MimList: 5 Reasons Every Mom Must Own A Black Dress

Mimi Hecht

Mimi Hecht is a stark contrast to the by-the-books, food pureeing, self-sacrificing supermom that many women feel pressured to live up to. Her articles like “The 10 Untruths about Motherhood” and “My Mama Manual” offer women an honest and humorous take on both the joys and hardships in trying to stay sane, stylish and spiritual in Motherland. Through her candor in addressing things like infertility, the high price of groceries or her mind-battle over circumcising her son, Mimi strives to inspire confidence in women and teach new moms to march to the beat of their own drum. To share her thoughts and celebrate all kinds of mothers, she started LADYMAMA a growing online community of modern-day Jewish women. Follow LadyMama on Facebook at facebook.com/JewishWomen

5 Reasons Every Mom Must Own A Black Dress

[ Stay tuned for Fashion-Isha's guest blog on some amazing black dress finds! ] 

1. Hide The Mess (it’s all over you!)
Black is the ultimate comeback to all the things your kids throw, spill and paint all over you. It’s a safety zone in the world of stained mom-wear. With a black dress, you can actually get dressed before the babysitter arrives without avoiding your kids like they’re a plague. If you get something on you, just wipe it down with some water and it blends right in. No one will ever see the spitup, marker and food that is truly all over you.

2. Mask The Bulge (come on, we all have one)
Whether you lost all your baby weight or not, chances are you’re still showing a little bulge where it counts. What better to hide it with than a slimming back dress? Oh and just a side note, when someone compliments you for looking so svelte, don’t say “Oh, no, it’s just the dress.” You were smart enough to wear it, so just take the compliment.

3. Leave The House (you can do it)
The complaints of “I have nothing to wear” start during pregnancy and may not end for a while - unless you have tons of time (and money!) to be shopping. If you just make sure to have that perfect black dress, it will become your best friend when it’s time to go out.  No more sad excuses. Get out of your pajamas and enjoy a night out!

4. Blend in (gasp!)
If the idea of not standing out scares you, this one is for you. While the days of catching every one’s eye with your wardrobe choice don’t have to be over, sometimes it’s good to leave the house without making that your focus. You’re a mom now and wearing a black dress says ‘I’m happy with my life” and “I can appreciate simplicity.” Plus, in a black dress, you make the rules and define yourself.  Now you decide how you’ll stand out - not your dress. Call it maturity, call it boring - it’s an important experience to have now that you’re a mom.

5. Have Fun With Everything Else (go all out)
With the blank canvas of your perfect black dress, you can now have fun with some long-neglected areas....like makeup, hair and jewelry! Take advantage of not having to work with certain colors and styles to match your outfit. Get vavoom with your hair, chunky funky with your jewelry and be a bit brave with your makeup. Go all out with your, well, femaleness! And for those moms who need the reminder: don’t forget to shave your legs. We all know it's been a while.

MimList: 10 Things I Recently Did That I Excused With "I'm Pregnant!'

By Mimi Hecht

10 Things I Recently Did That I Excused with "I'm Pregnant!"

I hate to be a complain freak, or irrational, or mindless or stubborn. But, alas, I'm pregnant. Now isn't that an excuse for everything? Here are my latest excuses - true happenings from a second-time-expecting, constantly-excusing and totally pregnant-brained LadyMama. 

1. I took my heels off and walked around without shoes at my brothers fancy engagement party. Ouch! I'm pregnant! 

2. I finished most of the Belgium waffle I was meant to share with four other people. I'm pregnant! And embarrassed. 

3. I went to bed at 9:30. I'm pregnant! Or aging. Okay, both. 

4. I tried on a diamond ring at a Jeweler and was walking out wearing it until someone reminded me. I'm so sorry, I'm pregnant! 

5. I didn't wear a coat when I went out in freezing weather. Don't look at me like that! I'm pregnant and overheating! 

6. I refused to carry my own child. I was with my mother and brother, who happily obliged. I'm pregnant! I'm carrying enough! 

7. I left a family party early without spending time to say goodbye to everyone. I'm pregnant, give me a break! Just get me home! 

8.  I dropped something and made someone else pick it up. Okay, change that sentence to the more active, "I drop things and make people pick it up." Like, all the time. Since entering the seventh month. I'm pregnant, can't you see?! 

9. I tried on something out of the dressing room. And I don't mean a pair of sunglasses. I mean a dress. I'm pregnant and not going in there! Hello! Claustrophobia! 

10. I wore a ridiculous amount of makeup to meet a friend for coffee. Do you even know what it takes to look good and refreshed these days? I'm pregnant! 

If you listen to the above circumstances, the word "pregnant" can be interchanged with "Uncomfortable," "Fat," "Tired," "Scatterbrained" and even, well, "Ugly." Don't you so want to be pregnant now? Ha! But the truth is, the wonderful world of pregnancy truly does entirely consume all facets of our emotional, mental and spiritual being. The least we deserve is to be able to use it as an excuse for all sorts of completely abnormal and utterly inexcusable behavior. 

Mimi Hecht: MetroImma Mom of the Week!

MEET MIMI HECHT

Mimi Hecht never really went gaga over babies. And anytime she did hold someone's little one, it would - no fail - cry and be promptly returned to its rightful and more responsible owner. As one of seven siblings, she knew she wanted to someday raise and love her own brood...even though she was utterly petrified of childbirth. Fast-forward to meeting the love of her life. Even faster forward – a quick nine months after their wedding! - she gave birth to a beautiful blue-eyed, red haired boy. Although her birth went nothing like planned, it was not the trauma she had anticipated. And being a mother was in no way like holding someone else's baby...she loved it! She quickly learned that to enjoy motherhood and raise a normal child, she didn't have to be the perfect, by-the-books, high-pressure mother she had spent nine months reading about (and a lifetime dreading!). Inspired to share her thoughts, connect Jewish women and celebrate all kinds of mothers, she started LadyMama, a growing online community where she and other women document the joys and struggles in striving to stay smart, sane, stylish and spiritual.

