It still blows me away that every synagogue in the world is closed for business. As well as virtually every restaurant, movie theater, shopping mall, music and sports venue, museum, library, and so on.
I’m not even mentioning lifecycle events like weddings, b’nai mitzvahs, brits, funerals, shivas and other occasions where communities usually gather.
This freedom to “show up” anywhere we choose — perhaps the most fundamental freedom of all — has been wrenched away from us.
What effect will this have on our lives once the crisis is over? Will we be more cautious, more withdrawn, less willing to engage with crowds?
Or will we re-embrace our precious freedom with a vengeance?
I’m no prophet. I have no idea which way things will go. I do know, however, that what is happening to us right now is unprecedented and these questions are pressing on my mind.
Because human beings are so used to adjusting to any situation as a survival mechanism, it’s easy to overlook the radical social disruption caused by these pandemic times. Also, the focus has been, appropriately, on the medical and economic devastation caused by COVID-19.
When more than 60,000 people lose their lives and more than 25 million people lose their livelihoods, it’s hard to focus on anything else. But the longer we are isolated from one another, the harder it becomes for me to ignore the communal and social repercussions.
I know homebody types who actually enjoy the isolation — no social pressures, no tense meetings, no forced smiles. There is a certain freedom to be found in a blank social calendar.
But even for homebodies, that can get old really fast. Eventually, humans need human contact — real human contact, not the digital Zoom substitute.
A perfect example is the community synagogue.
Once a week, on Shabbat, communities gather to reconnect after a long week, to catch up with friends, to feel the warmth of a like-minded crowd.
That is all gone.
The valiant efforts to transfer this synagogue life online is a no-win proposition. Sure, you can have online classes and prayers and Zoom sessions, but that can never compete with real-life gatherings — and everyone knows that.
In fact, it’s fair to say that real-life gatherings might be the most essential service provided by synagogues. Praying alone at home or listening to a brilliant sermon online can only go so far. It’s the collective energy of a crowd, the collective chanting, the feeling of togetherness that really moves us.
That’s true as well for places like malls and restaurants. Our very economy lives or dies on people “showing up,” presumably to consume.
But we also need the crowds. Crowds are a visual reaffirmation of our humanity, a reminder that we are not alone. I love going to movie theaters for precisely that reason. I enjoy being part of a crowd of strangers. Their anonymity is part of the experience.
In pre-COVID-19 days, walking through the streets of Manhattan was one of my favorite highs. A sea of humanity walking on sidewalks, as if in unison. It didn’t matter if I knew no one. I didn’t need to. The human energy was enough.
All that is gone. We can’t “show up” anymore.
When we do show up somewhere—to go for walks, bicycle rides, food shopping, etc.— we have to be extra careful to keep our distance. In other words, even when we leave our places of isolation, we are reminded of our isolation.
Which direction will I follow after this crisis is over and the world starts to open up? I’m guessing I will run to the first party I’m invited to, or the first synagogue service, or my favorite restaurant or movie theater.
But I’ll probably show up wearing a mask and gloves.
