Slice of Life

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.

As we get deeper into the coronavirus crisis, I’m finding these articles increasingly difficult to write. Who can sit and write during a time like this? Who can even sit? I find myself flitting around my house from one activity to another, my mind racing from one thought to the next at lightning speed. As one day blends into the next, I even lose track of time. What can I write? So many people are sick and dying. So many tragedies. So much suffering and fear. I’ve written about subjective fear in these pages in the past, but I don’t believe there is anybody on this earth who would not agree that these are terrifying times. I can barely look at the news, particularly the news coming out of New York. I hear what is going on in our communities and I want to run away. I am worried about friends, family, our communities, and all of mankind. I contact my friends with trepidation. So many of them have the virus or have family members who have it. My T’hilim list grows and grows.

In the olden days of several weeks ago, I used to take a daily power walk around the main street of Ramat Beit Shemesh Alef. I was always struck by the fact that people living in the same community and walking down the same street can be living in extremely different realities. One person may be shopping for food to serve at a sheva brachos, while another may have just gotten up from shiv’ah. One may be coming from a home filled with excitement due to an upcoming wedding, while another comes from a more somber home dealing with the illness of a loved one. All these realities converge on the street as each person goes about his business. People simultaneously move around in the bubbles of their lives. At times, one bubble will bump into another. While our inner worlds may look drastically different, it may not seem obvious, since on an external level we all have to do the activities that all people must do in order to function.