This morning I attended religious services at my synagogue. Setting up ZOOM, the New England town common of our times, was easy. I loved the experience of sitting down with my mug of hot coffee in front of the computer, meeting my fellow congregants who had time-and-space traveled to the site.
The Rabbi read a modern translation of Psalm 92 that resonated with me. I can’t remember it word for word, something like, “Plant yourself exactly where you are . . . for six days, you are the gardener . . . but on this day (the Sabbath) you are the garden.”
This Wednesday, April 8th, is the first night of Passover. Someone at the Zoom service mentioned a newly issued Haggadah (the “telling” of the Exodus story and guide to the ritual Seder meal) written especially for COVID-19 times.
Others spoke up passionately to advocate for traditional Haggadahs (Maxwell House being the most famous edition) that we remember from family gatherings while sitting at the kids’ table. A simple telling, without an overlay of modern sensibility and events.
My opinion—without the imposition of a theme, we can struggle openly, in the presence of all generations at the virtual communal table, posing our own questions, revealing our fears and urgent search for understanding in the midst of spreading illness and death.
No hot-off-the-press guidebook needed. Reflections from the depths of our hearts are easier to share now. Everyone will be listening.
🧍🏻♀️ 🧍🏻♀️ 🧍🏻♀️ 🧍🏻♀️ 🧍🏻♀️
In the afternoon, I left the isolation of my house for a walk in the fresh air. After a lengthy cold spell, and then a week of soaking rain, New England sees the sun again. Pedestrians appeared in full force to savor the first mild day of spring.
Uh oh. Loud alarm bells go off in my head.
I live in a town of 3500 residents spread over eight square miles. The density of 632 persons per square mile is low, compared to the adjacent city of Beverly with density of 2804 per square mile.
Even so, my walk in my Wenham neighborhood unsettled me from the outset. At least every five minutes, I looked behind to see if walkers or joggers were gaining on me. I crossed the street even before awaiting their own courteous maneuver to swerve aside.
If a walker came towards me, I made a split second decision of timing and direction. When I stepped off the curb to avoid walkers approaching me, I had to avoid vehicles heading in my direction on the same side of the road.
I had learned about the “slipstream” produced by walkers, runners, and bicyclists who breathe at a faster than normal rate and leave trails of droplets not yet dissipated. Stay 12-15 feet behind another walker. Stay 30 or more feet behind a runner or bicyclist. The six foot rule is of no relevance here.
The constant effort to avoid crossing paths kept me hopscotching all over the place. In my mind, my fellow outdoor adventurers emitted a radioactive glow. My fresh air walk turned out to be crazy-making.
I had planned to turn into the path to Long Hill, a Trustee of Reservations property, and walk through the apple orchard to the gardens at the Great House.
Then, a roadblock:
I returned home after an intensely vigilant hour. My anxiety subsided and I felt somewhat better, safer . . . and more experienced in the ways of the new order. I will find alternatives to city sidewalks in order to maintain the level of safety I seek.
Walking around my yard, a one acre plot surrounded by woods and unbuildable wetlands, I saw that winter had done its usual damage, leaving branches and twigs strewn about, boards hanging off the side of the woodshed.
Daffodils surprised me, as they always do—even the new bulbs I hadn’t managed to plant until mid-December had pushed up their shoots through the wet ground.
The garden shed barely survived another winter, with its peeling paint and busted up door, looking neglected but still functional.
I slipped on a pair of gloves and ”policed” the strip of lawn bordering the road. I collected cigarette butts, nips, candy wrappers, soda cans.
We periodically find trash on our front lawn thrown from moving vehicles under cover of night, but this time I fume at the cavalier attitude that shows up when it’s vitally important to respect boundaries.
It’s a small thing. Even so . . . I’ll allow myself to feel what I feel.
🔥 🔥 🔥
In my childhood, the danger would come from the sky.
Soviet Premier Nikita Khruschev slamming his shoe on the podium at the United Nations embodied the major global danger; the threat of nuclear war was the major national fear.
You’ve heard of, and maybe experienced for yourself, the air raid drills at school. When the siren sounded, children hid under their desks to practice avoiding the explosion, flying objects, and radiation.
Mr. Hirsch, the elementary school principal, together with the teachers, monitored the hallways while we lined up crouched against the lockers, our faces resting on our folded arms, our eyes shut tight like good little citizens.
Some families built bomb shelters in their backyards or basements, according to reports in LIFE magazine. I wanted one too, to keep my mom and dad and brother safe.
Ultimately, no bombs landed on us. My parents, my school, and our President Eisenhower (term 1953-1961) all protected me from harm.
As I write this, the coronavirus looms merciless, strong, and agile. We work daily to sort out the information, coming at us from so many sources, to determine our own parameters, the parameters that keep changing, shaping—and hopefully saving—our lives and those dear to us.
Stay healthy, my good friends, safe in the place you are planted for now.
Lovely piece; love your mental browsing. Your musings about your yard are charming and it was a good look at your state of mind. I hope you can manage to keep that attitude! You make it sound easy.
I sympathize with your experience of not being able to take that walk you usually can take, one more restriction. The exact same thing happened to me for walking down the canal behind our house – the parks sit empty and each blade of grass breathes with no fear of being stepped on.
