet Feigenbaum. She passed away at age 67 after a valiant three-year battle with cancer.
The exemplary way in which my mom faced her last illness was a natural continuation of how she conducted herself throughout her life.
At her funeral, her brother talked about her ability from a very young age “to make lemonade out of lemons.” My mom was the second youngest of five children who grew up during the Depression. It was a time of struggle for many families, and hers was no exception.
When my mom was 6, she and two of her older siblings lived for a time at the Bellefaire Children’s Home until their parents were financially able to bring them back home. The year was 1936 and, at that time, approximately 200 children were residing at Bellefaire owing to similar family situations. Mom shared with me her vivid memories of this difficult time and the loss she felt being apart from her parents.
Nearly five years later, she returned to the family and was pressed into service, caring for her youngest sibling, six years her junior. She had no choice but to grow up and accept the responsibility that was entrusted to her.
Her early challenges were the building blocks of the remarkable character she possessed. For her, the cup was always half full because she had already lived through the cup being half empty.
She believed family is number one, you treat others as you wish to be treated, patience is a virtue, and anything worth achieving requires perseverance. She stressed the importance of honesty and humility, the ability to listen, to speak out against injustice, and to provide praise when it is earned.
My mom never wavered in demonstrating these fine attributes. She always put herself last because we children were her treasures.
Often, Mom would ask me to meet her at Beachwood Place to shop and have lunch together because I loved shopping with her and offering my opinions of what she was trying on. More often than not, we would leave the mall with bags that weren’t for her. They were always for my sister or me or one of the grandchildren.
Even to those she knew to be unscrupulous, Mom always extended the benefit of the doubt. I saw this time and again as I witnessed her deal with people in her professional life as a realtor. My mom and dad, as real-estate agents and partners, were deeply respected for their honesty and integrity.
Today I look with great pride into the faces of my children, who are now young adults, and I see in them my mom’s reflection. I know they have carried into their lives a strong foundation built upon a paradigm of pure and unconditional love. The only sorrow I have is that Mom is not here to witness all that she hath sown.
Judy Friedman of Westlake is co-president of Beth Israel-The West Temple board of trustees.
There with a smile and a steady heand
By douglas j. guth
I have a distinct memory of my mother Sandy chasing me around the kitchen of our South Euclid home with a spatula. I was maybe 5 or 6, and had probably done something to deserve a whuppin’.
There was no need to call Children’s Services, however. My mom never hit me with that kitchen utensil. In fact, I don’t remember her ever laying a rough hand upon me. Heaven knows I was a miserable little brat at times; my father meted out any spankings.
The tapestry of my mom’s affection is so large it’s hard to parse the individual stitches that make up the whole. But I know my mom would do anything for me … and has. A lifetime of hot meals, laundered clothes, and putting up with my nonsense makes me feel bad for the times I caused her grief.
She’s been the solid foundation in my life,a always there with a smile and a steady hand.
We recently talked about the day I went to the emergency room after banging my head on the edge of our living room couch (Don’t ask!). There was blood all over the carpet, and my sister Lori screamed that I was going to die.
Mom never panicked; she calmly called my pediatrician and asked him what to do. She drove me to the hospital where she and my freaked-out sister took turns putting an ice pack on my head as we waited for a doctor. She stayed in the examining room as the doc clipped the hair around the wound and stitched me up.
“Maybe it knocked some sense into you,” she joked when I called her to ask what she remembers of the incident. Getting smacked on the head didn’t make me any smarter, but it did show me the endless bounty of my mom’s love.
Here’s to you, Ma!
My love affair with my mother-in-law began the moment my college sweetheart and newly minted fiancé Philip brought me to his University Heights home to meet his parents, Tillie and Al Fine.
Within moments of stepping into Phil’s boyhood home, I inhaled the rich aroma of Tillie’s apple strudel baking in the oven, petted an arthritic old dog, admired a pair of well-worn Shabbat candlesticks, smelled the faint odor of a Cuban cigar, heard the background din of a ballgame on TV, and saw a yellow plastic bowl overflowing with my father-in-law’s homegrown tomatoes.
I was home.
My sense of family and connection was confirmed when my eye caught a large banner hanging over the fireplace with the words “Welcome, Arlene” that Tillie had penciled in with joyful, lollipop colors.
As I bent down to give my 4’11” future mother-in-law the first of a lifetime of hugs, she grabbed me to her and whispered, “You’re the daughter I’ve been waiting for.” Click. The connection was made.
Before we sat down for lunch, Tillie brought out the first of many handmade gifts she was to give me over the years n a multicolored patchwork crocheted afghan she had just finished.
I was so touched by her gesture that I made her promise she would teach me how to crochet when I moved to Cleveland.
She kept her promise, and the early years of my married life were filled with many valuable lessons I learned at her side. She taught me how to make matzah balls so light you had to hold the lid on tight to prevent them fom flying out of the pot, how to make a complete seder for 12 people and fit them comfortably around a dining-room table that only seats eight, and how to always cheer for the home team, even when they are losing.
