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May 2001 Issue

Gluckel of Hameln--A Mother for the Ages

By Ted Roberts

Mother's Day, even though not specifically mentioned in the Talmud, should be a Jewish Holiday, considering the fame of the Jewish mama in song and story. Raising kids today is no picnic and mamas need all the help they can get. They would certainly benefit from a counseling session with a 17th century Jewish memorist--a prodigious mother named Gluckel of Hameln (with that name you gotta be good).

Does the city sound familiar? It should. It's Hameln of Pied Piper fame. This worthy woman lived many centuries ago in Germany; the product of a well-to-do family who was given in marriage at the age of 14 to a prominent merchant. The adolescent wife blossomed into Motherhood and produced twelve children. But even more important than enriching her local obstetrician--she somehow found time to write her memoirs. They reflect a talented and bountiful mother.

Sadly, Gluckel died in 1724, which prevented her from hosting the greatest TV talk show ever about parents and kids! But thoughtfully, and presciently, she left us a legacy in the form of her memoirs--full of advice to her children. And us.

Her reflections naturally mirror the values of her times. Gluckel was a stay-at-homer whose primary profession was childrearing.

Humility--a 17th Century virtue that has yet to make a comeback--colors every word she writes. She calls her late husband "our faithful shepherd," which strongly implies that she and the kids are mere bleating sheep. No self-esteem, whatsoever!

But this humble, aproned lady who probably smelled of onions and sour milk, evidently relished her maternal responsibilities. Her memoirs--addressed to her kids--exhort them to be able parents: "We should, I say, put ourselves to great pains for our children, for on this the world is built."

Long ago--three centuries ago--Gluckel understood a childrearing mystery that we haven't yet figured out. The question: Why don't our kids write more often, or call, say once a week? Why don't they love us more?

For eighteen years we fill their little minds with wisdom, wipe their little runny noses, and load up their little arms with presents. And what do we get in return? Bubkes. Every three months, Citibank, no kin whatsoever, writes a cheery, chatty note attached to a new credit card. That beats your Eli's correspondence record.

And every night during supper, the phone is ringing off the hook; complete strangers--not your kids--on the line: "Hi, Mrs. Roberts, I just wanted to tell you of our new rug cleaning service…And our people will be in your neighborhood Tuesday, Mrs. Roberts…$75 for the rug…do the cat free. . ."

Even if you have no rug worth cleaning because your kids ruined it ages ago, it's nice to know somebody cares about your rug and you. Let's face it, no matter how many presents you give them, your kids will never reciprocate with the constant, intense love you demand.

The great puzzle is WHY? Particularly since you're a princess of parents: Generous, entertaining, caring. An all around fascination to the rest of the human race. (Citibank is not your only correspondent. There's Amoco, Chemical Bank, and the restaurant that sends you a coupon redeemable for a free iced tea.) Well, this is the puzzle that Gluckel of Hameln examined and explained.

In her memoirs, she tells us of a mother eagle who must ferry her brood over a wide sea to a new nest. Four fledglings depend on her--four perilous trips. She fights a head wind, her wings grow weak, and there's far to go. "Do you love me?" the mother asks her first offspring. "And will you promise to repay me for this?"

"Yes, I swear," pipes the child.

The mother knows a lie when she hears one. She drops her burden into the sea.

Same story with eaglet two and three. But number four gives the universally honest answer for offspring of every breed. "Mother," he says, "I can only promise that when I have my own children, I shall do as much for them as you have done for me."

The weary mother knew the truth when she heard it. So she fought the wind and her fatigue and brought her child and the father of her grandchildren safely to the shore.

There's a lot of wisdom in that parable. Love has a gravity like planet earth. Generation-wise, it flows down easier than up.

But Mothers should console themselves. Kids, who NEVER even send postcards, will likewise receive no postcards from THEIR loving, but busy kids.

And one day, over a nice cup of tea at the kitchen table, they'll ask for advice on this problem: "Mom, I'm telling you they never call or write. I send presents, but nothing comes back! What is it with kids?" And you will sip your tea, look thoughtful, offer some commonplace ideas that won't work, and then tell Gluckel's moral about the eagle.

Ted is a syndicated Jewish Humorist whose work appears frequently in the Jewish Press, as well as the Wall St Journal, Readers Digest, and Disney mag. He lives serenely in Huntsville, AL. with his tolerant wife who loves his stories (says Ted).

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