Read more here....

Mimi's Column: Bigger Brain is Bogus, "Baby Brain" is Real

Bigger Brain is Bogus, "Baby Brain" is Real

By Mimi Hecht

Research Shmesearch. 

I mean, usually I'm all for it. I respond pronto when the "baby people" research children's medicines and make necessary recalls. Or when bored mothers spend hours researching, on my behalf, the best new baby gadgets. I enthusiastically concurred when research studies concluded that redheads are more fun (yes, I have a redhead). In all these cases, and hundreds more, research is a mother's best friend. In fact, we love to pull out our affinity for research when a fellow mother makes a claim about a philosophy or product. 

We're like, "Hmm, I dunno, I have to research that." 

Birth Propaganda

Birth Propaganda

By Mimi Hecht 

Over the course of my pregnancy, during which I lived in two different countries and three different cities, I saw three doctors, three birth-center midwives and spoke at length to two prominent home-birth advocates. I was one of those expectant mothers who came prepared with a plethora of questions, eager to hear various opinions that would help shape my own still forming view. 

But as my child gestated within, the questions too grew larger. Every one I consulted has scripted and predictable answers about what they considered a prime birthing situation.

To Have a Sister

TO HAVE A SISTER

In Honor of National Sister's Day, August 1st

"At the wedding, Mushky wept like a baby and danced like a nut."

My relationship with my sister got off to a bad start. As an only girl with five brothers, I had spent months awaiting my mother’s birth, praying for a sister. It was the first pregnancy that I had been cognitive enough to realize my mother was expecting and, let’s just say, my hopes and dreams were no secret. Perhaps if I had a sister, I would have more solid defense when my brothers wanted to wreak havoc on my dolls and it would certainly mean one more female to reckon with when playtime debates were whether to wrestle or play basketball. Never mind the fact that I deeply felt I could use a companion to share the brunt of my mother subjecting me to an overabundance of pink and bows (which totally backfired, by the way).

Grocery Spending Stress Disorder

By Mimi Hecht

Grocery Spending Stress Disorder

On my last visit to the grocery store, I witnessed a mother at the cashier in front of me react to her receipt in a way that depicts how I presume a lot of us feel after we spend hundreds of dollars on food shopping. As she scanned the items on the long scroll, she grimaced, shook her head, rolled her eyes and, finally, after breathing a long and audible sigh, banished the receipt to the depths of her purse. Life would go on. After all, it had to - there was a long line of other shoppers also arriving at the counter for their weekly handover of hundreds of dollars in exchange for their sustenance.

I now know that I am not alone in my GSSD: Grocery-Spending-Stress-Disorder.

The Overweight Shidduch Maidel

By Mimi Hecht

"Your destiny is not decided by your daintiness….
...and soul mates are not just for skinny people.”

Dear Mimi,

I have been shidduch-dating for years now, and have yet to find my soul mate. People tell me that I am a great catch and that any guy would be lucky to have me. But why am I still single? Is it because I am overweight? I feel frustrated with the way matchmakers represent me and wish the shidduch-system would allow someone to first see me for who I am. The entire saga makes me feel depressed. I feel if I was a size two, I would get many more suggestions. Perhaps you can address this in your next column?

Thank you,

An Overweight Shidduch Maidel

Dear Overweight Shidduch Maidel,

While the use of intermediaries to find our mates is a successful method that goes a long way in protecting people’s feelings and narrowing in on the most fitting suitors, nothing is flawless. Your frustration puts a spotlight on one of the perils of the shidduch system, namely its inadequacy in representing and advocating for those that have everything to offer but may not be best represented by descriptions on a sheet of paper. Of all the complaints people have about dating,

One Favorite Thing

By Mimi Hecht 
 

One day in school when I was fourteen years old, I chose an alternative to doodling in class, opting instead for the more sophisticated task of transcribing a list of my favorite things. Ten years later, I unearthed the two page list, a revealing time capsule of my adolescent mind. Dated Monday May 24^th, 2000, the list included the following highlights:

Finishing a good book

Taking a nap in the middle of the day

Getting mail

Writing

A perfect hair day

Tichel Uncovered

Tichel Uncovered

A reader asks, "A Lubavitcher wearing a headscarf out of the house?"

By Mimi Hecht

Dear Mrs. Hecht,

Your columns in the Algemeiner Journal English section are a pleasure to read! It's great to see this addition to the paper, with your engaging writing and the fascinating subjects you choose to write about. 

In your column a couple of weeks back, "Wrong Way on the Subway," you mentioned, "With my modest attire and headscarf and my husband's beard and Tzitzis, we are so obviously Jewish."  This made me want to ask you a question which I've wanted to ask many times since I moved to Crown Heights, but I've not had the opportunity to ask it. I hope you will forgive me when you see what the question is. I'm assuming you are a Lubavitcher; the question is moot if you're not. Why did you wear a headscarf on the subway (or anywhere else out of the house), rather than a sheitel? When I was in kallah classes, I was told the custom of Lubavitch women to wear a full sheitel whenever outside the house. But so often I see beautiful younger frum married ladies in Crown Heights who choose to wear a tichel or scarf. Look, the bottom line is that it's none of my business.  Please forgive me for asking what may very well leave you feeling offended, even though it is truly not my intent.  I wish you much success with your writing.  You have so much talent, and I will surely continue to enjoy your column.

