I was born.
And my mother began to die of concern.
It all started in July, 1969.
I was born.
My weight was so low I was instantly put in an incubator.
Because the hospital staff took a long time bringing me to my mother,
she began to worry.
A few hours later, I was pulled out of the incubator and presented to my mother. But do you think the worrying stopped? My Yiddishe Mame never stopped worrying.
The years passed. There I was – working, making money, living by myself, and in a serious relationship. But my Yiddishe Mame continued treating me like a baby.
I thought it absurd. On the other hand, I started to realize there was a humorous richness in my mother’s madness – a richness from the psychological, social, and human points of view.
The situations and conversations between my Yiddishe Mame and myself were so filled with authenticity and absurdity that I began to jot them down.
And her over-protection was not only of me but also of my older brother
and my younger sister.
No matter where I was, whenever I detected an astonishing comment, I grabbed a napkin, a paycheck, a piece of newspaper – any paper around – and I wrote down her words. Some stories, I recorded on tape.
Time passed and the tape got damaged. But the hundreds of real stories remained on my papers, my memories, and on my heart. Stories so unbelievable that I thought,
“My Yiddishe Mame can’t be real. She can only be a character.”
YM is based on my Yiddishe Mame. But I truly believe that YM is also Your Mother.
Every mother. Because ultimately, all mothers are the same.