About a year ago, I spoke to a group of women in Pittsburgh. The topic was, “Will the Real Jewish Woman Please Stand Up?” The energy was already upbeat and intimate by the time I made reference to the famous text, “Eishet Chayil” (“Woman of Strength”), which Jews customarily sing at the Friday night meal. Before I could work my way into the point I intended to make, a woman blurted out something to the effect of, “I hate that song.” I turned to her, inviting her to elaborate.

“Well . . . she’s just so . . . perfect! I feel like a complete failure every Friday night. I mean, do you know anyone like her?” Laughter all around.

I love when that happens—a real, visceral response to the topic at hand (especially when it resonates with my own inner passion, hesitancy or conflict around a particular idea). How many times had I balked at the words?! Using the Hebrew letters as a springboard, it is a veritable alphabet soup of perfection. I won’t overwhelm you with all the details, but how’s this for starters?

  • Alef—She’s an eishet chayil, a “strong” woman. The word “chayil” connotes the power of war. She’s a warrior. And a spiritual one too, with all the attributes needed to carry out any task at hand. Friday night rolls around, we haven’t even gotten past verse one, and I’m up against Kosher Tiger Mom!
  • Bet—“Batach bah lev ba’alah,” “Her husband’s heart trusts in her.” Hmm. I can count on one hand (okay, two fingers) the number of girlfriends whose husbands are at peace with their wives’ take on life and what’s best for them. Verse two, and I’m dealing with not only a powerhouse, but someone who’s wise and gentle enough to inspire confidence in her mate!
  • Gimmel—”Gemalthu tov,” “She imparts goodness and kindness to him, never evil.”

Who is this gal?

The Kosher Tiger Mom

In short, a brief read-through of the song reveals that Kosher Tiger Mom has a loving, trusting husband; she’s an entrepreneur and successful business woman; she’s industrious, charitable, wise, empathic and intuitive. To boot, she’s well-groomed (read: manicures, facials and Saks Fifth Avenue, if not Vera Wang) and even has the time and cash to buy gorgeous bedroom linens in mindful attention to her intimate life.

Is it any wonder the second phrase, in breathless pursuit of the eishet chayil, asks, “Who can find (her)?” She is not me! All of which leaves me with the question of how to read and apply King Solomon’s song to my life—along with the implications it has for my role not only as wife, but as daughter to my mother, and mother to my own children.

The Cosmic Everywoman

It seems to me that the eishet chayil is “Everywoman,” an archetype of us all. No, I’m not just looking for a backdoor escape from my perfectionism, a way to avoid the reflections of the flaws I encounter on a daily basis. I ask myself whether she represents an attainable goal. Certainly, in a utopian era, we may each come to embody the eishet chayil described by King Solomon, but in the here and now of life as we know it, I’ve yet to meet the woman who lives up to the persona King Solomon portrays. Rather than describe one single Supermom, it seems to me that the text serves to connect us with the universal image of wife and mother. After all, the passage has been interpreted as a metaphor for the Shechinah (the Divine Presence), the Sabbath, the Torah and the soul. Doesn’t it make sense that the acrostic, spanning all twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet, alludes not to one woman’s all-encompassing virtues (Supermom) but to our collective identity (Everywoman)?

Just before my marriage, a spiritual midwife told me, “King Solomon says, ‘The wisdom of a woman builds her home.’ The literal translation, though, states, ‘The wisdom of women (plural) builds her home (singular).’ You will build your home on the wisdom of many women. Pay attention to how they live and what they have to say.”

How right she was. I have enriched myself and my home through the collective wisdom and experience of the thousands of women I’ve merited to connect with. I carry them within me and am personally empowered by who they are. As Eishet Chayil is sung each Friday night, it affords me some brief moments of contemplation to rejoin with them, and also to be eased by the knowledge that our physical and spiritual interconnectedness mitigates my own flaws, enabling me to bring their lights into my home.

By extension, I have access to the larger, cosmic Everywoman; namely, the energies and insights of the women who have come before me, all the way back to Sarah. (In fact, one reading of Eishet Chayil is as the eulogy Abraham said for Sarah before he buried her.) It may be a span of thousands of years between me and my first mother, but that’s only around 175 generations.

That’s not an impossible divide. I want some of the wisdom and joy of the women between the two of us. I now know how far from the truth my youthful stereotype of the shtetel Bubby—naïve, somewhat simple, lacking emotional subtlety—is. Today, I’d love to have her over for brunch and glean her insights and tools on how to handle my life. The same goes for all the women throughout those interceding generations, each of whom has her own shining letter from the alphabet soup of perfection to impart to me. As their daughter and granddaughter, I am bound with their point of perfection. Thereby, at some level, despite the fact that I’m no Supermom, the eishet chayil is in my home each Friday night. And I can even carry her, the collective “Everywoman,” within my own being.

In this way, I gain access to a dimension of myself that is way beyond my highest personal aspirations. For if the totality of who I can be is purely a result of my own endeavors, I will be very small indeed. Rather, it is in surrendering to my imperfections and humbly admitting the bigness of eishet chayil that I open the window to the full expanse of who I am.