Sincerely,

 Mrs. YB

Crown Heights

Dear Mrs. YB,

Thank you for writing and choosing me to ask your question which has been on your mind for some time. The issue you are asking me to address requires I make myself quite vulnerable.As a member of the Chabad community, I have encountered many women and read many articles expanding on the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s view on wearing headscarves in public. By responding to your query, I might be the first scarf-wearing Lubavitcher (yes, I am a Lubavitcher!) to publicize personal feelings about the issue. Nevertheless, I’m choosing to answer you publicly, for I trust that my thoughts also reflect those of a large and growing contingency within Chabad. I imagine you won’t find this a satisfactory “answer” per se, but perhaps it can shed light on how many young Chabad women today relate to the wig-or-scarf question.

Believe it or not, I actually looked forward to wearing a Sheitel (don't ask me why, since I loved my thick auburn curly hair that no wig can replicate). It only took a few tears during the weak of Sheva Brachos for me to realize that this mitzvah was going to be harder than I thought. A year and a half later, and I still feel uncomfortable and unattractive beneath the overpriced European strands we call a wig. I do wear it, and even recently decided to wear it more often. I feel proud that I cover my hair always, even taking on stringencies in my own way. However, quite simply, Chabad’s emphasis on “sheitels-only” is something I personally find impossible to comply with. To always wear a wig when venturing out of the house?  I’ll probably take on a million other resolutions before I commit to this strictly-Chabad custom that is, for me, somewhat unbearable. Unfortunately, I don't have what it takes to endure the "wig only" burden simply because it's a Lubavitch ideal. There, I said it. No matter how true the Rebbe's endorsement - yes, even with the Rebbe's enlightenment on the beauty and modesty of a sheitel – I can’t seem to forfeit the scarf and don a wig every time I appear in public.

I say this knowing that what makes the Lubavitch community so great in many ways is our living up to the Rebbe’s seemingly impossible standards. My hat goes off (metaphorically, of course) to all Lubavitch women who proudly follow the Rebbe's directives to wear a sheitel in public. Surely, they too may find it cumbersome, but they have the commendable self-sacrifice that the Rebbe elaborated on when he spoke about giving up wearing a scarf. I wonder if, someday, I will have this kind of self-sacrifice.

I am not unlike many other Lubavitchers - and indeed anyone who identifies with a strong community - in that I struggle to maintain an adherence to community customs when just the bare-minimum is, for me, hard enough. Add the fact that we don’t have the Rebbe’s physical voice paving the way; the struggle is intensified. You might look at me and make a quick assumption to the opposite, but the truth is that, not too deep beneath my headscarf, I intensely want to connect and adhere to the Rebbe's wisdom. I may enjoy flaunting my individuality and I certainly struggle with gray areas, but if I have any leader - any beacon of truth guiding my growing existence - it is the Lubavitcher Rebbe.  I often wonder what I would be like if I were privileged to have known the Rebbe, to have heard his voice myself. Perhaps I differ strongly from many other Lubavitchers when I say that, though the Rebbe guides me in many ways, I don’t feel his presence so strongly  in my everyday life. I am speechless when someone criticizes another for not being a “good enough” Lubavitcher. Who are we kidding? In my opinion, when you consider the situation today, Lubavitch women who strictly wear wigs deserve all the praise in the world, whereas women who don’t are so easily understood!

But while I may be an awful representation, I do believe that the Rebbe’s wisdom will always be unscathed. He always pointed out the unnerving truth in every matter. About wearing tichels, the Rebbe writes, “a woman is constantly put to the test, whether to cover all her hair, or just part of it.” How did the Rebbe know me so well? How true this is! When I wear my comfortable flower-printed scarves, I tie the knot and push the material back. Indeed, I would look and feel ridiculously old-fashioned were I to use this material to cover my hair in its entirety! Unlike with a wig, when I wear a headscarf I am immediately “put to the test” as to how much I will cover (a trial I probably fail all-too-often). I guess this is just one more thing for me to assess and improve on my journey as a Jewess.   

Thank you for writing. You have not offended me with your personal inquiry. Rather, you have given me a lot to think about, as well as two very important reminders: Firstly, no matter the method I choose to cover my hair, it must be exactly that: covered. Secondly, the importance of learning and going to the source in order to make stronger decisions as a Jewish woman. As with all things - both community customs and the strict law - I will fail then succeed then fail again. But as long as we can learn, grow and engage in these discussions without judgments, I am in for the ride. May we always have the compassion, wisdom and respect to understand each other in our individual choices and struggles.

Insincerely Sorry

 Insincerely Sorry

By Mimi Hecht

A pile of dirt sits aside a broom, spilled cheerios are glued all over the floor and drying laundry is succumbing to wrinkles on the dining room table when the doorbell rings.

You have just scanned the war-zone that is your home and made the smart decision that you'll take a much-needed rest before you turn into a cleaning cyclone. The morning was hectic and it's as if every one of your tasks exploded in mess. But for now, the disaster will have to wait. Oh, but so will the nap. Remember? The doorbell is ringing. You sigh an end-of-life "you got to be kidding me" kind of sigh - jaw dropped and shoulder slouched. You're not expecting any packages, but you're praying it’s just the UPS guy. He's the only person you wouldn't mind seeing your house like this.

"Who is it?" you ask, immediately regretting you didn't just ignore the door and make a tip-toed beeline to your room.

"It's Dina, open up!"

