“Four Crak! Three Bam! Eight Dot!”
The words roll off the tongues of the four women, intensity focused on the small rectangular tiles before them.
The tension builds as the women, all concentrating on the strange-looking tiles before them, as if they are on a life-saving mission, are vying to be able to scream out the coveted utterance only known to the select initiated group of Jewish women world over.
Suddenly, to the surprise and dismay of Syvia, Edith, and Ruth, Beatrice looks up and shouts the cherished words.
Her voice rises above the din of the women who, remarkably, while never lifting their eyes off the assortment of Asian illustrated tiles of sticks, dots, and numbers, are simultaneously and effortlessly able to share recipes, kvell over their grandchildren, and complain about their husbands- some alive and some not.
The words ring out with such definitive confidence it is as if Moshe himself came down from Har Sinai to declare: “Mah-Jongg!”
The three surprised women look at Beatrice and validate her claim somewhat reluctantly and stunned.
Yet, before Beatrice can savor her victory, the tiles are shuffled, each woman collects her thirteen tiles, and the dice are rolled as a new game begins.
These Jewish women are one of the thousands of Jewish women across the United States who embrace and enjoy and engage in on a weekly or sometimes daily basis in a tile-based game that was developed in the 19th century in China and has spread throughout the world since the early 20th century called Mah-Jongg.
Yet, for reasons that have been studied and hypothesized by many social scientists, Jewish women were and are still disproportionately represented in the American cultural embrace of Mah-Jongg.
Why and how Jewish women came to embrace the game of Mah-Jongg has been traced by some to Baila-Sora-Richel, the wife of the Tzaddik of Mahjong, who, according to some, utilized the game Mah-Jongg to collect Tzedoka for needy families in the Shtedl of Yinkbovitz over two hundred years ago.
Others claim that the tiles are a Segula for Parnossa and good children.
Still, others claim it’s based on kabbalistic principles that are only revealed to those women who pay for the new card annually.
Whatever the reason, Mah-Jong, and Jewish women go together like Jewish men and Chulent on Thursday evening.
In the four Century Villages in southern Florida, Mah-Jongg lives on as Jewish women look forward to the intellectually stimulating diversion and the social interaction it provides.
None of the daily foursome in Deerfield Beach were too surprised when Beatrice shouted “Mah-Jongg.” After all, Beatrice, at 89, was not only an expert Mah-Jongg enthusiast but also the resident Mah-Jongg “rebbe” as she gave a weekly “shiur” in the table-top game in the community clubhouse.
Every Tuesday at 11 in the morning, over coffee and muffins (with some chocolate rugelach occasionally added), Beatrice would guide the “Chevra” of “girls,” almost all originally from Brooklyn, through the intricacies of the game, explaining how to set up a “Pung” (three identical tiles) or how to navigate a “Kong” (four identical tiles).
The women were mesmerized by Beatrice’s excitement and passion for the game, and many women, especially Shirley Friedberg, Ruth Feinman, and Dottie Cohen, would arrive at the clubhouse by 9, schlepping their coffee in one hand while pushing their walkers with their free hand.
So it was for years that Beatrice added fun and intellectual stimulation, and most importantly, she successfully dispelled the most painful of elderly ailments, the misery of loneliness, from the hearts of her many devotees.
It was, therefore, quite a shock to all when, a few weeks after Pesach, Beatrice passed away in her sleep on a peaceful Friday night.
Her Levaya, which was held on Sunday morning, was attended by many- including, of course, her Mah-Jongg disciples.
Her son returned to New York following the Levaya, and it was there that I went to be Menachem Avel.
After a while, when the room was suddenly vacant of everyone except Beatrice’s son Larry and me and, I sensed that Larry wanted to get something off his chest.
I moved my chair close to him and asked, “Larry, what’s the matter?”
“Rabbi, my mother was a wonderful mother. And, as I am sure you heard, she brought many women much joy and fostered a sense of togetherness in the clubhouse with her mentorship of others in Mah-Jongg.
However, one thing occurred before Kevura, which continues to give me no rest.”
I moved my chair closer as two women entered the room.
“Right before the burial, one of her closest friends asked if she could approach the casket to say a few departing words to my mother. Of course, I readily agreed.
However, I was totally unprepared for what transpired.
The woman, Sadie Kaufstien, approached the casket and, to my shock and surprise, slipped into the Aron, the National Mah-Jongg League’s new card for 2024!
I know my mother loved Mah-Jongg, and I know Sadie meant well, but placing a Mah-Jongg card in the Aron beside my mother was shocking. Rabbi, was that allowed? Is my mother now buried not, according to Halacha?”
I looked at Larry, and I saw a face contorted in pain at the thought that his mother’s Kevura had somehow been compromised.
I saw the anguish in his heart and felt and shared his pain.
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I did not want to make a fight, and I did not wish to embarrass Sadie, so”- at this point, Larry lowered his head and whispered, “I didn’t do anything. The card is still there.”
I looked at Larry, and I saw his pain.
I thought about his mother and recognized the Simcha she brought to others.
I also realized that whatever impropriety occurred, it was now in the past, and it would not be repeated and certainly could not be undone.
I looked up at Larry, made eye contact, and said, “Larry, there were great Tzadikim of old who asked to be buried with the Tzedoka Ledgers, which contained an accounting of all the monies they distributed to the poor. They hoped these pages of numbers would act as advocates on their behalf when they arrived at their final accounting.
Your mother accomplished a great Mitzvah by teaching Mah-Jongg to others. She brought countless women joy and friendship. Yet, most importantly, through Mah-Jongg, your mother alleviated the most heartbreaking and painful reality of older adults: loneliness.
When your mother arrives at the final judgment, her Mah-Jongg card will join all those Tzedoka ledgers of the great Tzaddikim. It will be her VIP ticket to Olam Haba.
In our eyes, it looks like a game card; however, for all we know, in the eyes of the One who is the ultimate Baal Rachamim, it is a precious, priceless jewel, as it provided countless hours of Simcha to otherwise lonely Jewish women.
Larry, that card is your mother’s first-class ticket to the next world.”
Larry looked at me and said, “Rabbi, Thank you, I never thought of it that way.”
I lowered my head as I admitted to myself that I, too, had never thought of it that way until this very moment.
