Category: Opinion

Racism is a Jewish issue

On June 4, New Brunswick resident Chantel Moore, originally from the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation near Tofino, B.C., was shot to death by a police officer sent to her home to check on her well-being. On May 27, Regis Korchinski-Paquet, an indigenous-black woman, fell 24 floors from her apartment during a police incident in Toronto.

In the United States, George Floyd died on May 25, after being pinned to the ground with a knee pressed into his neck for more than eight minutes by a police officer in Minneapolis. Breonna Taylor was killed March 13 in her bed in Louisville, Ky., in what amounts to a home invasion by police. Ahmaud Arbery was chased by three armed white neighbours and murdered on Feb. 23, while he was jogging in Georgia.

The challenge in compiling a list of names of black Americans and indigenous and racialized Canadians killed by police or lynched by vigilantes is choosing which from a horrifically long list of victims’ names to include. And the structural conditions that have led to this particular moment of upheaval are not new. Similar demonstrations have occurred after particularly egregious incidents, like the killing of Michael Brown by police in Ferguson, Mo., in 2014; Trayvon Martin, who was murdered in 2012 by a cop-wannabe; and the beating of Rodney King by police in Los Angeles in 1991. Again, the list of just the most familiar incidents could fill pages. And they are not limited to the United States.

Could this time be different? One thing that some Black Lives Matter proponents are noting is the apparently unprecedented engagement of non-black allies in this moment. Is this because we all have more time on our hands right now? Or have we reached a tipping point, when the lofty language of equality has finally penetrated deep into the mainstream of North American society?

There are parallel streams happening, from the issue of police violence to the broader matter of societal behaviour toward racialized people. These are exacerbated by the unpardonable conduct of the U.S. president. When Trayvon Martin was killed, then-president Barack Obama noted that, if he had a son, he would look like Trayvon. The current president tweets threats of violence and has police forcibly clear peaceful demonstrators so he can have a photo taken in front of a church he has never entered. In a country aflame, the president’s comportment is incendiary and perilous.

This is a time for our community, the Jewish community, to consider our complacency and complicity in upholding racist systems. It is, as American historian and author Ibram X. Kendi implores, not enough to be not racist. We must be actively anti-racist. We must stand in solidarity with those who are suffering and recognize that the pain of racism is also the pain of antisemitism.

The solidarity and support we crave when we are threatened is the solidarity and support we must give other communities when they are in need. Give your time to an anti-racism organization. Donate your money to support black-owned businesses and organizations working to support the black community. Pray for the healing that is so badly needed in our society. March for equality and justice (in a safe manner). Stand up when you see injustice or hear a “casually” racist remark. Sign your name to a petition asking decision-makers to step up and rein in the militarization of policing and the funding that gets diverted from community into the over-policing of racialized communities.

Interrogate Canada’s colonial history and the lived realities of indigenous communities. Ask our educators to explore with their students global histories and the untold stories of millions, including richer views of Jewish history and the experiences and contributions of Jews who are not of European descent. Read a work of fiction by a black or indigenous author. Learn about how black culture forms the bedrock of North American culture and from where those art forms come. Explore the history of the black community here in Vancouver and how the early Jewish community, along with other minorities, together have called Strathcona home.

Absorb the teachings of Abraham Joshua Heschel, who referenced the calls of the Hebrew prophets in the struggle for civil rights in the 1960s and who marched alongside Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., for justice. If you’re already doing all of these things, share your knowledge and example with your family, your synagogue and the organizations and schools you support.

Some Jewish observers have expressed reservations about the Black Lives Matter movement, at least partly because the umbrella organization endorses the boycott, divestment and sanctions movement against Israel. This is an unfortunate and misguided move on their part, especially since BDS harms Palestinians in addition to Israelis. But the issue of black people – and people of colour in Canada and elsewhere – being murdered by police or lynched by racists must take precedence now. We can argue over Israel and Palestine later.

If one feels the need to prioritize Jewish or Israeli concerns at this moment, then let’s prioritize the safety of black Jews and Jews of colour. The vast majority of Jews are morally affected by what is happening in our society and black Jews are immediately and personally impacted both by what is happening in the world and by what is happening in our community around this issue.

Let us not pretend that this is not a “Jewish issue.” Rather, let us live by what is referred to as one of the “eternal religious obligations” of Judaism: “Justice, justice you shall pursue.”

Rabbinic planting advice

My family plants a garden every summer. We live in a city and don’t have lots of room. Since our house is more than 100 years old, we created small raised beds, filled with compost and soil, to avoid growing veggies in what is potentially contaminated soil.