In the middle of the week, in the middle of the day, your neighbor has come to say hi. In the age of text messaging, you secretly wonder why on earth your beloved friend didn't send notice of her impending visit. But you open the door without revealing a hint of hesitation. And, actually, you show glee.

"Dina, hi! What a nice surprise!" (In your head your thinking "Surprise? Yes. Nice? No!")

She steps inside (the cheerios go crunch) and, in the moment of just-arrived silence, you start to feel embarrassed for subjecting Dina to the catastrophe that is your home. Before you can relax with Dina's presence, you must make the caveat sung across messy homes worldwide. You must clear the air (metaphorically, of course) before Dina makes conclusions about your ability to run a household, control your kids and your prowess as a do-everything-and-do-it-well certified woman. Before her eyes can properly assess the disaster-stuck region that is your humble - yes, extremely humble - abode, you have something to say. Unpreventable, out it comes.

"Sorry for the mess."

It is with these four words that women all over the world accept friends, foes and, yes, sometimes even the UPS guy, into their homes. It’s an explanation that must premise anyone's arrival into our world of clutter, grime, piles and spills. Like a red carpet of sorts, the apology is our respectful welcome. It seems that the most cleanly woman, and even the house worked on by maids all week, will have a mess to apologize for.

No matter the home, lifestyle, or personality; if you're a woman, chances are you've extended your “sorry”s for exposing an innocent arrival to what you believe to be an inexcusable mess.But deep down, are we really sorry? Does any woman, with all her roles and chores, genuinely get down on herself for not maintaining a consistently sparkling home? Whether we work in our out of the house, we are all working women. Our home is our office, our studio, our not-always-so-safe haven of family, food and frenzy. While it may be reasonable to expect of ourselves to clean at the end of the day, it’s preposterous to assume that our living quarters will always be presentable (especially for a surprise guest). When it comes to ourselves, we take the mess lightly, knowing that we can have everything back in order in no time. It's only when someone else is privy to the whirlwind that we suddenly act embarrassed. Another person's presence somehow makes us insecure. We feel judged, as if perhaps we're the only woman in the universe that has a home that looks like this.

Every woman, then, is a little two-faced. You see, we've all been on the receiving end of the apologizing host. We’ve all showed up to someone else's house only to hear the same insincere and obligatory “sorry” for the mess. One hundred percent of the time, how do we respond? “Oh, please! Stop apologizing.” We do this because, for one, the house doesn’t actually look that bad. Secondly, we immediately identify and can’t tolerate someone else feeling sorry – or feeling that they need to act like they’re sorry – for something that is completely normal. Full lives leave a mark. My house gets messy. Your house gets messy. Why even mention it? You might as well say, "I'm sorry for my life."

When will we stop faking apologies for the messes in our hectic homes? Probably never. It's sort of like the way we dismiss people when they tell us we look good (even when we might secretly agree). It's like we feel the burden of this silent expectation that has become etiquette. But at the very least, we should recognize the nonsense in apologizing for the disarray. The women who genuinely thinks she must excuse a mess when someone arrives at the door - if she thinks they actually deserve an apology - she is pardoning her life and should be embarrassed only for that. Always remember before you apologize: you are a superwoman regardless of the chaotic presentation of our home. And actually, you and I both know...our messy homes are only further proof of all our prowess. Come nightfall, things usually return to their original state. If someone happens to see things in the middle of the day's drama that is your beautifully busy life - yes, you'll probably say you're sorry. And when you do, just make sure to honor yourself and women everywhere by making sure your apology is completely, utterly and one hundred percent insincere.

In Support of Silly Bandz

By Mimi Hecht

If you’re over the age of eighteen, chances are you’re a bit out of the loop. You’ve seen the flashy colors, but are clueless about the craze. You have no idea that, right now, kids all over the country are saving their allowance and going hysterical for the latest fashion trend - a rubber band. But as a closer look will tell, it’s not just any rubber band…

The new trend hooking our kids is called “Silly Bandz,” a silicone band that is die-molded into a variety of different friendly shapes like musical instruments, dinosaurs and sports items. The bands are stretched and worn as bracelets, but return to their original shape when taken off. If they ever take them off, that is. Since this past April, when BCP Imports (creator of the Livestrong Band) distributed them to over 8,000 stores, kids have been stacking them up to their elbows and trading them like collectibles. Parents are racing to get a hold of more for their kids’ collections and stores are running out of stock in the blink of an eye. The popularity of the trendy rubber bands won’t stop, well, stretching.

But just as popular as the actual trend is the predictable response of parents and schools, who are reacting to the craze with a roll of the eyes...or even scorn. Some parents are refusing to let their kids succumb to “just another ridiculous fad” and teachers all over the country are banning the bands from their classroom, complaining they’re too distracting. Apparently the bracelet creator had some foresight with the name; everyone but the wearers themselves thinks Silly Bandz are exactly that - silly.

But perhaps, as ever-so-mature adults, we are a little too quick to disregard our kids’ youthful obsessions. When given some thought, the Silly Bandz are actually a very reasonable trend worthy of our children’s liking (okay, mania). Here’s my case for Silly Bandz. (And no, I am not being paid for my endorsement - the now millionaire creator Robert Croak doesn’t exactly need my support!)

The great thing about Silly Bandz is they they’re a “gotta-have” that’s more than about simply showing you have it. It’s about how you have it. For an age group that is all about self-expression, the Bandz support individuality like few other current fads. Kids actually partake in choosing the bracelets they most identify with. The musician will stack his arm with instruments; the sea-creature lover will collect dolphins and penguins; the western-inspired kid (okay, weird, but still) will don the cowboy hat and horse. In many ways, kids can look at their friend’s collection and know just a little bit more about them. They’re a great way for kids to converse about hobbies, memories and the things they care about. Moreover, kids are applying their imagination to the way they choose to sport the craze – on key chains, hung from a necklace or displayed in lockers. What could be better? In a culture where self-expression isn’t always individualistic and certainly not always healthy, this is just one good reason parents should support the bracelet craze.

