When we ushered in the year 2020, it sounded like a fortuitous number – even, balanced, full. Like any new year it was full of promise, hope, goals to be accomplished, relationships to nurture, challenges to meet. Who knew what challenges lay ahead? Who dreamed that the entire world would be battling a pernicious virus – an enemy not from within, not from a political power, not from a foreign country, not from haters – but an enemy which was silent, invisible, sneaky and potentially deadly.
We all experience this period of brokenness in our own way. For me, the last several months have been full of ups and downs, alternating between hope and despair, acceptance and anger, self-care and self-neglect. When the pandemic shut-downs started, I set some daily goals for my self. I promised myself that I would meditate daily, walk outside or engage in some other moderate exercise daily, and accomplish at least one thing every day, no matter how small. In my meditation, I sought to I fill myself with strength, hope and gratitude.This lasted for several months. I didn’t even realize until recently that I had let go of all these healthy practices, at least on a regular basis. I continued to tune into Shabbat services and to several TBE classes. I did some Caring Community work, and I wrote many postcards as part of a social justice initiative. I read a lot, and I wasted a lot of time playing word games on my computer. We learned to live with masks, with social distancing, and with enhanced hygiene. We saw our children and grandchildren for outside visits and meals. So we were getting by, some days even thriving.
Then, fewer than two months ago, Howard received a devastating diagnosis. The call from the doctor came on a Friday evening just before we were about to join Shabbat services on Zoom. I really needed to say a misheberach. Because in our COVID style of services, the names go out in a “chat” box that all may see, and it is quite public among our community, I asked Howard’s permission before I wrote his name in. That was the beginning. We experienced an outflowing of love and support from the community that was beyond measure. We felt cared for, held in a loving embrace. This, I thought, is truly a kehillat kedushah, a holy community. This is our extended family, They lift us up and keep us going.
I have often thought as I attended a funeral, that it is too bad the deceased did not get to hear the positive things that were being said about them. What I learned through this experience is, that when you have a severe illness, and when you are willing to be open and share your vulnerability, you do get to hear these things. You learn how loved and how valued you are.
This journey is far from over. How lucky we are that we are taking it with our beloved TBE family. Thank you to everyone. I write this with tears in my eyes and with gratitude in my heart.
