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I See Living People

It’s good to be opening back up and it’s good not to be so alone anymore.
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June 8, 2021
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For many people, 2020 and 2021 have been far from the easiest of times. As my mother would say, “So what else is new?” Not unlike a telethon tote board, the news media depicted the daily increases of how many people either caught COVID or died from it. A friend said it was like we were at war if the numbers of Americans who have died—over 500,000—are accurate.

Pushing us to the next level of insanity, as if we really needed it, our power-hungry elected officials have been the living embodiment of “Do as I say and not as I do.” Don’t get a haircut, we were told. But politicians got haircuts. Don’t eat in restaurants. But they ate in restaurants. Don’t travel, but they still traveled. We were also ordered to close up our businesses, while politicians continued to be paid in full. My work, along with the work of many other Americans, was decimated. And for almost a full year, all houses of worship have been sealed as tight as a submarine hatch.

My work, along with the work of many other Americans, was decimated.

With all my heart and soul, I hope this year brings an upswing for everyone, everywhere.

But what I am about to say, leaves me feeling a bit guilty. The truth is that even though I haven’t worked in a year, it hasn’t been such a bad year. And just recently a wave of optimism has overtaken me.

Let me explain. Luckily, nobody in my family got sick from COVID. We have a new grandchild. Our family has walked through this year together without killing each other. My wife and I, much more cautious than our kids, did see our children but there was no hugging and they had to stay in the backyard. I am thinking of incorporating the backyard part permanently. Truthfully, having them there showed us how much they really care about us. That said, we understand that we were lucky to have been able to see them. I know people who did not see their children or aging parents, brothers and sisters ,or friends for the entire year.

My wife and I also became closer to our neighbors, but I don’t mean in the California hot tub way. Maybe next year. I mean as “friends.” My neighbors were a big link to what was left of our pre-COVID world and our sanity. They were the people we spoke to, in person, every day. They were not Zoom people. We talked to each other throughout the shutdowns and the horrible numbers and scary predictions.

Early on in Covid, two of my neighbors and I started a Friday and Saturday night Shabbos group. We walked Shabbos in and walked her back out each week. We sang and I even danced a bit. At first, we were six feet apart on my neighbor’s lawn and then we moved into my backyard. It gave us a real sense that all was not lost when we got together. It offered up some solace. It’s in the solace where I sometimes find God.

Some of the neighbor’s kids and my own kids occasionally joined the davening. The important thing is that the kids did not go through the year without seeing their parents praying. I wish I had seen my parents pray more. I wish my kids had seen me pray more.

The important thing is that the kids did not go through the year without seeing their parents praying.

The most fun was when my neighbors would bring their kids over to play with our dog. I don’t want to sound like a doting parent, but we have the friendliest dog in the world. Plus, he was the only one in my family with no mask and no vaccine that could sit in anyone’s lap and kiss them. If my dog were a man and he acted the way the dog acted, he would be in jail. When you tell my dog “no more kissing,” he refuses to listen.

A few weeks ago, I got an email saying that my synagogue was going to reopen—first small groups and then larger ones. I was excited. I had not seen my rabbi or most of my friends for almost a year. I am proof that “absence does make the heart grow fonder.”

I got into my first ever handmade suit that I bought two months before COVID, and I walked to shul in it. I’m sorry to say it, but my new suit was a little tight around my edges. I wondered if I would look a year older to my friends at shul since I officially started turning grey this year.

What a pleasure it was to see people back in the street, walking on Shabbos. I see living people. When I walked into shul and saw old friends, the word “happy” does not cut it. I was “ecstatic.” Honestly, it was a little like what I imagined it would be like coming back from the dead. I see living people. Rabbi Muskin, our family rabbi, spoke in person and was amazing. I so missed hearing him in person every week. I so much missed learning from him. To shake hands and hug again with some of the other fully vaccinated people was a godsend.

Two weeks later I walked into shul and I saw giant balloons. There was a bar mitzvah in the other room. Balloons and people getting together. People again were showing up to celebrate. I see more living people every day. The following week I saw another bar mitzvah, and this time, there were over 300 people that came.

My wife, our sons, and I just flew to New York to celebrate my son Noah’s engagement to his sweetheart Chloe. It was a great celebration. I have never seen a vaccine do more for a person than this one has. It was the key to freedom.

After a year of such loss and such sadness, this was so important. It was a year where many of us wondered if we were going to make it. A year where many of us wondered who in our family we might lose. A year without seeing family, friends, rabbis, doctors, and even traffic. A year without going to school. A year with no haircuts or eating in restaurants. A year of no travel. A year without much community.

After a year of COVID and after a year of solitude, life is getting back to life. It’s good to be opening back up and it’s good not to be so alone anymore. If you have received the vaccine, go find someone else that has also has and hug them. Probably both of you could use it.


Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.

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