Another - though certainly less altruistic - motivation to like your child’s new fashion interest is that it’s light on the wallet. A pack of 24 Silly Bandz is under five bucks. If you’re disciplined about buying things for your kids, you can practically tell your kids to go purchase it themselves. Just be thankful it’s not the iPad or a Nintendo Wii that they can’t do without. You won’t have to give a whole speech about losing it, and you certainly can let them share it with friends (what a concept!).

It’s certainly true that obsession - no matter how neutral the subject- can be unhealthy. But, as the Silly Bandz creator knows best, kids are simply hardwired to get obsessed. Just remember when you were ten years old. Nothing was going to get between you and your slap-bracelet, Gak or Beanie Baby (choose your generation) - and you just had to have a ton. All the more so with today’s trend-conscious kids; there’s nothing you can do to curb their enthusiasm. While teachers should be regulating the trading and distraction of Silly Bandz in the classroom, they shouldn’t be banning them altogether. Kids get enough slack to be further bombarded with criticism over a cheap rubber band that is the current mark of fun and individuality.

Parents - and especially Jewish parents - are always cautious about the trends that find their way to our vulnerable kids. But adults need to learn not to scare from every kid-craze. Each trend that captures their devotion deserves a closer look to determine the real dangers or - as in the case of Silly Bandz - possible virtues. And given the totally harmless and even good-natured trend dazzling our kids right now (until next month’s new thing) you have nothing to be up-in-arms about. Unless, of course, up your arms are Silly Bandz.

Wrong Way On The Subway

By Mimi Hecht 

I boarded the subway with my husband, child and a deepening well of anger. It had been four long days since Israel’s raid on the flotilla of so-called “peace-activists” heading to break the Gaza blockade. Four days of international criticism. Four days of media falsehood. Four days of serious wake-up calls as to the nature of our enemies. Having just heard about a spontaneous pro-Israel rally in Times Square, my husband and I saw it as a responsibility hidden in the helplessness. We headed out, baby in tow.

I sat on the cold subway seats with my heart boiling. Headed towards a chance of uniting with my brethren and representing my Homeland, all I could think about was Israel. Past. Present. A bleak future. The Palestinians had won again, completely succeeding in humiliating Israel and turning the world against us. Everyone was showing their true colors. No one was our friend. My mind pondered every single hate-speech, every suicide attack, the voices of Muslims calling for Holocaust. Generations of anti-Semitism - from Hitler to mere university students - echoed in my mind like a hypnotizing slide-show.

And there was my son, happily cooing in his stroller, so comfortable in his simple and safe world. On his blank slate of babyhood, everything and everyone is good. He cries only to be fed, then eats and returns to euphoria. He loves the world and the world love him back. He knows not of his mothers worry for his future as a Jew. He cannot smell my fear.

We are twenty minutes from Times Square when a dark, muscular and heavy-haired young man enters our subway car and sits across from my loaded thoughts. He looks Jewish. But then the Arabic script tattooed on his sculpted arms tells me otherwise. He is Muslim. I look at my husband, pointing out the young man’s presence with my eyes. I look back at our new rider. Just his comfortable posture across from me makes me feel like a victim. Suddenly, I am filled with hate.

With my modest attire and headscarf and my husbands beard and Tzitizis, we are so obviously Jewish. With his Semitic looks and Arabic tattoo, he isn’t either incognito. The world knows us as enemies and yet, here we are, sharing subway space and averting each others eyes. Current headlines are practically scripted on our foreheads for everyone to see. We could both be on our way to Times Square, and I imagined how even more poignant the moment would be when we both exited the subway to find our ways on opposite sides of the rally. I sat with a feeling contrary to that which I would normally feel; afraid to share a personal moment with a passerby. For he wasn’t exactly a stranger, rather an enemy I felt I knew all too well. While I had never met him personally, I projected unto him the voices of Arafat, Ahmadinejad and every other extremist voice trying to wipe my People from the earth.

While he intensely reads his magazine - no doubt some pro-Palestinian propaganda - I enter a mental conversation with my unknowing fellow New Yorker. I mentally spit on him. I blame him. I quietly, but vehemently, despise him. His force. His ignorance. His nation.

My bitter thoughts are interrupted by my child’s playful noises. He is flirting with the Muslim. Of all the interesting people on the train, he had to choose him! I pretend to ignore it, afraid to interact. But then I see the young man returning my son’s playful initiations. His serious face has revealed a warm and sincere smile and his voice softly and happily repeats a baby-toned “hello” to my son. Admittedly, I melt. Just like I do when anyone shares a happy moment with my child. My fellow rider all of a sudden transformed from a vengeful Arab into a peaceful, child-loving, upright citizen. Through my child, we are unavoidably connected, even for just this moment. My disgust disappears. I am surprised and relieved.

