Arab and Jewish Women in Kentucky: Stories of Accommodation and Audacity

3. Maternal Echoes

3 Maternal Echoes Expectations are high for mothers. Women are supposed to mother, and they are supposed to do it well. That’s a lot of pressure. Some almost mythic renderings assume that women come into their own in the company of children and that good mothers relinquish any sense of self with the advent of offspring. As unrealistic (or outdated) as these expectations may sound, idealized notions of mothers are remarkably resistant to change. Perceptions of ethnic mothers, particularly from the past, suppose that these child protectors cater to their children’s every need without question.1 They are hypermothers who lavish excessive attention on their children and are always ready with an arsenal of chicken noodle soup and other nurturing tonics should the need arise. These hovering mothers , with hawk-like vision, are able to discern whether the people around their children will diminish or enrich their offspring’s present and future lives. These maternal stereotypes, however, do not always reflect reality, especially when mothers work outside of the home. Gishie Bloomfield and Elsie Nasief were born and raised in Kentucky’s largest cities—Lexington and Louisville, respectively—and went about their lives like many Jews and Arabs in their communities, without drama or dramatic expectations. Their family businesses were not elaborate creations that later generations glamorized but rather modest enterprises intended to establish the families financially. Despite their differences, Elsie and Gishie resemble Sarah and Frances Myers and Teresa Isaac, in that they did not adhere to popular conceptions about mothering. Gishie Bloomfield married and raised three daughters. Yet mother- 76 arab and jewish women in kentucky hood did not interfere with her outside interests, such as the store she ran with her husband, her investments, her rental property, and her community activities. According to her daughter, Simone Salomon, Gishie simply went about her life with little thought that she might not be meeting maternal benchmarks, even though standards are high for Jewish mothers. Elsie Nasief, meanwhile, neither married nor had children in an era (the 1940s and 1950s) when most Lebanese girls did so. Yet maternity has enveloped her. Although Elsie is in her eighties and her mother has been dead for maybe fifty years, her Lebanese mother’s presence is obvious when Elsie recounts her own story. Elsie’s multiple visits to Lebanon and her continued association with the Orthodox church in Louisville venerate her mother. Today, Elsie, as the oldest member of her family, is a link to the past for her numerous nieces and nephews and their offspring, to whom being Lebanese may be nothing more than a food memory. Despite having no children of her own, Elsie has assumed a maternal role. In this chapter, the Arab mothering nonmother is placed alongside the Jewish nonmothering mother. Their stories are the inverse of each other. The Jewish woman married and had children but, as a feminist, was preoccupied with other concerns. The Arab woman never married or had children but gladly assumed a maternal role, learning the art from her own mother. Their stories are not just singular; they transcend generations. Thus, their maternal tales are conveyed relationally between mothers and daughters. Daughters sometimes perceive their relationships with their mothers to be almost spiritual, transcending even death. I recall that when a friend’s grandmother died, her Italian mother commented that the grandmother had left her own body and entered the mother’s.2 This image comes to mind when I think of Gishie Bloomfield and Elsie Nasief and the mothers and daughters surrounding them. Gishie Bloomfield The New Way Shoe Shop Lexington, Kentucky “You know how you always wish for what you didn’t have?” asked Simone Salomon, laughing. “I think our friends thought it was pretty neat maternal echoes 77 because we were on our own, and we didn’t have a lot of rules or anything, but at least I did want a more typical mom.” Simone tells her mother’s story with honesty, acceptance, love, perspective, and even humor. Her mother didn’t focus on her children and wasn’t the ideal mother that Simone once desired, but she can laugh about it now and admire her mother’s ways. “Even though, when I was little, she wasn’t like the other Jewish moms . . . who were so nurturing, now I really admire her.” Perhaps it has taken the passage of time or even her mother’s death...