Although my husband and I have gardened together for years, when our twins were younger, we developed a haphazard technique. Before twins, we might have studied companion plants, figuring out what would grow best and where, but all that disappeared after two babies came on scene. Since then, every year, right around their birthday on June 1, we’d throw a planting party with some friends. First, we had the birthday ice cream cake and, then, we’d dig together. Within an hour, the entire garden was planted.

Sometimes, a retired history professor was in charge of bean planting. Our actor friend, who also worked as a mother’s helper for us when the kids were small, was in charge of squash. It was sometimes a surprise to see what the garden produced. We left it all to chance – what grows and what fails would be a surprise.

This year, no parties, of course. With two kids home from elementary school in mid-March, we started seeding. We planted lettuce, radish and spinach outdoors. We followed the advice of Winnipeg’s mayor, who suggested people “plant an extra row” for the food bank, as so many are out of work. We planted sprouting potato peelings as one of our home-school science projects, and filled every extra pot with potato plants.

In the Babylonian Talmud, in Tractate Shabbat, starting page 84b, the rabbis discuss how to plant a garden. What is an acceptable plan for a garden bed, which avoids the prohibition of sowing diverse kinds of seeds together, they ask? The rabbis engage in a level of landscaping planning that my gardens have never seen. In the Vilna edition, there are even illustrations and sketches provided.

This year in our garden, for the first time in awhile, we know where everything is and who planted what. I don’t have to call any of our friends to find out which variety of squash seeds they used and if they will be close enough to the others to pollinate properly!

What struck me though was that, unlike past years, we had time to spread out and enjoy the gardening experience. Yes, we’ve had virtual meetings for school and work, but the summer unfurls before us with practically nothing on the calendar – no traveling, no festivals, no big obligations. We’re still waiting to hear, but suspect there will be no summer camp or swim lessons at the lake either. Staying home is where it’s at.

Long, unplanned stretches of weekend time and summer evenings spool out ahead. We can stream services or watch a Jewish music concert from home, play on the porch or water the garden. True, we may not be able to travel to see grandparents or have big Shabbat dinners. We do miss our friends and family. However, we’ll have leisurely morning dog walks to explore new places and greet neighbours, long afternoons to help our kids learn to bike, fly kites, or just scooter up and down the block.

This scary coronavirus is stressful, don’t get me wrong. We’ve already felt its serious effects on relatives in New York and New Jersey. It continues to affect us in many ways and, even if summer’s a reprieve, the danger hasn’t passed. Yet, in the virus’s shadow, we’ve been offered a moment to adjust and experience an entirely different pace, and it’s a surprising gift on its own.

Yes, our garden is more orderly this year than it has been in at least 10 years, but it’s nothing as tidy or thoughtful as the rabbis’ landscaping guides. I suspect, if the rabbis were to see our garden beds, they would be upset. We squish way too many varieties of tomatoes, beans, peas, lettuces, cucumbers, herbs and more into these small spaces.

At the same time, our pandemic-enforced break may offer us the chance for longer conversations, more time off to enjoy family and Shabbat, and more learning, too. I can’t pretend the rabbis’ advice made us plant more tidy rows of beans, carrots or nasturtiums, but the pandemic likely gave me the time and space to read their advice, and actually think about it.

We’ve eaten two salads full of microgreens and herbs, straight from the garden, and I got to share with you what I’ve learned about 1,500-year-old planting advice. That’s not a bad start to the season. It’s also a reminder: get out in the sunshine! (With sunscreen and social distancing, of course.) Summer lies ahead – with newfound time to enjoy it.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

 

Favourable position

British Columbians, like others in much of the world, are stepping gingerly into what may be a post-pandemic period – or an “inter-pandemic” phase, if the predicted second wave bears out. Our daily briefings from Dr. Bonnie Henry, the provincial health officer, and Health Minister Adrian Dix are cautiously optimistic, tempered with the reality that some people, given an inch, will take a mile. Confusion around, or contempt for, changing social distancing guidelines has meant numerous instances of inappropriate gatherings.

All in all, though, British Columbians have so far experienced among the lowest proportions of COVID-related illnesses and deaths than almost any jurisdiction in the developed world. Each death is a tragedy, yet we should be grateful for those who have recovered and the fact that so many of us have remained healthy so far. Thanks should go to all those who have helped others make it through, including first responders, healthcare professionals and also those irreplaceable workers we used to take for granted: retail and service employees and others who have allowed most of us to live through this with comparatively minimal disruptions.