With my son’s smile opening a channel of warmth and humanity, I was awakened to the ugliness of my naked instincts. As a Jewess fearful for my sons future in an anti-Semitic world, how can I myself be so ignorant as to project hatred onto every Muslim passerby? Much of the world is educated with anti-Israel propaganda. They are fed lies intended on creating anti-Semitic warriors. But if I too senselessly hate, how am I different? I can’t walk around – and certainly not in the melting pot that is New York – holding hatred in my heart ready to unleash at every seemingly guilty Muslim. While my emotions may sprout indiscriminate hatred, I must educate myself – go beyond the stereotypes. Who exactly is my enemy? Where is the enemy?
The world hates us. We won’t win by simply hating them back. And yet, had it not been for my lighthearted and innocent child, the rage that I was directing at this Muslim would have known no end. When he got off a few stops before us, I caught a glimpse of the “propaganda” reading material he had been so intently focused on – a New York Times crossword puzzle.

Why All The Stress?

By Mimi Hecht

“The very purest form of birth control ever devised.”

These are the words of a researcher summing up the findings of a two year study in which social scientists from the University of California videotaped every waking, at-home moment in the lives of thirty-two dual-earning, multiple-child, middle class American families. Over 1, 540 hours of videotape were studied for researchers to examine and codify interactions – from every hug to every fuss – between parents and their kids. Scientists are calling it “the richest, most detailed, most complete database of middle-class family living in the world.”

After $9 million and endless hours of video-watching, the researchers handed over a discouraging picture of family-life. The families under scrutiny revealed an extremely high-stress lifestyle brimming with multi-tasking, arguing and severe disorganization. Offering a candid look into parents’ many roles, the study showcased parents as at-home teachers, enforcing homework deadlines; as coaches and personal trainers, sorting through piles of equipment; as camp directors, planning play dates and weekend family-time.  Videographers reported being overwhelmed from recording the incessant coordination and problem-solving.

For everyone involved, witnessing today’s average family was dizzying. And that says nothing of what today’s American families are actually experiencing…

For parents reading the findings, it was “the story of my life.” With the unanimous results of this unique study, you can be sure that your dual-income neighbors are just as exhausted and defeated as you are. If you and your spouse both have a job and you have more than one child, you’re undoubtedly mirroring the stressed-out lives observed in this study. Every week, you’re in need of a deep massage, a few-day getaway and, of course, a session with your therapist. You’re not alone, and you’re not insane (but still, keep the therapist).

With an up-close encounter with parenthood revealing such an unappealing bottom line, the researcher quoted above is spot on: Why even have kids?

People who react to the study with fear of becoming a parent or, worse, disdain for having children, are missing the bigger picture. It’s not simply that having kids is stressful and insurmountable in itself. The new American family (represented by this study) is being brought to its knees crying because of our own inventions – namely, the dual-earning family.  Societal and financial pressures are increasingly bringing mothers into the workforce – and this study is great proof that it has brought significant stress and mismanagement into our homes. Researchers observed that that parents’ flexibility in dividing labor only added to household tension. Child-care responsibilities were usually decided on the fly, instead of being pre-ordained, which intensified anxiety and led to significant decay in family functionality. On the contrary, couples with more rigidly defined responsibilities seemed to function with a lesser degree of anxiety. It seems obvious, then, that the health of our families is dependant on parents’ commitment to their traditional, defined responsibilities. But how could that work with two parents in the workforce? As it turns out, the “old fashioned” family we often mock is exactly the role-defined system we need to save us, before all the frantic multi-tasking and corroding borders eat our families alive.

But while women in the workforce was once seen as an exhilarating right and opportunity, today’s parents that want to return to more traditional roles don’t have the luxury to make a decision. Mothers are increasingly holding jobs out of necessity, not desire.

Perhaps the solution to all the at-home drama is a mere recognition of an ideal - simply acknowledging what worked a few decades ago. By recognizing the unique state of our current parental roles, we can begin to re-structure our homes. Only when we match the inside of our families to our current method can we reduce the pile of stress we have created.

Mothers working means two parents are together holding not one, not two but three jobs. But what has changed inside the home? In all these years, what adjustments have we made to match this new structure? For instance, do fathers reserve the right to be tired and on hiatus when they come home if their partner is equally exhausted from work? Should mothers still be spending 27 percent of their time on housework, compared to dad’s 18 percent?

It could be that the Women’s Rights Movement lacked some foresight. With great intentions (and many great results), they didn’t see the repercussions of failing to ensure that their home’s inner-workings adapted with the turning of the tide. In many ways, the damage has been done – but it’s not irreversible. The answer is not to pull every mother from the workforce. What we need is a movement that brings both parents’ efforts into the home in a defined way with clear divisions of labor. Parents must stop acting as if dual-earning families are the way it always was. We need to rework our household arrangement, each family deciding for themselves what they need to alleviate the mounting tension.

A nation of stressful families means a bleak future on every level, not to mention it’s clearly bad PR for having children altogether. And if we don’t create families, what do we have?  Well, quite frankly, a disintegrating population of very busy lives, spinning in meaningless circles that nobody will even be around to remember.

