Shalom, Gwyneth — welcome to the tribe! We can always use another Jewish princess, especially the blond variety. We only wish Joan Rivers could be here to greet you. Actually, maybe it was better she didn’t know you’re planning to convert, since that alone might have killed her. Watching your beaming face up there on the bimah intoning, “Baruch atah adonai” — without the hard chhh — won’t be easy for many of us, though I’m personally looking forward to Apple’s bat mitzvah, if only to find out what “Apple” turns out to be in Hebrew.
Moses, on the other hand, is a slam-dunk! True, you didn’t name your son after a relative or the recipient of the Ten Commandments, or even Charlton Heston. No, “Moses” came from a song by Chris Martin, your uncoupled one. Or, as we Jewish Princesses call our exes, “That man!” (Or “That loser,” “That monster” — accompanied by the phrase, “He stinks on hot ice.”)
Those things we can live with. What’s really given us aggravation — which is not technically a Yiddish word but should be — is hearing you tell Jimmy Kimmel that you’re “the original Jewish mother.” Because you like to make meals! Healthy meals — from new recipes, yet! As if anyone can make chopped liver from seitan (rhymes with Satan). Or like there’s something new you can do with a brisket — my family’s been eating the same one for 40 years.
Forget food, for now. And never mind faith, that’s your business. What’s given us all shpilkes is wondering how you think you have the time to be a Jewish mother.
You’re already an actor/singer/writer/producer/lifestyle guru. Where in that universe do you put the worry, the guilt — the cellulite! — that is the hallmark of our breed?
You want tips? We’ll give you tips.
1. Jewish mothers don’t blithely drop their children off at bus stops. Yes, we heard you did this with Apple and Moses — on their first day of school, yet. Gwyneth, children are to be coddled and chauffeured whenever possible until they get their driver’s licenses — at which point the Jewish mother will worry even more, if that’s possible.
2. Hand-wringing upon parting is optional, but a nice touch. So is teary advice, such as, “Be careful. Please be careful. Because, if anything ever happens to you, I’ll kill myself.” (Copyright: my grandmother, Rose Aaronson, 1966.) Which brings us to our next tip . . .
3. Instilling guilt. Remember in “City Slickers,” when Billy Crystal’s character’s mother calls him on his birthday to describe, in excruciating detail, how many hours it took to deliver him? We all do that. Especially when the child has done something awful, unforgivable . . . like not phoning home to say she’s going to be late, and you’ve already made dinner, and now the broccoli is limp.
4. Feeling guilty. Because there’s always something you should have done better, or faster, or shouldn’t have done at all. Like getting your daughter the generic Barbie instead of the real one. No wonder she just dyed her hair pink. You raised a rebel!
5. Phone early and often and train your children to do the same. Texting, shmexting — but Facetime is good. You need to hear their voices. Every. Single. Day. Preferably more. And never mind, “I’m fine, Mom.” No one is just fine. And when they do call, end the conversation like so: “You’re going already? We just started talking.”
Why? Gwyneth, don’t ask why. It’s a tradition!