In our Jewish community, so many individuals and institutions have done so much, from delivering challah to providing emergency financial and other supports for those affected by the economic impacts of the pandemic.

Canadians, in general, seem to be making it through this time as well as can be expected. Polls indicate that Canadians are overwhelmingly supportive of the actions our governments have taken during the coronavirus pandemic. How the federal and provincial governments manage the continuing economic repercussions and the potential resurgence of infections in coming months will determine long-term consequences both for us and for their popularity.

In signs that things are returning to something akin to pre-pandemic normal, Binyamin Netanyahu, Israel’s once-and-still-prime minister, is complaining about a “left-wing coup” and asserting that “the entire right” is on trial. In fact, it is not an entire wing of the Israeli political spectrum that is on trial, but Netanyahu himself, for bribery, breach of trust and fraud. He is accused of exchanging favours to friends and allies in return for hundreds of thousands of dollars in trinkets like cigars and champagne, and favourable coverage in media. Whatever strategy his team has for inside the courtroom, his PR strategy is pure deflection: blame the media, the court system, political opponents. He’s fighting two trials: the one in the justice system and the one in the court of public opinion. Netanyahu has managed to save his political hide thus far, through three successive elections and a year of coalition-building and horse trading. Predicting what might happen next is a popular but fruitless pastime.

More signs that things are not so different came from U.S. President Donald Trump on the weekend. As the death toll in the United States approached 100,000, Trump took time off from golfing to deliver Twitter rants, including retweets calling Hillary Clinton a “skank” and smearing other female Democrats for their appearance. Trump also insinuated that MSNBC TV host Joe Scarborough is a murderer.

Sitting (mostly) comfortably in our homes watching such things from afar, it’s no wonder Canadians are feeling good about the way our various governments – federal and provincial, of all political stripes – are behaving these days.

Kugel comforts during COVID

Yerushalmi kugel by Jamie Geller. (photo from jamiegeller.com)

If I’d known the world was going to be locked down because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I would have stocked up on toilet paper, disinfecting wipes and pasta much sooner. Of course, only one of those is edible.

Desperate measures call for desperate times and, when so many restaurants have closed, cooking has become mandatory. As has self-isolation. Sure, we could order takeout, but I’m still slightly paranoid about who cooks my food. After all, you’re only as healthy as the last person you were in contact with. I rest my case.

I’ve tried to be creative in the kitchen, but, when you’re used to eating sushi at least once a week and shopping for fresh food every day, it gets challenging during a lockdown. Now we eat more pasta. Way more pasta. My husband Harvey loves it. Me, not so much.

Harvey does a Costco run every so often to stock up, but I’m loathe to send him out into the dangerous spittle-filled world of COVID coughs right now. And the regular stores are often out of the basics, at least until recently. To be completely frank, I’m sick of cooking. So, what’s an accidental balabusta to do?

I’ll tell you what I did. I handed Harvey my mother’s tattered Jewish Council Cookbook the other day and pronounced: “Make something!” So, what does he choose from all those geshmak recipes? Tuna noodle casserole. You know the one – it’s composed of Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup, Kraft Dinner and a can or two of tuna. If you want to get really fancy shmancy, you can grate some aged cheddar cheese on top. It’s the quintessential comfort food. Minus the sushi. Or, in Harvey’s case, minus the tuna.

My first dip of the fork into the ooey-gooey goodness of the tuna noodle casserole elicited a squeal of surprise. It was actually delicious. Processed deliciousness, but nonetheless yummy in the extreme. The tummy wants what the tummy wants. After a few bites, I expressed my perplexity that I didn’t taste the tuna. Harvey said it had probably sunk to the bottom, so I did a deep dive to the base of the casserole dish, and … bupkis. Harvey had a go at it and, likewise, nada. He humbly walked over to the fridge, opened it, and sheepishly admitted that he’d forgotten to put in the tuna. So, we were eating KD with mushroom soup and a crusty topping of melted cheddar. It was still superb, in a plebian sort of way. Does this count as accidental balabatishness? I didn’t think so. Even if it did, I wasn’t the balabusta who made it.

I’m not proud of what we ate. But I’m sure other people have eaten worse. Much worse. Think fried Spam. Or headcheese (whatever that is). Nobody is going to raise their hand and cop to either of those atrocities, but, trust me, I know where the bodies are buried.

