{"id":12817,"date":"2009-08-05T21:21:11","date_gmt":"2009-08-05T21:21:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/production.ou.org\/life\/other\/on_mothers\/"},"modified":"2015-11-01T07:42:31","modified_gmt":"2015-11-01T12:42:31","slug":"on_mothers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.ou.org\/life\/relationships\/marriage\/on_mothers\/","title":{"rendered":"On Mothers"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"image\"<\/div>\n

My husband doesn\u2019t like my mother so much. This was not evidenced by an outright declaration or even a private conversation, but by the fact that he will very obviously avoid their street while walking to and from synagogue on Shabbat. My parents live a few blocks away, and he will walk an extra ten minutes to avoid their house, in fear of her lurking by the front window. And he always returns her lavish and thoughtful birthday gifts, inventing the most awkward and inadequate of excuses. \u201cYou\u2019re supposed to dislike your mother-in-law,\u201d he will say in self-defense. But I believe one must have a reason.<\/p>\n

This is a painful juxtaposition, a conflict of loyalties, a question of dedication. My husband maintains that I must express complete homage to him above anyone else, but sometimes I can\u2019t bear to take sides, to backstab my mother mercilessly for one of his stubborn tantrums. And I can\u2019t worship the ground on which she walks and then expect to fade into his arms at night. They are on a battleground, a quiet, often unobtrusive one, but I sometimes feel trampled.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe represents all of your bad qualities, everything about you I dislike,\u201d he finally confesses one night, after a long, prying conversation. Our eyes don\u2019t meet. They never do when he is opening his heart to me, when he is most vulnerable, afraid perhaps that I will steal an extra glance into his depths and extract even more. I don\u2019t need to ask further. I know he means my stubbornness, determination, my desire to always be right. My mother is all of that, and I inherited it.<\/p>\n

I make a mental list of all of the repulsive characteristics of his parents. It is so long, that my imaginary pen runs out of ink. But I still manage to love him and them. I can also see the good qualities they have passed on to him. And when they do things that irk me, I plaster on a smile in their presence, and in the privacy of my bedroom at night, I grumble into my husband\u2019s ear the lengthy accusations against them.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey spoke Yiddish at my table, as guests in my house, when they know full well I don\u2019t understand. I felt so excluded.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re 100% right!\u201d he will say, no matter which crime I list. \u201cThat\u2019s the way they are, and I\u2019m sorry. I\u2019ll let them have it tomorrow.\u201d I am always his priority. He manages to put me on the pedestal above all else, regardless of any previous history. And I can\u2019t seem to do it for him. Sometimes I still think my mom is always right.<\/p>\n

There is a phrase in the book of Genesis that says, \u201cTherefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh.\u201d I believe my husband follows this with the utmost sincerity, and I suppose I\u2019m lucky he does, that he\u2019s not a \u201cMamma\u2019s Boy\u201d because that would probably be more of a challenge to conquer. But maybe I\u2019m a \u201cMamma\u2019s Girl,\u201d and I\u2019m unready or unwilling to just leave my mother behind. Major decisions in my life are made with the thought, would Mom be proud<\/i>? at the forefront of my mind.<\/p>\n

Recently my mom asked me to please clean out my room back home, brimming with old photo albums, birthday cards, outdated clothing, and boxes stacked in the back of the closet, neatly labeled for various eras of my life. \u201cBut where will I put all of my stuff? I like it as it is. It\u2019s like a museum of me.\u201d There are pictures, concert relics, and my once beloved and exotic postcard-collection wallpapering the chipping paint. I wouldn\u2019t know where to put these things.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou can make an extra bedroom in your house into an archive,\u201d she offers, sarcastically. \u201cI\u2019m tired of all of the junk lying around, gathering dust.\u201d But it\u2019s not junk. It\u2019s me, my childhood, my teenage years\u2026 every A+ on a paper, every late night phone conversation, every heartfelt breakup. Each fiber of the dusty beige carpet once knew my feet intimately. And the old, pink furry and bejeweled telephone on the night-table, a vintage-esque cord-phone, still has the numbers of friends on speed-dial, friends who I have not heard from or about in 15 years.<\/p>\n

I begrudgingly agree to pack my things next time I am there. I will make a box and label it \u201cpre-marriage\u201d, the all-encompassing term to include everything I once was, and throw it in the back of my attic space in my own house. I will erase my history as somebody\u2019s daughter, wipe out my memory and the things I fancied in my youth. For I too must leave my father and mother, to better cling to my husband. I am no longer a daughter, but foremost, a wife, and a mother. And this, of course, would make my mom proud.<\/p>\n

\n

Shara Jacobs is a freelance writer.<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My husband doesn\u2019t like my mother so much. This was not evidenced by an outright declaration or even a private conversation, but by the fact that he will very obviously avoid their street while walking to and from synagogue on Shabbat. My parents live a few blocks away, and he will walk an extra ten<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":303,"featured_media":46449,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[19],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-12817","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-marriage"],"yoast_head":"\nOn Mothers - OU Life<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"I too must leave my parents to better cling to my husband. I am no longer a daughter, but foremost, a wife, & mother. 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