A Jewish mother needs a sense of humor. My mother, Ida Levin, had a way of surprising us with hers.
When my sister was planning my brother-in-law’s big 40th birthday, my mother volunteered to bring a sponge cake. She was a great cook and baker, and everyone always looked forward to her creations.
The day of the party, she brought a beautiful, perfectly round cake with even sides and creamy white frosting decorated with “Happy Birthday.” The cake was placed in the middle of the table, reminding us to save room for dessert.
When the time to cut the cake arrived, my brother-in-law picked up the cake knife. My mother stood by with a proud look on her face. Rich put the knife to the cake. The knife bounced back. He tried again. The cake would not cut. His brother was impatient, pushed him aside and said, “Let me try it.” He had no better luck. All this time, my mother stood by with that calm, proud look on her face. Finally she admitted that she had frosted a sponge pillow form. The real cake was still in the car.