In the end, a casserole that I thought was going to feed us for two nights lasted three. Kind of like a tuna-based Chanukah miracle – the “excess” tuna gave its life for a couple of sandwiches, to boot. The real victory was that I didn’t have to cook for three whole nights.

Don’t think I can’t hear you yelling, “What’s the matter with you people? Haven’t you ever heard of salads?!” Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I have. And, as much as I love salads, it’s not a mutual admiration alliance. Harvey buys pre-bagged salads for himself as a side dish, but rarely do we eat a jacked-up salad for the main course. It could very well land me in the hospital, and I choose not to take that chance. Digestion issues.

By rights, I should probably have scurvy by now, but I have thankfully dodged that bullet. To get some colour in my food, I put steamed or roasted carrots in everything. Sometimes, I even eat broccoli. Is my diet restrictive? Sure. Am I relatively healthy, nonetheless? Yes – the operative word being relatively. My body happens to do well on protein. Lots and lots of protein. Animal protein. I’ll own it: I’m a card-carrying carnivore. Don’t judge me. In case you care, I used to switch things up with more varied restaurant food before COVID-19 came calling. But now that I’m relegated to my own culinary wits, things have gotten kind of serious. And not in a good way.

I am jonesing pretty bad for some agedashi tofu and salmon sashimi, but I don’t dare eat that now. I heard that, if you get takeout food, the first thing you should do is transfer it to your own dishes and reheat it in the microwave to kill off any viruses or bacteria. That’s fine for cooked food, but I believe that eating sashimi during a COVID-19 pandemic is like sticking a hand grenade in your mouth and hoping to have a pleasant day.

Desperate for some variety, I dug through my recipes and came across one for Jerusalem kugel. It still counts as pasta, but I view it as a more cultured, genteel pasta. Usually a side dish, I knew I could convince Harvey that it’s a main (especially if I served him enough of it). I figure I’ll follow it up with a roasted carrot/yam chaser. This particular kugel is satisfyingly savoury and sweet, and the recipe is by Jamie Geller.

SWEET AND PEPPERY JERUSALEM KUGEL

1 (12 ounce) package thin egg noodles
1 cup sugar
1/3 cup oil
4 eggs
1 tsp salt
1/4 tsp to 1 tsp ground pepper

  1. Preheat oven to 350˚F.
  2. Bring a pot of water to a boil. Cook noodles according to package instructions. Strain and set aside.
  3. Add the sugar and oil to a large pot on low heat. Stir until sugar is dissolved and a deep golden caramel colour, but not burnt. This can take 20 minutes or more.
  4. Turn off the heat and add the noodles into the pot of sugar. Immediately stir with a big spoon until the noodles are coated in the caramel. Don’t worry if the sugar hardens into blobs – it will melt in the oven.
  5. Allow the mixture to cool for about 10 minutes. Mix in the eggs, salt and pepper. (Make sure it’s cool so the eggs don’t cook.)
  6. Pour the mixture into a greased springform pan or baking dish. Bake for one hour.

May this COVID-19 pandemic be over with soon. In the meantime, as Dr. Bonnie Henry says: “Be kind. Be Calm. Stay safe.” As for the Accidental Balabusta, figuring out what to cook every night should be my worst problem. Ever.

Shelley Civkin, aka the Accidental Balabusta, is a happily retired librarian and communications officer. For 17 years, she wrote a weekly book review column for the Richmond Review. She’s currently a freelance writer and volunteer.

Jewish surety in Shabbat ritual

We have two Jewish dogs. When we sing Shabbat blessings, our dogs come over, sit politely, and wait until we’re done with the Hamotzi, the blessing over the bread. Then, they each get a small chunk of challah. This is the only people food they get. We don’t feed them while we eat and they don’t beg. However, when they hear us start to sing blessings, they know what to do!

On Chanukah or Passover, we are ready with alternative treats. Every night after we light Chanukah candles, they get dog biscuits. On Passover, they get matzah.

Our lab/pointer mix, Sally, who is more than 15 years old, has been doing poorly. Bigger dogs don’t usually live this long. She’s had a good life. We love her dearly. When she started having trouble eating, despite pandemic vet visits and several medicines, we were ready to try anything. She vomited and would eat only sparingly.

Then I had an idea. We had leftover homemade challah after Shabbat ended last week. I took out a piece, broke it into smaller bits, and started reciting brachot (blessings). I sang the Hamotzi. She moved her sore joints and sat near me. She ate challah. I did it again. She ate a little more challah. I kept going. In my happy blessing voice, I sang the Shehecheyanu (“Who has given us life”) blessing, feeling grateful for having reached this moment. Challah eaten. I thanked the Almighty for making me in the divine image. Challah eaten. I sang the blessing about giving tired people the strength to go on, from the morning blessings. She ate more challah.