Tillie and Al are gone now. That beloved afghan she gave me as a 21-year-old girl is now, much like me, a bit tattered and worn. However, it still warms and comforts my body, just like the memory of the wonderful, kind woman whose life added invaluable meaning to my own.
Mom was determined to be there
By Margi Herwald Zitelli
In the years before my husband and I were engaged, my mother Susan Herwald must have fantasized about and theoretically planned my wedding a million times. So, when it actually came time to plan my real-life wedding, Mom was over-the-moon with excitement and bursting at the seams with ideas. The one dark cloud looming was that, at the time of my engagement, my mother was still recovering from four years of surgeries and post-surgical complications related to her Crohn’s disease. Every once in awhile, when we weren’t arguing over flowers, debating the guest list, or giggling about how excited we were, she would say, “I just hope I’m not sick and miss the wedding.”
Although my fiancé and I exhorted her to keep a positive attitude, her fears became a self-fulfilling prophecy.
As the bridal party gathered for the rehearsal the night before our wedding, my dad came rushing in late and frantic. Mom had been feeling ill and been unable to eat much solid food for the past several days, and, finally, my dad insisted she go back to the hospital. Better that she miss the rehearsal dinner, he reasoned, and focus on being well for the wedding. Shocked, worried, angry, worried again, resentful, numb, then ultimately nervously giddy, I went through the rehearsal with my aunt “understudying” for my mom. “I’m taking careful notes,” my aunt promised, “so I can tell Susie exactly what to do when she shows up tomorrow.”
The next day, as the bridal party and I were getting dressed in our suite, the phone rang. It was my mom. “I’m here!” she exalted. “I told you I wouldn’t miss it.”
What I didn’t know until later is what she had done to be there. As she was a frequent hospital patient, the nurses on her floor all knew my mom well. In fact, they’d been following my wedding plans for the past year, getting updates every time Mom was re-admitted. When my mom told the nurses her predicament, they formulated a plan together to get her to the wedding at any cost.
The morning of the wedding, the nurses helped my mom pack, get dressed and do her hair. My dad and my aunt came to whisk her off to the wedding, while the nurses created a false schedule and a number of excuses to keep hospital administrators and doctors from knowing my mom had left. She was out of the room getting tests. She was sleeping, and no one was allowed to go in and disturb her. They kept her room reserved and concealed her absence for over 24 hours. As soon as our post-wedding brunch was over, she returned to her hospital bed as if she’d never been gone.
When my mom showed up for pictures that afternoon, she was as radiant and composed as possible. It couldn’t have been easy for her, but she danced the night away, was the perfect hostess, and most importanly, was there to walk me down the aisle and stand by my side on the day I needed her the most. I will always cherish those memories, and I’m grateful she’s is now healthy able to help us with our new house!
Grandmother taught me the meaning of class
By Janet Dery
My parents divorced when I was 3 years old. From that time forward, when my father was awarded custody of his three daughters, my grandmother Elsie Dery became, in effect, my mother.
Shopping for grade-school clothes, and years later for the most beautiful high school graduation dress; making my favorite Cream of Wheat lumpy just for me; taking my sisters and me to our numerous appointments; even embracing our big golden retriever (she wasn’t exactly a dog person) — she was amazing. Now 94, she continues to amaze me with her inner strength and force of will. And we still manage to go shopping once in a while!
My grandmother taught me how to be considerate, how to write a beautiful thank-you note, how to respect your elders.
She taught me the meaning of class.
At Chanukah, my grandmother would spend days tracking down that one toy she knew we wanted above all else. One year my heart was set on a new electronic memory game called Simon. It was the most popular toy that year; I think she finally had to call the manufacturer in China to get one! Well, maybe not, but often it really did seem as if she made miracles happen.
I moved back to Cleveland soon after my grandfather Arthur died in 2003. My grandmother and I had always had a close bond, and I wanted to be there for her in any way I could. I couldn’t imagine what she was going through, saying goodbye to the love of her life after 68 years of marriage.
My grandmother is my role model. She is my daily reminder to live life with more mindfulness, more generosity, and above all, with more grace.
My mom and her shadow: Me!
By Jennifer Daddario
Ever since I can remember, my mom has been one of my closest friends. From putting up my hair in my signature pigtails as a young girl, to helping me pick out my prom dress and driving across the state to take me to soccer tournaments in high school, we’ve had plenty of time for mother-daughter bonding.
I talk about my mom and the time we spend together so much that co-workers and friends know exactly whom I am talking about when I mention “Claud.” Short for Claudia, although “no one was ever given permission to use that nickname,” according to her.
To my mom, there is nothing more important than her family. When we were young, she handmade my brothers’ and my Halloween costumes, and they were always intricately designed works of art.
