The Fluff of Legends

“I'm gonna make it to heaven

Light up the sky like a flame.

I'm gonna live forever

Baby remember my name.”

–Fame

Most Rebbitzens quote pesukim. I use song lyrics as sources because number one I have never been good at memorizing anything in Hebrew and secondly, I am not a real Rebbitzen. My husband is a real Rabbi though, so I get the feminine version of that title, by association (anyone with feminist issues need not comment on this).

In my experience, I have found that many people, deep down, want to be famous. They want to be legends in their own time, well-known for being extraordinary and unique, which really we all are but most of us do not get paid for it. Still many people seek a form of personal glory and have an idealized version of who they want to be.

I thought, when I first became religious that I would live as simply and as piously as the Chofetz Chaim. I imagined myself content with nothing more than mitzvot and prayer. And I was happy to be that way, providing it made me a spiritual legend in this world and the next.

I soon discovered that cooking and doing laundry, while important, were not bringing me the fame I had always been after. There was a noticeable lack of roaring applause. My standing ovations took place as I lit the Shabbos candles and for some reason I felt a need to shine more than they did.

Maybe this desire for recognition came from my childhood. My parents came from a generation that never heard of positive feedback or self-esteem. They had no idea that sincere compliments could be crucial to fostering a child's identity. My parents assumed that if their kids didn't need to be hit or hollered at then they were doing okay. Not praiseworthy necessarily but not criminals either.

I remember when I moved to Israel, became religious and married a good Jewish boy, my mother was happy. “I don't care that you cover your hair with a shmatte and live in poverty” she told me. “I'm just grateful you didn't end up in the gutter somewhere with your lunatic friends.”

“Gee thanks Mom,” I said. “Glad you had so much faith in me.”

“Well you know what I mean,” she said.

Anyway I was talking to my friends a couple of weeks ago about being a grandmother. Now where we all grew up in Secular City U.S.A. people doted on their grandchildren. Lavish gifts, trips to Disneyland and lots of photos in the wallet were par for the course. People lived for their grandchildren and my own mother was no different. As a mother she had been a little remiss in the discipline department (may her memory be blessed). She had only one warning when it came to me and my older brother: “Do whatever you want but don't you dare let your father find out!”  And because we loved our mother we did what she told us; whatever we wanted while keeping Dad in the dark. It was difficult sometimes but we rose to the challenge. My father was completely clueless but at least he was calm.

As a grandmother my mother was in her element. Not expected to guide or rebuke she was free to indulge in spoiling my kids, teaching them poker, baking together and reading them fairy tales (despite my attempts to encourage more Torah based literature). And my kids adored her. I assumed I would be like my Mom, only better.

Now by the time I had my first grandchild, my youngest kid was barely six years old. Truthfully I was not longing to hold a new baby in my arms. I was enjoying sleeping through the nights and eating an entire meal without someone on my lap. I was starting to write again and take some courses. So when I was asked to babysit by my daughter-in-law I was horrified to hear myself squirming out of it.

“What is wrong with me!” I thought. “I'm supposed to love spending time with my new grandchild!” And I did. I was thrilled to hold her for a few minutes. And as I was blessed with more and more grandchildren my desire to babysit stayed at the same lukewarm level of enthusiasm. I had to face the reality that being a grandmother was not all it was cracked up to be for me personally. This rattled my image of being the kind of Bubby that would go down in history as the all-giving, benevolent and endlessly patient one who provides for everyone's needs and binds up their sorrows…like well,…well, kind of like… You Know Who.

I wanted to be a mini-version of G-d. I had a fantasy of who I would be, an image I wanted to live up to. But it's just not me. And it will have to do.

So although I would like to light up the sky like a flame, I'll have to settle for being a little spark in the kitchen. Because my grand-kids all know that I make the best popcorn around.