The anemones are out. Usually they bloom at the end of February or the beginning of March. And everyone drives down to the south to see them. But now the weather is almost summery and we’re in lockdown and the times are wrong and keeps changing : We are expecting rain on the day the quarantine is supposed to end. That will keep most of us close to home.
But most people don’t believe that the quarantine will end, or that anything will really change with the elections. There is a sense of relinquishing hope, of .. maybe… despair. After that great anticipation of the vaccinations, we discover that all our ambivalence about the innoculations was in vain – that we thought and thought and thought about what to do and now we are largely vaccinated and there is a new strain to which perhaps we’re not immune.
Since i haven’t put up any events in a year and haven’t even looked at my event page since I set up this site, I should start sharing the next week with you.
Let’s see, tomorrow at the SELI conference I’ve got 5 minutes to explain about the poetry boom on zoom.
then on the 13th we’re probably having a Valentines’ zoom with every one reading love poems – more info coming as soon as we can get ourselves to get along…
then on the 16th Sabine Hunyh and I are doing an afternoon on the book “Survivre son histoire/Surviving her story” for an event at Oxford University and the University of Michigan. You can register here
Paranoia is the new normal – at least for me. When we see others on the street, we cross over to the other side. We fear our children, and now even more than before because even though we’re on lockdown its only in theory – After all, children have to play with each other, shops have to open – even only through the back door, hairdressers seem to be going around to people’s homes. All this makes life more difficult for those of us who remain vulnerable.
There is also a crazy mental isolation among the population. In our walk today we met a number of neighbors our age who were without masks and big smiles on their faces. “Aren’t we lucky? We’re safe!” they said, as if the while thing is over. it isn’t.
This is the holiday of the new year of trees, and is usually celebrated by the planting of a sapling. Since we have planted all our saplings, and can’t see our kids yet to plant with them, what I’ve decided to do is show my appreciation to my favorite tree.
Both of us need a hug. This tree has been through a great deal this year. Before the Covid 19 lockdown the entire street was renovated and many changes made – most of them pretty, but stupid. This poor tree was knocked about by mistake at least 3 times, and lost many of its limbs. I watched in horror while branches were broken off by accident, and no attempt was made to even out the broken edges to prevent disease and allow for further growth. Nevertheless it has survived, and it is due to blossom soon.
Even though we have the highest percentage of vaccinated people (close to 3/8ths of the population as of today), we are also suffering a high percentage of deaths from corona, and a lot of younger people infected. The big problem is the situation of the hospitals, suffering terribly from budgetary problems. A friend suggested we turn the hospitals into yeshivas and that way the funding problem would be solved. But seriously folks – this situation can’t go on. For years we’ve seen the halls of the wards crowded with beds filled with seriously ill patients and the medical staff fighting to accomodate every one. it couldn’t continue like this, and after almost a year of this I’m sure we’ll have many more deaths just because there aren’t enough nurses to keep an eye on those monitors that can totally change in seconds.
Somehow I was thinking of this today while I sat with a friend in the warm sun and watched the beautiful flowers and vegetables on the window sill. Tonight there will be a storm and I wonder which plants will suffer, which survive. It is my job to keep watch and try to protect them.
And to add to this strange combination of thoughts – I watched the Palestinian workers building a luxurious house down the street, and have learned since there are tens of thousands of workers who cross the border daily – not only to build houses, but also to work in hospitals. They are rarely tested and the vaccinations haven’t yet arrived there.
This train of thought may seem to you to be only the musings of a poet, but I see it as essential to a politician as well…
After more than 24 hours without internet, and much work on the part of Ezi throughout, we went online and received our green passports. Theoretically this will allow us to go to concerts, museums, and who knows what – once they open. But in actuality we have no idea if the vaccine works on Ezi, who is full of ritoximab that lowers resistance, and if it works on the new mutations. So, theoretically, we are in a better place. But, practically, nothing has changed.
At this moment, I’m actually much happier that Ezi managed to get new equipment and reconnect our internet. I might have had to start to clean and cook had not my distraction returned.
When i first started reading about the fact that we haven’t shared our vaccines with Palestinians, I thought it was understandable that we would take care of one population after another. Now I’m beginning to wonder. It would not only be legal but also the moral imperative to share with people for whom we have claimed responsibility, even though Abu Mazen has taken responsibility for getting the Sputnik vaccine to the west bank.
There was also another reason that occurred to me this morning as we were walking around our neighborhood. I watch the houses going up and realize that at least in one of them the builders are not from here. I may not know Arabic well, but I seem to be able to distinguish different dialects and the one I heard today is not from any place I’ve been to in the past forty years.
when I saw the inauguration last week I kept myself from crying – the way poetry was part of the message of models of faith for the future. Models FOR faith, not in faith. HOW to believe in the future and how to be the kind of people that could make it happen.
The poetry itself seemed more spoken word than poetry to me, but Amanda Gorman did an amazing job in fulfilling the hope that we can change our lives, the direction of our politics. And Biden’s reinforcement of that kind of belief in his quotation from Heaney’s poetry, something that was characteristic of empathic presidents before him – from Kennedy to Clinton to Biden, made me believe.
And it made me see the contrasts between our leadership in Israel and the hope for the future in the U.S. government. When Shimon Peres would quote a line from poetry, you knew he read the poem and chose it himself. When Bibi – or any of the other politicians in the country – quote a poem, you know they’ve had some speechwriter who had combed the web for famous sayings…
Thanks to Linda Streit for pointing out this op-ed to me
Please let us hear more encouraging words that shape and enable a better society in the future.