Pandemic Story: The New “C” Word

I’ve started a zero tolerance regimen. In my household, we do not leave to go to any public places, not even the supermarket.

The only activity that I engage in outside of property boundaries is a long walk daily. There is a beautiful Trustee of Reservations property up the road with nature trails, an apple orchard, and a small children’s zoo with chickens and goats. As soon as the weather warms, you will spot me sitting under a tree, reading, or listening to my playlist.

I’m hoping to find inspiration to write there too, but for now I’m so preoccupied with the health crisis that I’ve lost my mojo.

If too many people discover the area, I’m leaving. I’m happy that so many take to the outdoors but even beaches and parks around here have gotten crowded, with frequent stopping and chatting.

This concerns me, and so I commit to my own parameters.

My son and his family in Israel abide by strict national measures, imposed from the top down, unlike here where the governors and mayors are in charge, having authority to determine the level of permissible public and commercial activity. 

I’m hoping that total isolation will cause this plague to pass over me and all of us. I am in my seventies, a vulnerable age group. I take that fact to heart.

Even if we are physically fit, I’ve read that the mature immune system loses its “oomph” as it ages (see many medical and scientific articles including Aging Lowers Your Immunity — https://www.livescience.com/35908-aging-lowers-your-immunity.html ). I may be able to kick butt on the treadmill or a spin bike under favorable conditions, but my body chemistry is on a journey invisible within me, equivalent to a pre-existing condition by mid-seventies.

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The Coronavirus crisis brings to my mind the Story of the Exodus from Egypt in Biblical times. Their firstborn sons died by morning because the Egyptians did not know to put the blood of the lamb on their doorposts. In his grief, the Pharaoh allowed the enslaved Hebrews to escape to the shores of the Red Sea and on to their forty year physical and spiritual quarantine in the desert.

“This is what the LORD says: “About midnight I will go throughout Egypt. Every firstborn son in Egypt will die, from the firstborn son of Pharaoh, who sits on the throne, to the firstborn of the slave girl, who is at her hand mill, and all the firstborn of the cattle as well . . .” *Exodus 11:4–6

I’m convinced that the global pandemic is likewise a scourge of Biblical proportions, and from which we can learn a metaphorical lesson about compliance with crucial life-saving advice, just as the Hebrews were required to do then.

Prayer alone was not sufficient. To save their firstborn—and by doing so they would save not only individuals but the entire community—they were commanded to participate in an all-encompassing effort. On the night of the tenth plague, the Israelites were told: “Do not go forth from your houses until morning. Let not the destroyer come into your homes.”

For those who celebrate Passover, the journey of the Jewish people making their way to freedom after centuries of bondage will resonate in a way it never has before. Even two weeks of confinement, so far, seem endless.

Discussions around the virtual Seder table this year (2020/5780) will turn to ominous parallels that were glossed over in the past, on our joyous way to the meal, singing, drinking wine, and patiently listening to the young ones recite the Four Questions.

If our epidemiologists, research scientists, and experienced medical authorities tell us that isolating at home and following strict measures may, just may, keep the virus away from us or contain its spread to others, I will mark my mental doorpost accordingly.

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This is the first time in my life I’ve had to do something like this. My quarantine as an eight year old with a bad case of the measles doesn’t count.

As a child, I was not scared. My mom smiled at me as she tied my hair up in a pink bow that matched my mottled skin. I remember how much better she made me feel, bringing me a bowl of soft white rice in warm milk with melting butter. But behind her smile, she had to be scared too. Information was spreading around that children could go blind.

It’s a strange landscape encircling us. But I’m grateful to be in my own house, with all the technology set in place to keep me connected to my friends and family, to information and to services (including religious services), and for most every need. My house serves as the epicenter of safety and security, just as my parents’ house did when I was a child.

We New Englanders shovel our way out of blizzards, but now, even though the front path is clear, there are barriers to keep us from wandering about and encountering danger. Pledging to a consistent code of conduct and stringent practices with the significant others in our “bubble” is vitally important. Pressure on the outside of the enclosure may cause an inadvertent or accidental breach. Tragically, consequences can be severe.

Binding closely in solidarity may be the only means of contact available for some right now.

Where is the modern Moses to shepherd us to a return to good health and all the good fortune that flows from it?

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In our country right now, that may be Dr. Anthony Fauci (Director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases), leading us through the maze of information and misinformation with clarity and integrity.

I am thinking of all of you, everywhere, my readers and friends, struggling to accept not only harsh restrictions, but a new way of life—in a year like no other.

Stay strong and safe in every way you can, for everyone you can.