By Charlotte “Blu” Berman

When I was a new bride, many moons ago, the only superstitions I had involved avoiding walking under ladders, sidestepping black cats, and knocking on pieces of wood. I felt that those icons of the world of charms, omens and the supernatural would be sufficient protection. Of course, if anyone near you sneezes, I never hesitate to quickly say, “God bless you.” I had heard that if one doesn’t say that, then the devil will be drawn into the body shortly afterwards.

But me? I’m really not superstitious. At the table, if the salt spills over, give me that saltshaker so I can give it a flick of salt over my shoulder. Never hand a knife to anyone with the blade towards them. Who me? Superstitious? Not really; not in depth; not before I became the daughter-in-law.

Grandma Ida came from a family of eight. When asked how many in the family, Ida would reply: not one, not two, not three, not four and so on. She said she was only protecting the family from the all-seeing “Evil Eye.”

When the baby in the family was perambulated down Main Street , many women would come over to the carriage and cluck over the baby and say, “my what a beautiful baby! So cute, so sweet. What a darling!” His grandmother, would quickly spit on his head — “pfft, pfft, pfft” — to ward off the evil eye. By the time the baby returned home, he’d be soaking wet. What a funny story I’d say to my mother-in-law. But somehow it stayed in my head.

When my first child was born, Grandma came over to reconnoiter his room to make sure that the moonlight did not shine upon the sleeping child. Silly Grandma, I thought, but I moved his crib just a little to a non-moonlit location.

But me? No, that’s old wives tales, isn’t it? Pity the poor kids of yesteryear both in the Jewish shtetls in Europe and in Sicily and other parts of Italy — they had to support a small cloth bag of garlic tied with a red ribbon hung around their necks. You can guess whom it was supposed to keep at bay. In the meantime, the poor kid was so odoriferous that it kept everyone away.

About 20 years ago, out in Hollywood, the pop queen Madonna discovered the mysteries of the Kabbalah. Many others in the world of theater and film were attracted to it. Red strings worn around their wrist were seen as ammunition against you-know-who. Others followed suit, and I imagine the stock price on red string quintupled around the world. Did you ever hear of something so preposterous? What’s that sticking up between my bracelet and my watch? Oh, that little red string. Someone I knew said “put out your wrist.” Soooo what could I do? Well, it certainly couldn’t hurt. And it stays there in the shower and the swimming pool. You never know where that evil fellow will pop up next, do you?

My mother-in-law Ida taught me well. Whenever anyone admires you or your family members, or anything good that you’ve achieved, don’t just stand there and say “thank you.” Stay on guard and in soto voce say “kein eyin hurra, kein ein hurra” — because Grandma was our sentinel against the “Dark One” who might wish us ill.

Nowadays, I wear on a gold chain around my neck a chai, a hamsah (‘hand of God’) , a tiny Star of David, and a miniature blue eye, which is forever scanning the world around me.

Preposterous? Stupid? Mishugah? Well, maybe so — but these days you can’t be too careful. n

Charlotte “Blu” Berman is a freelance writer living in West Hartford.

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