In high school, I never participated in a sporting event without my mom present, decked out in school colors, cheering my name. As a cross- country and track runner, I could always hear her in the crowd during races, yelling for me to beat my nearest competitor. I would later learn she usually apologized to the crowd around her in case she was encouraging me to beat their daughter.
Even though I said on more than one occasion that the college I would choose would be as far away from home as possible, I settled on The Ohio State University and called my mom at least twice a day when I was there. On multiple occasions, she made the two-hour drive to Columbus to spend the day with me, usually bringing tons of food, gifts and hugs not only for me, but for my roommates, too.
As a 23-year-old young professional living in Cleveland, I know more than ever that my mom loves me, because so far, she hasn’t kicked me out of my parent’s house. Now that I’m back home, my mom and I spend more time together having dinner, shopping, or just hanging out at home gossiping. When we are together, people sometimes are surprised to find out we are mother/ daughter and not sisters!
Claud taught me how to embrace my Italian-Jewish heritage in the kitchen, showing me how to make the perfect pot of red sauce (dad’s side) along with a fabulous brisket (her side). She taught me to respect my elders, to be passionate about life and what I believe in, and to be a “simple woman.” Recently, she has shown me that any hard time can be mended with laughter, fun and a big hug. My mom has shown me what it is I aspire to be “when I grow up.”
CJN reader shares reflections about her mom
JUDY FRIEDMAN
Special to the CJN
It’s been 10 years since I lost my beloved mother Janet Feigenbaum. She passed away at age 67 after a valiant three-year battle with cancer.
The exemplary way in which my mom faced her last illness was a natural continuation of how she conducted herself throughout her life.
At her funeral, her brother talked about her ability from a very young age “to make lemonade out of lemons.” My mom was the second youngest of five children who grew up during the Depression. It was a time of struggle for many families, and hers was no exception.
When my mom was 6, she and two of her older siblings lived for a time at the Bellefaire Children’s Home until their parents were financially able to bring them back home. The year was 1936 and, at that time, approximately 200 children were residing at Bellefaire owing to similar family situations. Mom shared with me her vivid memories of this difficult time and the loss she felt being apart from her parents.
Nearly five years later, she returned to the family and was pressed into service, caring for her youngest sibling, six years her junior. She had no choice but to grow up and accept the responsibility that was entrusted to her.
Her early challenges were the building blocks of the remarkable character she possessed. For her, the cup was always half full because she had already lived through the cup being half empty.
She believed family is number one, you treat others as you wish to be treated, patience is a virtue, and anything worth achieving requires perseverance. She stressed the importance of honesty and humility, the ability to listen, to speak out against injustice, and to provide praise when it is earned.
My mom never wavered in demonstrating these fine attributes. She always put herself last because we children were her treasures.
Often, Mom would ask me to meet her at Beachwood Place to shop and have lunch together because I loved shopping with her and offering my opinions of what she was trying on. More often than not, we would leave the mall with bags that weren’t for her. They were always for my sister or me or one of the grandchildren.
Even to those she knew to be unscrupulous, Mom always extended the benefit of the doubt. I saw this time and again as I witnessed her deal with people in her professional life as a realtor. My mom and dad, as real-estate agents and partners, were deeply respected for their honesty and integrity.
Today I look with great pride into the faces of my children, who are now young adults, and I see in them my mom’s reflection. I know they have carried into their lives a strong foundation built upon a paradigm of pure and unconditional love. The only sorrow I have is that Mom is not here to witness all that she hath sown.
Judy Friedman of Westlake is co-president of Beth Israel-The West Temple board of trustees.
There with a smile and a steady heand
By douglas j. guth
I have a distinct memory of my mother Sandy chasing me around the kitchen of our South Euclid home with a spatula. I was maybe 5 or 6, and had probably done something to deserve a whuppin’.
There was no need to call Children’s Services, however. My mom never hit me with that kitchen utensil. In fact, I don’t remember her ever laying a rough hand upon me. Heaven knows I was a miserable little brat at times; my father meted out any spankings.
The tapestry of my mom’s affection is so large it’s hard to parse the individual stitches that make up the whole. But I know my mom would do anything for me … and has. A lifetime of hot meals, laundered clothes, and putting up with my nonsense makes me feel bad for the times I caused her grief.
She’s been the solid foundation in my life,a always there with a smile and a steady hand.
We recently talked about the day I went to the emergency room after banging my head on the edge of our living room couch (Don’t ask!). There was blood all over the carpet, and my sister Lori screamed that I was going to die.
Mom never panicked; she calmly called my pediatrician and asked him what to do. She drove me to the hospital where she and my freaked-out sister took turns putting an ice pack on my head as we waited for a doctor. She stayed in the examining room as the doc clipped the hair around the wound and stitched me up.
“Maybe it knocked some sense into you,” she joked when I called her to ask what she remembers of the incident. Getting smacked on the head didn’t make me any smarter, but it did show me the endless bounty of my mom’s love.
Here’s to you, Ma!
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