Before the beginning, there was family. It has been said there has always been family. The cliché of “blood is thicker than water” holds true and bears the weight of the standard. Only in my family – family is nurtured at every turn and corner. It does not matter if you married into it or even if you are not really related. Once you are family you are part of the whole Mishpukah.

My mother emphatically says family is very important to her. She should know because she has made an entire house full of strangers feel like family, as if they were all some long-lost relatives. My friends used to hang out at my house because they were treated more like family in our house than their own.

I remember relatives and friends of all sorts sitting at the kitchen table or if the crowd was big enough, the holy dining room open only on special occasions. Where my mom took out the good dishes and the real silverware! They were all family. And lucky enough they could sit in the living room on the plastic enwrapped couches, chairs and lamps. There was plastic everywhere, securing the premises and keeping everything from being soiled.

Mishpukah is what it is all about according to my mom. This seemingly innocuous word depending on whom you talk to is Yiddish for family and even extended family. It includes in-laws and out-laws and anyone else the matriarch of the family deems to make welcome. I have seen it spelled several different ways, but it always seems to sound the same.

You see Yiddish isn’t exactly a written language. Not that us Jews are illiterate it’s just that we talk faster than we can write. Therefore, Yiddish is handed down like an heirloom or a trusty old car. It is meant to be cared for and cherished, but the spelling is up to you.

So when it comes to Meshpokha or Mishpukah or Mishpucheh it all sounds the same but like its spelling it might mean something a little different to each of us. No matter how you spell or say it, it is always very close to our heart. It is all about family!

Mother’s Hood

I grew up in my mother’s hood
the kitchen of her domestic domain
full of fresh made
Jewish soul food
the kind that makes
your tongue dance
to Hava Nagila
with thoughts
of Europe and New York
Intertwined

There was love on that stove
potato latkes were
the complete object
of my affection
amongst other deli artifacts

We could feel our mother’s love
between courses
because we were sanctified
In Mother’s Hood