Groundhog Day

I picked up the phone and called my elderly neighbor two floors up. “I should have done this long ago,” I thought as the phone rang and rang. “Although we have been shut in for two weeks, we still go out for groceries every few days. But the Ministry of Health recommends that older people not leave home at all.”

It was another day of quarantine, and I had no idea which one.

Everything was as usual: I could skip setting the alarm and sleep as long as I liked, go without makeup or a change of clothes, leave the children's sandwiches unmade and their uniforms unironed, and let them sleep without waking them.

This morning, when the weather outside suddenly turned much colder (I discovered this by chance when I went out onto the balcony to hang another load of laundry) and spring once again gave way to winter, a thought that had previously eluded me suddenly rang out clearly inside me:

“Groundhog Day, Anat. You're just living through Groundhog Day.”

Startled, I sank into an armchair with a pile of wet clothes in my hands. Of course, I had seen this before, in that old film everyone knows. Just like its main character, I am simply trying to get through each new day as quickly as possible, hoping that tomorrow everything will change. The day passes, tomorrow becomes today, but everything stays the same.

That was when I decided to do things differently. To stop thinking only about myself and think about someone else. For example, Miriam—the cheerful neighbor on the fourth floor.

“Hello, Anat. Good afternoon.” Meanwhile, the ringing had stopped, and in its place came my neighbor's warm, cheerful voice.

“Hello, Miriam. How are you? How are you feeling? Perhaps there's something I can help you with?”

“Thank you for calling. No, I don't need anything; my grandchildren came by this morning and left all the groceries I needed by the front door. But we never really got to talk—it is awkward through the door—so I am very glad I can talk to you. How are you, dear? How are you coping with the situation?”

“Miriam, that's exactly the problem: I'm not coping,” I burst out. “You see, I'm simply drifting along...

I go through another day as though in slow motion: I recite the morning blessings and drink my morning coffee without glancing at the clock every minute. Then I make breakfast for my family, feed them, clean up after breakfast, wash the dishes, and start making lunch. While lunch is cooking, I need to put on a load of laundry, set the table, hang up the laundry, feed my family lunch, fold the laundry, sweep the floor (and mop it, if I can), and go make dinner. I barely manage to give the children their afternoon snack and wash out one kitchen cupboard for Pesach. And that's not even to mention the hundred daily quarrels and conflicts among the children that I used to pay attention to; now  even those have become familiar and routine. Before I know it, evening arrives—time to get ready for bed.”

I finished my monologue and caught my breath. Miriam listened in sympathetic silence, and encouraged by her friendly concern, I exclaimed: “Miriam, what am I to do? I'm used to being productive and active!

Until very recently, my life was full of meaning, but now I have absolutely no reason to get up in the morning. I've simply turned into a robot.”

“Oh, my girl,” Miriam sighed, “how well I understand you. If I were a great rebbetzin, I could give you a lecture on faith in the Almighty and trust in Him. But I am just an ordinary Jewish woman, so I want to share a ‘vort’ with you:

Every day, at the end of the morning blessings, we read a Mishnah from tractate Shabbat. “These are the good deeds whose fruits a person enjoys in this world, while their merit is preserved for the World to Come: honoring one's father and mother, helping others, arriving early at the house of study morning and evening, hospitality, caring for the sick, helping poor brides arrange their weddings, attending funerals, and concentration in prayer…”

We are accustomed to doing all these good deeds every day.

These deeds fill our lives with meaning, bring us joy, and make us feel that the day was not wasted. But what can we do when, now, during quarantine, they are out of our reach? We cannot welcome guests, we cannot go near the sick, brides have postponed their weddings, and there are only ten people in the houses of study...

What is left for us, then, Anat? Simply give up and lose heart? Certainly not! At the very end, the Mishnah lists one more good deed: “…and reconciling friends who have quarreled and establishing peace between spouses”!

Understand this: you are not simply shut in at home right now. 24 hours a day and 7 days a week, you can perform this important good deed—be with your loved ones, care for them, build your home and the relationships within it.

And do it not because you have no other option, but through your own free choice—consciously and joyfully. Quarantine will pass, the epidemic will end, and your loved ones will remain beside you, even closer than before.”

For a while, we were both silent. Then I suddenly felt the familiar tingling in my fingertips and the urge to act.

After warmly saying goodbye to my neighbor, I went to the kitchen to bake my most delicious, most festive chocolate cake.

When the sweet smell of chocolate spread throughout the house and my nearest and dearest drifted into the kitchen one by one, I gave them all a tight hug and thought: “Life is looking up after all.”