It’s not easy to persuade people to change habits, especially when those habits are an expression of a certain love that cannot be contained, like meat and rice bursting out of a stuffed tomato.
Case in point: Telling a bunch of Persians to refrain from kissing one another on the cheek for fear of spreading the deadly coronavirus.
I believe humans can be divided into two groups: those who say hello with their eyes, and those who say hello with their arms and lips.
A British friend pointed out his countrymen belong to the first category and therefore are not inconvenienced by a shift in global customs to temporarily suspend handshakes, hugs and kisses. Apparently, the British even welcome these restrictions.
An Ashkenazi friend also instructed his community to “carry on as usual,” although I question how effective that request will be. My Ashkenazi friends are as warm as their steaming pots of cholent.
I don’t mean to be flippant or callous, but I’m starting to see why the virus spread so rapidly in Italy and Iran. Have you ever met an Italian who didn’t try to hug you, or an Iranian who didn’t pull you in for a kiss on each cheek?
I learned this firsthand after my family and I escaped Iran and were temporarily resettled in Italy. The sight of a Persian and an Italian saying a warm hello is one of the best things I’ve seen. It’s also one of the longest.
I believe humans can be divided into two groups: those who say hello with their eyes, and those who say hello with their arms and lips.
But now, we’re all nervous. We are beginning to hoard items ranging from hand sanitizer to nonperishable food because anxiety about a potential coronavirus outbreak in our neighborhoods is running high.
And when you’re really worried about your family’s health, being told you should stop engaging with others, even through a handshake, further amplifies those anxieties and a certain sense of doom.
In Iran, which has the third-highest rate of coronavirus-related deaths outside China, customs for greeting one another are now noticeably different, especially among lawmakers, 10% of whom reportedly are infected. Whereas male Iranian leaders are typically seen hugging and kissing, they now bow, smile and nod their heads so feverishly they look like bobbleheads during an earthquake.
I’m particularly intrigued by how people have interpreted restrictions related to coronavirus. In Iran — the setting of the ancient Purim story that Jews worldwide recounted this week as they read the Megillat Esther — the Chief Rabbi of Tehran, Yehudah Grami, ruled that Iran’s Jewish community was not permitted to partake this year in the day of fasting that immediately proceeds Purim, called Ta’anit Esther (“Fast of Esther”). The fast day commemorates how the Jews of Shushan fasted for three days to be saved by God in the wake of Haman’s evil plan to exterminate them.
In Israel, Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi David Lau wrote in his ruling, “In these days, where sadly we see the spread of a terrible disease, there is doubt that one should not kiss mezuzot or even touch them. It is enough for a person to reflect on the verses written in the scroll when he enters or departs from a place, and these thoughts will accompany him on his way.”
In Los Angeles, the Farhang Foundation, a nonpolitical organization that promotes Iranian culture, canceled its annual Nowruz (Persian New Year) festival at UCLA — the largest Nowruz celebration in the world — which draws 25,000.
It’s just as well. I’m not sure I could have stomached the sight of 25,000 Iranians bowing and bobbing heads rather than the kissing and hugging they do so well.
The spread of coronavirus has given literal meaning to the song, “Kiss and Say Goodbye.” Let’s take every precaution to protect ourselves and our communities. There’ll be plenty of time to reconnect in the fall.
Tabby Refael is a Los Angeles-based writer and speaker.