Barrie,
Your walk sounded just like ours! We have an open park with 4 baseball fields and path that surrounds fields on the perimeter. During inclement weather the path is not usually crowded, but today and on other sunny days more people showed up so I told David we were detouring to the road that meanders through the whole park. That felt safer! Of course we have walked on the boardwalk in Long Beach a few times and I decided to transfer to walk on the sand along the shore cause there were too many people; was really bundled up to protect me from the wind. Some days we explore different sections of our town, or one of the neighboring towns. Started wearing a mask! Glad we can continue to get exercise but having to socially distance everywhere is so sad! Stay safe cousin! Have a festive Pesach!
When I walk in my immediate neighborhood, there is basically no one around. I passed one person on the street, on the other side, and that was it. But I long for some human companionship even though we’re not allowed to have it.
Some people drove by in cars, but very few and they were not near me.
Living alone at this time is really totally isolated. I suppose I am safe, but I wonder how long I can stand it sometimes. Keeping in touch by phone and iPad and virtual meetings is great. But then the isolation returns.
On CBS ‘s morning show today, it was announced that people watching religious services on television and computers far exceeds the usual attendance at various worshiping sites. This demonstrates that people are seeking the comfort and joys of their faith in these trying times. It is good to know that technology can reinforce faith.
It sounds like you took the same walk that Neil and I take every day. Same experience! It may not be as enjoyable, but it feels good to get outside. Our synagogue streams Friday night services, so we’ve been doing that too. Thank goodness for Face Time so we can connect with the grandchildren! Have a wonderful Passover.
Really loved this one, OK I love them all!
Absolutely identify with the hopscotch of a walk, I also remember lining the tile covered walls of my elementary school, hands over our heads which were down by our knees. I recall the absurdity of hiding under our desk just like the little girl in your photograph, and looking at the big windows and thinking, how does this work?
I love your open, inclusive attitude towards life, reflected here in your thoughts about which Haggadah to use.
I am so grateful for our friendship, particularly as it has evolved and grown over the past several years.
Please keep writing and sharing.
I love this quote from your rabbi…for six days, you are the gardener “. . . but on this day (the Sabbath) you are the garden.”
Like the previous piece, this one touched me deeply. There’s a welcome, and welcoming, stillness in the midst of chaos in your reflections on these extraordinary times. Keep musing, keep evolving, keep sharing your unique point of view.
Lovely piece. It is so unsettling to walk not knowing who will come close. I walk every morning and the enjoyment has definitely gone away. Bouncing around trying to avoid the closeness of people. How sad the times we are living in now.
Memories of air raid drills. I remember them well. Laying in the hall in grammar school. Thankfully nothing bad ever happened. The times they are a changing. Let’s pray to get back to the way things were, if that is a possibility.
Happy Passover, cousin to you and yours.
Iris
Good morning Barrie,
Wishing you Love and Peace and good health from all of us in Boca Raton this Passover… it was wonderful seeing you all on Zoom for Donna’s Birthday.
I love reading your stories…and especially this one… we are all feeling the same way. When I wake up in the morning …first thing I still have a hard time believing this is our reality. But I’m hopeful it will soon turn the corner and life will get back to what it was..and the virus will disappear like a bad dream.
Jill and Josh made a beautiful Passover Seder in their backyard. I see them only outside… and give them air hugs.
Josh read from the Seder book, Dylan sang the verses in Hebrew. ( really beautiful) Lily read many verses and Jill was busy bringing food from the house. I sat there holding my breath and feeling somewhat strange thinking should I be here. But we’ve all been hunkered down for weeks at home and so … we managed a night together out in the open air sitting apart from each other. ( So strange)
The streets here are empty but about 5:00 every night people are out riding bikes and kids on skateboards and many walking ( with masks on) and just like you mentioned we are all cautious and on high alert.
Barrie … we hope the best for everyone and wish you lived closer. It is too long that we see you. But now we have Zoom and hope we see you sooner. Keep writing. You have a wonder talent. I look forward to your Best Seller one day.
Love to you and the family
Judy
This piece was not only lovely and beautifully written but caring as well. I will be much more careful now when I’m walking and encounter runners or bicyclists and their slipstream. We all have to watch out for too much.
The piece reflects your nature–you are contemplative and caring and one reads your writing with bated breath, waiting to experience the perceptions that follow each other in an easy, natural stream. All best to you, Sue
Did the “hopscotch” myself just yesterday. What I thought was going to be an easy early spring jog turned into an urgent zig zag in a mine field. CrAzY. Barrie this is a perfect extension of the March 25 piece. An affirmation that the covid calamity has established a dimension and scope as big if not bigger than anything in our lives. It’s here, it’s settled in, it’s the unwelcome stranger in our living room, shaping our lives into brand new and odd, grotesque proportions, it’s so weird. Referencing ancient scripture is great. The perspective of the ancients is reaching across the ages and telling us “this is how ya do it son/daughter. Gentile dude that I am I attended a Passover Seder once and was enthralled by the writings in The Haggadah. How its writings were timeless and could be applied to the present. I was promptly given one as a gift and what a treasure of wisdom it is. Love your indignation regarding the flippant attitude of litter bugs who ignore the sacredness of ones home; the garden where you are planted. With you all the way Barrie. A very compelling, top notch piece as always. I’ll be sipping slowly on the wisdom of Psalm 92. Frank Armitage