Rabbi Eisenmann
Rayzle Rubin was born in the Bronx in 1927; she was the middle daughter in a family of three daughters.
When the depression of 1929 caused a downturn in her family’s fortunes, Rayzle and her family suffered greatly.
Added to Rayzle’s problems were a not too small dose of “middle-child-syndrome” which caused Rayzle to be cantankerous and often argumentative; she had difficulty maintaining relationships.
She had dreams of becoming a nurse or perhaps a doctor. Her parents, particularly her mother, thought otherwise.
“How can you get married and raise a family if you are in the hospital? Be a teacher or a switchboard operator; anything but a nurse!” Her mother would say.
The stress and pressure her mother placed on her found their mark and Rayzle’s dreams of becoming a nurse were never fulfilled.
Rayzle said “yes” to the first boy who was interested in marrying her; partially because her mother’s insistence (“Who knows if another boy will come around?”) and partially to get out of the house; she was 20 years old.
Rayzle and her husband Bernard had two children; a boy Steven, who eventually went to Eretz Yisroel and never returned and a younger daughter named Bernice who was born in 1958.
Rayzle was tough on Bernice; there is no other way to say it.
It had to be Rayzle’s way or no way.
When mother and daughter would lock horns, Rayzle would invariably end the discussion by decreeing: “I am not your friend, I am your mother and therefore you will listen to me”.
Bernice must have heard her mother’s mantra: “I am not your friend, I am your mother”, at least ten thousand times.
She heard it when she awoke and she heard it during the day; she heard it before she went to bed and sometimes she even heard it in her dreams!
Fast forward to 2016; to a suburban nursing home in New Jersey where Mrs. Rayzle Berman who is now almost 90 years old lives alone.
On Sunday her daughter Bernice (now Brocha) drives down with her kids to visit and every Wednesday after work Brocha stops by the “home” to pay a solo visit.
There is a marked difference between the two visits.
On Sunday, Brocha sits on the side and allows her children to interact with their grandmother.
She is the facilitator in permitting her mother to bond with and have nachas from her grandchildren.
The visit on Sunday is carefree and no one looks at their watch.
The Wednesday afternoon visit is very different. It is short and to the point.
Brocha asks her mother if she needs anything; she asks her mother the usual questions, “How are they treating you? Do you like the food? How do you feel?”
And then she looks at her watch and announces after 15 minutes, “Sorry Mom, I have to go now; so much to do. Be well; bye”.
And with that Brocha waves to her mother and darts out of the room.
One day Rayzle Berman did what she never had done before with her daughter; she asked Brocha to sit down as she wanted to speak to her heart to heart.
“Bernice, (she never could get used to calling her daughter Brocha) how come when you come on Wednesday you are always in a rush to leave? Why can’t you stay so we can have a nice and friendly chat together?”
Bernice hesitated to respond as she looked at her mother who was so frail and vulnerable. Rayzle Berman was just a shell of her former formidable self.
Bernice wanted so much to connect with her mother, to be “her friend”….However, the words, “I am not your friend, I am your mother” continued to echo in her tormented brain.
The words reverberated incessantly within her and she was paralyzed and unable to speak.
Rayzle Berman looked hopefully towards her daughter for friendship as Bernice agonized over her feelings about the mother who had always insisted she was only a “mother” and never a friend and she struggled to decide how to answer her mother.
She was just about to say something….however, at that moment a nurse entered the room and the conversation stopped.
Bernice stood up and began to leave; as she reached the door she turned to look once more at her mother while mourning hopes and dreams which would never be fulfilled.