G‑d-Like Mothers

But to me, the collective gestalt of Jewish womanhood embodied by the eishet chayil allows us even more than access to this larger, truer self. In addition to this priceless gift, she affords us the possibility to reconfigure our relationship with our mothers. I know, easier said than done. The most potent reaction I ever got to a presentation was a lecture called “Moms, the Magic and the Madness.” The audience—and yours truly—wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or weep. Our relationship with our mothers is incomparably multi-dimensional and complex, overlaid with love and with anger. It’s a real big one to navigate, but one which we are nonetheless expected to manage and even heal.

It’s not that we can disregard the relationship if it’s uncomfortable for us. “Honor your father and mother” made it to fifth on the list of the Big Ten! Yet for many, this instruction on how we ought to relate to our parents is something they find absurd. I can hear the disdain: “My mom hangs out at the gym all day and gossips non-stop. She’s dishonest in business, self-centered—nay, narcissistic—and materialistic. She never had the courage to face her wounds, so I get to be the beneficiary of her dysfunctional inheritance! Yadda, yadda . . .” Alright, this is Everymom we’re talking about. But you get the idea. How are we to honor and respect our moms despite their often startling imperfections?

Ultimately, the reason we honor them has nothing to do with their personal or moral stature. G‑d’s directive is rooted in the fact that at the moment of conception, our parents take on something of the Divine. They become co-creators with G‑d in bringing us into being. That’s why honoring our parents is immutable. It’s not about the gym or manicures, how they do or don’t pay taxes and show up in life. It’s about the fact that in relation to us they are G‑d-like in a certain respect. That’s the ground-zero of honoring our parents, and until we get it, most nothing else we say or hear will be of use to us in moving the relationship forward.

Reframing the Relationship

But this immutable point of greatness aside, each Friday night the eishet chayil reminds us of two key ideas which can change the way we negotiate our very first relationship. The first is that, as mentioned, none of us is perfect—and that’s okay! The second is that in some mysterious way we can, if we choose to, receive what we need through the collective Everywoman. In this way, we learn to lower the bar on our mothers. We don’t have to hold them to an impossible standard. Whew! In fact, we can begin to accept our mother for who she is and learn to get our needs met elsewhere if she is not able to do so. We can stop blaming our unhappiness on someone who would not—or, more accurately, could not—come to the table in the way we needed her to. Eishet chayil, Everywoman, becomes a reservoir of healing and nourishment for our being.

Through this forgiving of our mother for her imperfections, we are able to release the aspects of our own emotional and mental inheritance we’d rather do without. One of the first things we learn about our father Abraham is that he smashed his parents’ idols! I am embarrassed to admit it, but it was only well into my thirties that I realized I had to do the same. I have been the beneficiary of an incredibly rich inner life from my parents. But I’d also spent decades bowing to their false beliefs, accepting it as fact that I was doomed for time everlasting to live with the limitations those beliefs generated. Then one day the teaching about Abraham took hold in my mind with a vigorous vitality. I took an inventory of what I’d inherited. In addition to the abundant goodness and wonder, it included beliefs about how much I was likely to earn, how to respond when angered, what the appropriate response to suffering is, who I am and a whole lot more. I trust you get what I’m talking about. How liberating to realize that I could systematically smash those idols—without betraying my parents! I was not being faithless to them in subscribing to different truths and happiness.

The catch in doing so is to disown the false beliefs yet remain in the relationship and in touch with the wonder and goodness at the same time. Abraham smashed Terach’s idols but he continued to live with him—for another seventy-two years. Granted, Terach came around to Abraham’s way of thinking, but our first father would have managed to negotiate the relationship regardless. I believe that is because connection with G‑d was the singular driving force in his life. As such, he was able to see his father’s flaws, but not take them personally and not feel limited by them, thereby being able to detach with love so that he could actually help Terach. He was able to not own another’s dysfunction (in other words, make the other responsible for their shtick) and yet remain connected to the one he loved.

To accomplish this mode of conduct, we must discover a new mental set and learn to shift our reading of the events and relationships in our lives. Most of our pain in relation to our parents (and pretty much everything else) has to do with our own perception. We interpret things to mean what they are not. As such, we tend to live in the rather unhappy space between the way things are and the way we think they should be. We walk around grumbling about the sins of G‑d and others in our life. And of course, we know our mothers’ sins best of all! To be whole with her, we must find that new mental set which allows us to let go of the expectations we have of her as well as of our interpretation of the interactions between us. For me, the eishet chayil enables me to at least begin to navigate this. She teaches me that a) I am not perfect but that that’s okay; b) I no longer have to hold my mom to an impossible standard; and c) I can be enriched by my universal family of sisters and mothered by generations of women whose sterling qualities are inestimable. In other words, although I’m not Supermom, I have access to the superlative perfection of Everywoman. Turns out that Kosher Tiger Mom liberates me through the abundant truth that although none of us is perfect, we have access to a flawlessness that is way beyond pearls.