My husband had small luck with this approach. In the end, she ate more for me. Was it my singing? My happy fake-out training technique, after 15 years of dog training to sit for blessings? We don’t know why it worked. After a day or two, we ran out of challah and switched to dog biscuits. Now, she is eating a weird mixture of special canned dog food diet, chicken and kibble again. Things are better, for now.

I want to tell one of our relatives, Ann, in New York City, about this success – about our old Jewish dog, her many blessings and the challah – but I can’t call her. She died May 3rd from a blood disorder. Once she was admitted to the hospital in New York, she was alone. Although she didn’t die from COVID-19, she died alone because of it. Ann, may her memory be a blessing, loved dogs and Jewish tradition. She would have laughed to hear about how Sally regained her appetite because of those blessings and challah.

It feels right now like we’re wandering in the wilderness. There’s so much uncertainty surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic. Every day, things change. Many news sources refer to this virus as “the novel coronavirus.” Yes, it’s new, unlike all the other coronaviruses. Yet, in some ways, this situation, where we’re faced by terrible illness or challenge, arises repeatedly throughout the Torah, rabbinic texts and our history. It may be new to us, but it’s the same old story. How do we face these challenges? How can we behave in Jewish ways when the challenges seem so huge? We study what worked in the past – our history and traditions can help.

How do we make Shabbat (or make anything special) in a time when all the days seem hard and the same? In the Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 69, “Rav Huna said: ‘If someone was walking on the road or in the desert and he does not know when Shabbat is, he counts six days and then keeps Shabbat for one day.’ Hiya the son of Rav said: ‘He keeps one day and counts six.’ What is this dispute really about? One bases his opinion on the creation of the world, and one bases his opinion on Adam.”

The rabbis discuss whether we celebrate Shabbat after the six days of creation so, when we don’t know which day is Shabbat, we count six days and then observe one. But Rav Hiya starts with Adam, the first person, and recognizes that one starts with our creation story. Without humans, there would be no way to make Shabbat, so we celebrate first, and then we count six until the next Shabbat.

Rav Hiya’s approach reminds us that we humans are central to this Jewish observance narrative. Our family had to remember that, even if burials and shivah aren’t done normally now, Zoom memorial services and shivahs are for us, the living, to help us navigate through this uncertainty.

Sally the dog is still with us for now, thank goodness. She reminds me, every day, to keep counting (and reciting!) my blessings. Whether you count six days and then celebrate, or celebrate and then count six days, we have these very human routines to help in navigating the unknown – the road, the desert, or a global pandemic.

So, please, grab some challah, say a brachah and train your Jewish dog. Somehow, I can still hear Ann (z”l) laughing as I tell this story. Ahad Ha’am said, “More than the Jewish people have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.” Our dog Sally has reminded us, too, that, once we say those blessings, a delicious treat always follows. It’s up to us to keep making the blessings and finding those Shabbat treats.

Joanne Seiff has written regularly for CBC Manitoba and various Jewish publications. She is the author of three books, including From the Outside In: Jewish Post Columns 2015-2016, a collection of essays available for digital download or as a paperback from Amazon. Check her out on Instagram @yrnspinner or at joanneseiff.blogspot.com.

An unfair funeral

This article was posted on medium.com on May 20 with the title “Bouncing from a COVID funeral,” and is reprinted with permission.

I had a loss in my family this weekend. It was not related to COVID. Nonetheless, it has been an exceptionally challenging time to lose a loved one. There are no mourning rituals, or figurative closures or moments to console the ones who are hurting the most. There are no hugs or shmoozing or recounting memories or poring over old picture albums around a coffee cake and a cup of tea (you get the idea: insert any of your traditions or rituals here).

Loss and death are concepts I struggle with, like most people. I always feel like I cannot say the right thing and feel awkward in the presence of those hurting the most. I am not “good” at funerals or mourning phases. I generally show up, pay my respects, and bounce.

What makes losing life during this unique time in history so hard is that we are mandated to be socially distant. However, when death hits the one we know and love, it is so heartbreaking, I want to so badly be socially closer, more than ever before. I would not have bounced. I would have stayed and been present.