The Jewish Woman’s 10 Commandments

The Jewish Woman’s 10 Commandments

By Mimi Hecht

You Are The Master, The One Master, There Shall Be No Other: A legion of rebels will try to test this first commandment, but you must hold firm. If you are not the Lord of your family, no one (I repeat, no one) will rise in your place. You have been chosen to singlehandedly take your home out of exile. Seven Days You Shall Labor; There Shall Be No Rest: Shabbos, a day of rest? Ha! As the “Divine Day” approached, you lived in an apron, commandeered the kids baths and wardrobes, cleaned up after three tornadoes in the kitchen and, on top of it all, said “yes, my pleeeaassure!” to an additional five guests (see the 8th commandment). So if you’re doing less on the seventh day, it’s not because you’re resting. It’s because, in the light of the “peaceful glow” of your Shabbos candles, you’ve officially entered a comatose state.  The Diet Shall Commence Tomorrow: You can’t tackle the battle of the bulge when there’s always a reason – or commandment – to eat. The diet is a real thing for the Jewish woman. But it always starts after Chanukah. No, after Purim.  Errr, after Pesach? There’s no hope. So you’re better off just abiding by this intuitive commandment and always start your diet tomorrow. Except, wait, tomorrow’s Shavuos. And we all know what that means. Thou Shall Have a Multitude Of Number One Priorities: Your husband should always come first. Your kids are of primary importance. You must take care of yourself before anything! Only the Jewish woman can manage making a million things her number one priority. Consider this one of those superpowers that makes you thy home’s infallible master. Thou Shall Honor...Thyself! If you didn’t have this commandment, you’d evaporate into thin air (and then who would feed the kids?!). So do yourself a favor: go get a manicure. Read a book. Run. Far. Away. By honoring yourself, that’s the best thing you can do for your family (hmm, I see a pattern forming). Thou Shall Not Covet Another Mother: This commandment is essential to navigating the terrain of Jewish motherhood. If you’re busy looking at all the other YiddisheMamas” out there, you’re never going to be good enough. There’s always someone else with a bigger dining room table, better behaved children and a much more futuristic stroller (yes, even though yours looks like the spaceship your toddler always wanted). Thou Shall Not Commit Idolatry: Do not place all your cards on your “goya.” Maria will not save you.  Don’t worship or bow to her esteemed maid service. She will drop you in a heartbeat when the Goldbergs down the block offer her few more bucks and a renovated basement to live in. Thou Shall Never Say "No" In Vain: Every Jewish woman has about three “no”s to use in her lifetime. When you get called to host a simcha, cook for a friend who just gave birth, or spearhead the PTA group, you better say “yes” or risk being banished to eternal guilt. Oh, and not just any good ‘ol “yes” – you have to say “my pleeeaaaassure!” If you’re going to use one of your “no”s, it better be because your lying listless in bed. And if this person is calling because someone else is sick and needs a refuah sheleima(complete recovery), even that excuse won’t do. Thou Shall Not Take For Granted: Want to get stoned by your fellow Woman of Valor? Take everything for granted. If you want to survive as a Jewish woman, you’re going to have to add some grateful jargon to your current mix of obscenities and gossip. When you talk about your kids turning your hair white at the ripe age of thirty three, say “Thank G-d.” When you speak of that upcoming simcha (celebration) in the family that’s costing you the price of Pesach shopping times a hundred, say “G-d willing.” And, for the love of G-d, when you’re kvetching about your super-imposing and overbearing mother-in-law, don’t forget to say “Keyn AynHoreh!” Thou Shall Not Break The Rules: If you think you’re entitled to ignore or bend the rules of motherhood every now and then, let this final commandment be a reminder. The second you stop living up to your statutes, someone will call you out. Your husband will say, “Well, that’s the wife’s job” and your kids will yell, “But you’re my mommy!” So before you get ahead of yourself, just know – these reminders are a specially-made version of bolts of lightening. Thou Shall Never Be Fully Prepared: If you’re a Jewish mother, you’re used to surprises – so you can certainly throw one more commandment into the juggle (if not to just prove yourself than anything else). Your life is full, action-packed and bustling with energy. Always expect the unexpected and realize you’ll never be completely ready. If you think you are, you’re lying – and there’s a whole other set of commandments that deals with that!

Mother's Day for the Childless

By Mimi Hecht

The Mother’s Day message is that every mother should be treated, pampered and

 praised for her hard work. But what about the rights of women who have

 tried and tried but are yet to become mothers?

Mother’s Day for the Childless

This Mother’s Day is my first since giving birth to my son and officially joining the world of mommy-hood. Sitting at my laptop, all the emotional flower ads and excited Facebook posts make me feel like I’m at a Mother’s Day brunch, so I don’t feel bad that I’m spending the day trying to meet my column deadline. As a mom-blogger, I know my article has to be a about the importance of today. But with every article, post and “tweet” giving millions of moms a platform, I find the need to use this Mother’s Day to become a voice for the women who aren’t making Mother’s Day’s front page. As the world lauds the importance and fulfillment of motherhood, we are surrounded by the silence of women who pass every prayer-filled day being denied the gift of children. For women who face the anguish of infertility, Mother’s Day is not a festivity, but a lively reminder of a role they so badly want to fill. For them, late April and early May is a hellish season, filled with inescapable banners and fliers in every grocery store, restaurant and mall – all reminding them of what should be or could have been. As heartfelt Mother’s Day poems fill their inboxes and their friends relish in recognizing the joy in being mommies, the childless woman is alone, left only with her imagination and unanswered tears. I can’t help but feel an extra dose of grief on behalf of women in the Orthodox-Jewish community who are experiencing difficulty conceiving. In a society where having large families is praised and it is common for women to show belly-bumps just months after marriage, the childless woman’s ache cannot rest. She is forever forced to confront her insuppressible yearning when spending time with friends who have babies, listening to a Rebbetzin highlight the centricity of creating a family or simply being asked a common question: “How many kids do you have?” Moreover, it is common for her to deal with the tactless comments from other mothers who are insensitive to her plight. From assuming she is taking birth control to comments like “Oh, just enjoy this time without kids,” I have heard mothers make senseless remarks - all to a woman who already feels like a second-class citizen in the Jewish community and, to make matters worse, lives in a world where open conversations on the more complex side of intimacy and childbirth are not-yet fully embraced. The Mother’s Day message is that every mother should be treated, pampered and praised for her hard work. But what about the rights of women who have tried and tried but are yet to become mothers? They spend every day caring for their husbands and homes – living life with a smile despite the fact that everything reminds them of their void. And yet, there are no celebrations, parties, rituals or membership kits for the involuntarily childless couple. On today’s day of flowers and Hallmark cards, it is the responsibility of every Jewish mother to recognize the women who are not celebrating but instead riddled with pain. Our duty is obvious. We cannot for a second take for granted our having children. As long as there are women who must undergo the emotionally and physically taxing life of constant doctor visits and treatments – not leaving any stone unturned in their desire to conceive – then motherhood is not a given. More importantly, we must sensitize our minds and hearts to the women who endure infertility in our all-about-the-baby society. We need to adjust our attitude to recognize the reality of infertility for many women among us. And whenever we can, we must give them a voice. To the woman who struggles with infertility: this Mother’s Day is for you. Not because you have a child, but because, through the experience of your longing, you have a deep understanding of motherhood’s significance that outshines even the greatest mom. There is little that someone can say to provide comfort and friends who are mothers have a limited ability to truly understand your agony. However, just know, we recognize your silence. On this holiday where mothers everywhere are flashing their bright lights, we still see you. mimi@algemeiner.com

