Style & Living

We are moving full steam ahead.  And fast.  It seems as though every few hours more corona restrictions are being lifted, for better and for worse.  There are those who have literally been counting down the minutes and welcome these changes with open arms. They are eager to get back to work, family, friends, hobbies, and life as they knew it before the days of corona.  They felt terribly stifled and are raring to go, like a horse that charges out of its stable as fast as his legs can carry him.  No hesitation whatsoever. As far as they are concerned, the coronavirus is over. Done.  A thing of the past.  But that is not me.  I was never one to jump into the pool.  I always get my toes wet and then ever so gradually lower myself into the water as I slowly adjust to the frigid temperature.  So, I still find myself looking at the stats and predictions, and calculating the cost and benefit of every outing I take.  But I have, ever so tentatively, begun to step out of the very distinct and defined comfort zone of my home. When I do, I feel like a toddler in the rapprochement phase, navigating the tug of war between the desire to assert his independence and conquer the world, and the need to run back to safety and fiercely cling to his mother.  My hesitation accompanies me but yet, I step outside wide-eyed and bushy-tailed as I am reunited with people I know and places I’ve been. There is almost a nostalgic quality to these excursions. With the word “unprecedented” being used an unprecedented number of times these past few months as the world has undergone a monumental transformation, the people I see seem like landsmen from my old country.  When I return to places I used to frequent, I feel like a participant in a roots trip, seeing relics of the past while getting a glimpse into what life was like in a different era.  Every trip out the door is somewhat of an adventure.

(Reprinted with permission from the Jewish Press.)

There have been no less than three national elections over the past year here in Israel. The fighting and political jockeying, ever reaching new record-breaking levels, is not for the fainthearted. Just as the dust appears to settle, a new earthquake begins, threatening to unravel all arrangements previously agreed upon through blood, sweat, and tears. But with all the division, there are times that our caring and unity shines through. Certainly, during this most recent period of the coronavirus, it is obvious how much we really do care about one another. But there are other times as well.

I’ve always had many positive associations with the holiday of Lag BaOmer. As a child I enjoyed the picnics and baseball games at Flushing Meadow Park, which were a welcome break from school. Anything to get out of the classroom was a positive thing. Another positive association I have with Lag BaOmer is my wedding. Definitely a very worthwhile way to spend the day. Many friends and relatives of mine have also gotten married on Lag BaOmer, so for many years the holiday involved one enjoyable celebration or another. Either my husband and I went to a wedding or we went out for our anniversary. 

I’ve always viewed the Amish as an intriguing group of people.  Every time I meet them, they are sure not to disappoint.  Several years ago, my family was visiting Watkins Glen on the way up to Niagara Falls. Towards the end of the day, my husband received an emergency phone called which had to be dealt with on the spot. We had calculated how much time we would need to get to Niagara Falls in time for minchah but the call threw us off schedule.  We weren’t sure we would make it on time.  My husband was in aveilus at the time so missing minyan was not an option.  Since it was Bein Hazmanim I decided to look around and see if I could spot any people of the fold.  Wherever we travel, we always manage to meet some Jews so I thought we had a decent chance of putting together a minyan. At first, I didn’t see anyone who looked Jewish but then I spotted a clan relaxing at a picnic table.  The men were wearing black and white, the women were dressed very tzanuah, and I was positive I had struck gold.  Problem solved.  But as I inched closer, I noticed that the men looked a bit off.  Although they were wearing black and white, many were wearing knickers with suspenders, unlike the garb I’m familiar with.  Their hair was also quite long, not trim as I would expect right after Tisha B’Av.  As I moved even closer, I noticed that although the men had beards, they did not have mustaches.  I was barking up the wrong tree.  This clan was not a frum family.  They were Amish.  No point in looking for a minyan there.  We quickly left and luckily made it to Buffalo on time for minchah.

Preface: Although I have decided to write an article about the more mundane and lighter parts of my experience during this most challenging time, my thoughts don’t veer for a moment from those suffering from the effects of the coronavirus. It is difficult, and even unhealthy, to be in a dark and heavy place on a constant basis. I hope that my article will be read in that light.