Today, at 2 p.m., I will sit on a Zoom call to pay my respects. I will send a meal to the homes of the mourners. My father will be one of 10 that is allowed at the graveside service. He will wear his masks and gloves and stand six feet apart from his sister and nieces.

This seems grossly unfair, for a person whose funeral would have attracted people counting in the hundreds.

I cannot show up at this funeral even if I wanted to. I can sit in my house and watch it all go down on a live stream. It feels so cheap and lame and gross. Not the tribute that this person deserves.

The learning for me – as we sit together, alone, living a socially dis-social lifestyle for the foreseeable future, what small acts of kindness, generosity, pay it forward, TLC and tenderness can I express to just one other person to enrich their lives?

When I close my eyes and I imagine the eulogy recited at the end of my time on this earth, I wonder, what will I be remembered for?

I challenge you: what will you be remembered for?

Are you proud of the life you have lived?

How would you want to go down in the books?

What is your legacy, big or small?

It’s a morbid thought – not a place I often go but feel compelled to address, given the nature of the planet and the nature of my family’s pain.

My heart aches for anyone who has lost anyone during this truly f*cked up moment in time.

May your memory be a blessing.

Alana Kayfetz Kantor is founder and chief executive officer at MomsTO and MOMFEST, and co-host of Moms That Say F*ck the Podcast.

Keeping busy in lockdown

When someone suggested this as the title of an article I should write, I roared with laughter. Me, who has been climbing the walls, thinking of taking to drink, or killing myself or others. But, after all, I pride myself on being creative, so I decided to have a stab at it.

I am very communal-minded, so I thought I should entertain the neighbours. I don’t play any instrument, but I know hundreds of songs dating back to the 1940s. In my imagination, I saw all my Jerusalem neighbours coming out to join in, sending their children to the street below to dance, keeping their social distance, of course. Well, that’s not exactly what happened. After I began singing – I chose my favourite aria from Madame Butterfly, “One Fine Day” – what I heard was doors being closed with great force and windows being slammed down. But, I persevered, until all the birds in the trees outside my balcony decided to migrate early this year and flew off to Australia or Siberia (whichever was the furthest), and even the cats that hang around our building also disappeared.

I next decided I could keep busy by tidying up my office. I know I have a very nice writing desk. I haven’t actually seen it for a few years because my printer sits on it, plus a pile of ideas for articles and stories that I intend to use one day. I decided to be ruthless and get rid of them, but then I thought I should read them first, after which I decided maybe to keep them for happier times. At least, this activity kept me busy for a couple of hours.

By then, it was lunch time, and I decided to use my creativity to prepare a gourmet meal for my husband from the ingredients I could find, after not having gone shopping for about five weeks. I put things on the kitchen counter and looked at them: one sad-looking turnip, some potatoes, three packets of desiccated coconut (where did they come from?), a tin of chickpeas and a packet of potato flour left over from Pesach. This assortment really taxed my imagination, especially as my husband, these last few days, has been giving me looks that say, “You don’t really expect me to eat this!” I haven’t done violence to him yet, which is a tribute to my self-restraint. Oh, I’ve thought about it, and I think a good lawyer could get me acquitted if I did – I’m sure there’s something called “justifiable homicide.”

I did the laundry, and then made the mistake of looking in the mirror. My hair hasn’t had the tender ministrations of a hairdresser for more than a month. I’m reminded of the song “The Surrey with the Fringe on Top” from the musical Oklahoma. I now have a fringe – or “bangs,” as I think North Americans say – and a strange triangle of hair that sticks out on the side. It is very depressing, but, if I put on my facemask and use the elastic to push it away, it doesn’t look too bad. In fact, when I wear the facemask, I look quite good.

So, I guess I am keeping busy under lockdown after all. I would like to say that I keep a balanced diet – a block of dark chocolate in one hand and a block of milk chocolate in the other – but I don’t actually have any chocolate. I like the story of a doctor who told his elderly patient that it would be a good idea if she put a bar in her shower, and she did – with bottles of whiskey, brandy, wine and vodka. I can’t do it though, because my soap holder won’t support even a bottle of wine.

Nonetheless, I hope I’ve given readers some ideas of how to keep busy under the restrictions that COVID-19 requires. It’s just a matter of initiative and creativity, and the time will pass constructively. I wish everyone good health until this traumatic time comes to an end.

Dvora Waysman is a Jerusalem-based author. She has written 14 books, including The Pomegranate Pendant, which was made into a movie, and her latest novella, Searching for Sarah. She can be contacted at [email protected] or through her blog dvorawaysman.com.