Life Interrupted: Pandemic Life Parallels Jewish Mourning

On three separate occasions over the past decade, my comfortable reality was completely shattered. The first two experiences were very personal — losing my father and then my mother. Then, last March, the entire world experienced a paradigm shift. I reacted to each of these events with a profound sense of disbelief, despite my awareness that all were likely to happen. As the long months of quarantine marched on, it dawned on me that living in lockdown had many parallels to the two separate years I spent mourning my parents according to the customs of the Jewish tradition.

My parents died over six years apart, both at the age of ninety-two. Although I knew intellectually that their chronic health conditions made their situations precarious, I still felt a huge emotional jolt when both passed. The same was true with the onset of the COVID-19 lockdown. On the evening of March 11, 2020, I stayed in downtown Chicago after teaching my law school classes to have dinner with one of my daughters. At that time, neither of us really believed this would be the last time we would hug one other for over a year or that her wedding plans, which we joyfully discussed that night, would not materialize. On the way home, I learned that my university was closing immediately. I knew a shutdown was a strong possibility, but when faced with the actual reality of the closure, I was in shock.

After my parents’ death, I opted to follow most of the Jewish mourning rituals, not only because I felt it was the right thing to do but also because I knew this path would provide me with the comfort and direction I craved. For example, by requiring the quickest burial possible, Jewish tradition affords mourners a strong boost to their grieving spirit and facilitates a sense of closure. Even so, the interim period between a close relative’s death and the funeral, known as aninut, is extremely stressful, even if all of the arrangements have been made in advance of death. For this reason, Jewish law provides that a person in aninut is exempt from performing many of the positive commandments, such as saying routine prayers.

Following the shutdown, I experienced a period parallel to the aninut, but this time, it lasted far longer than a couple of days. I remember feeling stressed and confused during this time, on both a personal and professional level. As I desperately struggled to master the basics of online teaching, I also grappled with mundane issues, such as whether to go to the grocery store, a normal event that suddenly became a source of fear and anxiety. The fact that Passover was looming and that I still had more things to purchase for the holiday only exacerbated the pressure.

But during the earliest weeks of lockdown, I felt as though everyone I knew was sitting shiva together. I remember reaching out to many relatives and friends to check on them, and others did the same for me. In time, the clarity and routine I longed for became a reality. And much of that reality involved a highly constrained lifestyle that essentially eliminated some of the same activities that are off-limits during the year one mourns for a parent. For instance, as a mourner, I avoided music (even listening to the radio) and dancing. This was also true for most of this past year, although for different reasons. Usually, I listen to music while driving alone, but I have rarely been alone in my car this year since I have nowhere to go. As for dancing, I recall only one time over the past year when I danced in a group setting — Mother’s Day 2020, when my youngest daughter treated me to a Zoom Zumba class.

During the earliest weeks of lockdown, I felt as though everyone I knew was sitting shiva together.

And then there is the matter of buying clothing. During my years as a mourner, I followed the tradition of refraining from purchasing or wearing new clothes. But now, although I can freely purchase anything online, there is actually little incentive to shop since I have no occasion to wear anything other than my typical COVID-19 uniform (athleisure and nice tops for Zoom).

Of course, one stark difference between the past year and my years as a mourner is that I have not entered a synagogue for over a year, a marked departure from my routine in mourning, when I attended services daily to recite the Mourner’s Kaddish. Although many Jews currently in mourning are still finding ways to say the Kaddish during, for me, even socially distanced services are uncomfortable, and Zoom represents work rather than prayer.

At the end of both of my years of as a mourner, I felt ready to reenter the world and resume my life as before. I still miss my parents, but having honored them in the way I did, I felt ready to move on, even though I knew my world would never be quite the same. Today, as all of us begin to contemplate a new chapter with a greater degree of normalcy, we cannot help but wonder how this pandemic permanently changed our lives and our larger world.

Currently, our weekly Torah reading is from the Book of Exodus. In Chapter 28, we learn that G-d instructs Moses to select those who are “wise-hearted” to make the garments for Aaron, the high priest. A wise heart is an emotionally intelligent heart. By requiring this quality to be present in those charged with one of the most sacred tasks, the Torah contains an important message for everyone as we go forth in the weeks and months ahead:

The pandemic has forced many of us into a slower pace of life that is conducive to being more emotionally present for our family and friends, even if we cannot be with them physically. When the immediate danger of the pandemic is over, there will still be so many people coping with a great deal of pain and loss. As we resume a fuller existence, we all must strive to be wise-hearted and continue to be emotionally present for those in our communities and beyond.

Roberta Rosenthal Kwall is the Raymond P. Niro Professor at DePaul University College of Law. She is the author of “Remix Judaism: Transmitting Tradition in a Diverse World” (Rowman & Littlefield, 2020), “The Myth of the Cultural Jew” (Oxford University Press, 2015) and “The Soul of Creativity” (Stanford University Press, 2010).