LadyMama Column: The Koran Catwalk

By Mimi Hecht

A Burberry inspired burqua walks the runway

In the up-to-the-minute world of fashion, anything that struts down the runway has one chance to do what it absolutely must: catch the eye. The hallmarks of any good designer’s runway show are bright colors, daring shapes and bold prints. But when I saw a televised fashion show recently, the runway indeed showcased all that - but was eye-catching for a whole other reason; all the models were covered from head to toe.

One by one, Turkish models catwalked their way down the runway donning hijibs and burquas, the head-covering and long-dressed attire worn by religious Muslim women. It was the most modest fashion show I have ever seen, but, surprisingly, also the most cutting edge. Each outfit that took to the stage sported prints and embellishments fit for Prada, each look avant-garde enough for Yves Saint Laurent.

I was surprised that such fashion-forward Muslim attire actually had a market, and, considering Islam’s notorious pride in averting modern Western culture, I found the runway somewhat amusing. But then I saw it everywhere I looked. They’re often called ‘haute-couture hijabs” and they’re showing up all over the European, Australian and even American runways. As it turns out, top-fashion modest-wear for Islamic women is not an extremely fashion-forward move, but in fact a reflection of the budding desire in the average 21^st century religious Muslim woman to keep up with modern clothing trends.

The growing fashion movement spearheaded by Islam’s youth is offending and alarming many traditional Muslims, who view it as a step in the wrong direction. Many Muslims – from scholars to shop owners – are protesting the new fashions, saying that, although the clothing covers the body, the patterns and designs are too showy to be considered modest. The meaning behind the Koran’s stipulated dress code, they argue, is to detract attention from females. And in the words of one anonymous Turkish clothing-store owner, “How can a hijab be modest if it’s bright pink?” Fashion-conscious hijab wearers are responding that – in the words of the editor of WeLoveHijab.com - “It’s important to show that Muslim women can dress modestly and stylishly at the same time.” The site, for example, showcases all sorts of modest fashion finds and nominates a stylish hijab wearer - a “haute hijabi” - every week. A commenter on the site echoes the sentiments of its many followers by saying “May Allah bless you for taking the initiative to find a way to bring together a woman’s love for fashion and the proper guidelines for Islamic attire.” Indeed, increasingly popular “haute hijabi” sites are proving that that ability to maintain style is a serious incentive for Islam’s women to either keep up - or take on - the tradition.  

For the first time in my life, I relate to the Islamic women’s plight. As a Jewess, the story sounds all too familiar. I have dealt with this essential “modesty vs. style” conundrum ever since I was sixteen and bought a red dress. My father then told me a line I would hear for many years to come: “You can be covering all the right parts and still be untznius (immodest).” But because I was insistent on expressing myself fully and maintaining my style, I was going to find every way to be fashionable while adhering to the Jewish dress-code. Whether it was loud colors or an eye-catching style, I walked the grey-line until the present day. Like many other Jewish women, I take pride in proving that modesty stipulations need not result in drab or “ancient” clothing.

But, if I were to be honest, the difference between me and today’s Islamic women is that my desire to be stylish often leads me to bend the rules. While my Jewish role models are women who adhere strictly to our modesty guidelines while staying on the forefront of style, I myself am often not strong enough to walk that line (or, in this case, runway). While I certainly try my best, it’s not unseen for me to sacrifice the law and nature of Tzniut all for a high-fashion piece of clothing.

This is where I am inspired by the emergent group of stylish Muslim women. The Islamic fashionista seems to be battling this conundrum with incredible commitment. She asks not “How can I make something stylish, modest?” but “How can I make something modest…stylish?” There is a difference. They are not choosing or favoring fashion, they are integrating it. In doing so, Muslim women are adapting to the world with sincere conviction to their faith’s principles – something I cannot say for myself or many of my Jewish girlfriends.

While Jewish women following all the rules in style may be a norm and there are plenty Muslim women who forego the Hijab all together, the resurgence of Islam women proudly following the Muslim dress-code is undeniably because burquas and hijabs are finding a place in fashion. Through their perseverance and confidence in walking the Koran catwalk, Islam’s modern-day women are ensuring that their tradition of modesty carries on for a long time to come.

To all the Islamic traditionalists who fear their women are “letting go” and forfeiting sacred traditions, I say this: Fashion is making modesty enjoyable for your young women. In a decade, when printed and adorned Islamic attire for women will be the uncontested norm, every Muslim will know that it was fashion that saved the hijab.

mimi@algemeiner.com