Welcome to the Kitchen Madonna
Or, what one Jewish mother has in common with the most famous Jewish mother in history.
I have this vintage piece of ceramic art in my kitchen. It probably dates back to the 1950’s, which is appropriate given the metal-topped white table we eat at is stamped 1941. This little piece of wall art details a mother standing at a brick hearth, arm wrapped around her three-year old son who is anxious to snatch a slice of the freshly baked bread she’s cradling in her other hand. It’s a pretty typical piece of mom art, except for the fact that the mother and child are both crowned in holy halos and “The Kitchen Madonna” is emblazoned on the wall over the mantle. Yes, this good Jewish mother who collects antiques managed to acquire a very Catholic piece of Virgin Mary art.
My favorite Mary joke goes like this: “How do you know Jesus was Jewish? He lived at home until he was 30, took over the family business, and his mother thought he was God.”
During the pandemic I found myself aching for a quiet place to sit where no one would talk to me. It wasn’t much to ask given the fact that I’d been staying home with two young boys non-stop. The library was closed, coffee shops and restaurants were curbside, so one day I found myself in the parking lot of the local Catholic church across from still-another-closed Starbucks. And the door was open.
The Adoration chapel sounded quiet, smelled wonderful, looked like an art museum, and, most importantly, was totally empty. Looking around my eye caught a statue of the Virgin Mary with the baby Jesus cuddled up to her shoulder. The maternal form appealed to me. Not only was it relatable, it was a relief. Finally, I was in a place where motherhood felt glorified instead of pitied.
Eager to make mom friends, I’d spent the past four years getting more strange looks and snide remarks than anything else. Once, when we were synagogue-shopping, I was introduced to a woman whose son was my oldest son’s age. When I asked her about any moms’ groups her face transformed from pleasant to disinterested as she answered, “I don’t do that. I work.” In fact, I’d only ever managed to meet two Jewish stay at home mothers in those first four years. One had children older than my own and was trying to get back into the workforce, the other stayed home by virtue of the fact that her husband’s job took him out of town for weeks at a time, making her ability to work steadily and be available for her young son virtually nil.
Jewish women work. Miriam was my only option.
She wasn’t a bad one, either. She never had an opinion I didn’t like and was always there waiting for me. It’d be nice if she kept the coffee going, but I get it - she didn’t want stains on the rug. Like me, she truly enjoyed being a mother and thought she was doing God’s work raising her son. And from what I could tell the people who kept her house neat and clean seemed to appreciate this Jewish mother’s dedication and commitment to her calling. I liked that, too.
Later I’d learn the statue was referred to as Sedes Sapientiae, or Mary, “The Seat of Wisdom”. In Judaism we value the Woman of Valor described in Proverbs 31. The only time I’ve ever heard this Shabbat blessing recited was in observant settings, so the visuals I associated with it are either that of observant women with their heads covered who find spiritual meaning in baking challah, or working women who get very little time at home with their children. In Sedes Sapientiae, the valor of motherhood, matrimony and the seemingly mundane are valued as more than just beautiful or necessary, but also as wise. This is an image I can relate to.
I can relate to being deeply needed by my children, my husband, and my family at large. What I do is often glossed over or frowned upon, but without it the worlds of many, many people would cease to function. Precisely because my work is so multifaceted I am the seat of wisdom in my tribe. As a wife, mother, homemaker and homeschooler, I am a Kitchen Madonna.
Come on in and make yourselves at home. I promise to make you laugh while I share the wisdom I’ve gleaned in my time, as Erma Bombeck once put it, “between the washing machine and the hot water heater.” This is not a place for hot takes, click bait, or sensational headlines. I only want to talk about things that matter. I don’t have time for anything else, and neither do you.