The Pandemic Is Over ! (Maybe)/ "The Great Hits And Albums of 1970"

 We visited my sister Robin in Maryland for Passover, leaving here March 26, stopping in Kingwood, where my under-65 husband was able to get vaccinated against COVID-19 before he was eligible in our county. Kingwood is the seat of the county just to the east of us, on the border of Maryland, not far mileage-wise, but accessible only on narrow two-lane roads. We stopped for lunch near Hagerstown, more than halfway to my sister's place in Greenbelt, Prince George's County, expecting to eat at the noodle place in the parking lot of the mall. It was closed, so we ate Japanese food at a stand in the mall. I skipped my usual chicken. I've been off meat for most of the pandemic, because of news reports about executives at a chicken company taking bets on how many of their workers would get sick. I don't eat beef more than two or three times a year and have been off pork for several decades.

In Greenbelt, people were much more fastidious about masking and distancing than anywhere in West Virginia. The rule in the town is that you have to wear a mask anywhere out of your own house. Most people complied.

Joe ran Tree of Life's community seder from Robin's dining room, online . It went well, and people from all over were able to watch.  I ate chicken and some beef  at Robin's. Passover is a feast, and one should eat what one can, within the holiday guidelines.

We came back after a few days, and two weeks from the day we left Morgantown, we visited Morgantown Mall, in the city of Westover, south on U.S. 19 and across the Monongahela River. Joe headed for the last traditional department store (there were once four) to buy some clothes. I had  a list of CDs to  buy at the media store, but it was gone. I did buy new athletic shoes. We headed out to University Town Center, just north on I-79, in Granville, and stopped at a TV and media store where we had bought our computers. The young clerk scoffed when I said I needed a new portable cassette player and asked about buying CDs. The  "We millennials buy vinyl. We've found that vinyl sounds better," he said to the man who has been buying vinyl since 1955, probably before his grandfather was born. I knew that long ago, but it's hard to take vinyl in the car, and I  don't subscribe to streaming services. Our last stop was Target, where I found a cheap tape player, and a CD version of "McCartney III," the latest from Paul McCartney (I have a vinyl copy of the original "McCartney" from 1970, and "McCartney II," from 1980. I know this is a lot of blather, but it was our first "outing" in over a year.

We were invited to an outdoor lunch with a neighborhood gay couple and another friend of theirs, a widowed man who lives down the street from us. The weather was warm and we sat outside, maskless. That was in April.

Just this week, the weather turned warm, after a much cooler than expected early May, and the CDC announced that people who were "fully vaccinated" could be indoors or outdoors without masks. Many people were surprised and unsure that we could really do this. Cases are up in parts of the United States, roaring out of control in India, and in West Virginia, vaccinations have slowed due to reluctance on the part of many citizens. Our county's statistics are good, but variants have shown up among college students, who could only get vaccinated in the last few weeks. They are just starting to vaccinate people in the 12-16 age range.

Joe and I were doing Shabbat services from home for a year. I sang the candle blessing at the beginning and the wine blessing at the end, and a song if there was a new Jewish month coming up. A few weeks ago, the synagogue leaders decided we could do the service alone, without a congregation, at the synagogue building. A family asked to have a bar mitzvah at the temple, and asked me to be a guest. Most people were not masked, and at the reception at a hotel, where the rule was to wear masks unless eating, the rule was not followed, except by the staff and a few of us guest. I was a little put off, although I genuinely like this family, and I guess no one was hurt after all.

Friday, May 21, we opened the synagogue for services. It was still broadcast over the internet. Thirteen of us came. Others have said they were not ready. There were no refreshments after. The idea was to not have people stand around chit-chatting, but they did anyway, and, as the night was warm, people hung out later on the steps. I enjoyed seeing people face-to-face, even masked. Everyone was glad to get out. Friday afternoon, I had confronted a maskless shopper at our local supermarket, but the manager came over to our argument to tell me that the market's national office had told them that starting that day, they would not tell people to wear masks. I was upset that the supermarket chain did not care that the City of Morgantown, where I am on Council, had not rescinded its ordinance mandating masks. At home, I emailed the Mayor, Council and Manager to ask if there was a change. Apparently, I didn't get the memo (there was no memo) that the rules we set up expired Friday night. So I was right technically that people should have been masked Friday afternoon. I didn't need to get into an argument with someone over it, and today, Monday, I wrote to the manager and apologized for my behavior.

We were invited to dinner at the home of congregants Saturday and Sunday; unmasked and inside, three couples Saturday  evening, and four couples on a screened porch Sunday late afternoon. We also attended a memorial to people who had died of COVID-19 at a church near our house. We were all happy to see each other in person, almost shocked and gleeful.

So things seem to be  open, and masks are optional for those of us who are more than two weeks from our second shot. It's liberating and joyous, and a little scary. Are we really immune? What about variants? Will this immunity last? And I feel some guilt about American "privilege" when I see what's happening in India and other  places in the world. 

I just finished teaching an online class for Osher Life-Long Learning called "The Great Hits And Albums of 1970."  I put up at least twenty videos on YouTube each week to play in class. They are still there, if you want to look under my name. At first, I just went chronologically through a list of charted albums, from a book I have. We saw the breakup of The Beatles, with their last albums, and the first solo albums from  each of The Fab Four. I played one cut from each album. We spent time with Creedence  Clearwater Revival, the Jackson Five, Three Dog Night, old-timers like Engelbert Humperdinck and Tom Jones (not so old then) and comedy from David Frye ("I Am The President"). We had second albums from Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young),  solo albums from Stills and Young and Santana. We saw The Supremes without Diana Ross, and Diana Ross without The Supremes. I played tunes from British groups Traffic, Jethro Tull, King Crimson and The Moody Blues. We heard from Grand Funk Railroad and Quicksilver Messenger Service. I spent a lot of time researching the bands and the music. It was exhausting.

On the other hand, this is exactly the kind of interpretive cultural history that I trained for, but never used in real life. People in the class, who are all over fifty, and mostly over sixty-five were, for the most part, enthralled, with memories of their young days and some new things to learn. It was perfect.

Sometime around week three, an article appeared in one of the Sunday magazines about the girl in the picture from Kent State, May 4, 1970, with her arms raised and apparently screaming, as she knelt over the body of a student shot dead by the Ohio National Guard. She was a fourteen-year old runaway at the time, and the writer caught up with her, retired in Florida. The horror of that time returned to my consciousness. I was a junior at Johns Hopkins that year, and we shut down  the campus weeks early after that event. President Nixon and many of  his followers felt it was a good thing that college students were murdered. At twenty, I couldn't yet vote, but I'm proud to say I've never voted for a Republican for any public office. I sold ice cream from a Good Humor truck in the summer of 1970, and spent most of  my senior year depressed, trying to figure out what my adult life would be. I had no idea. Those times came back to me this spring.

I was saddened to see what happened to so many of the stars I highlighted: eleven year old Michael Jackson, so brimming with potential, innocent twenty-year old Karen Carpenter, still living at home with her brother and parents when their hit "Close To You" came out. Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix, both gone in 1971, John Lennon murdered in 1980, Duane Allman and Berry Oakley of The Allman Brothers killed in motorcycle accidents, John Ham and Tom Evans of Badfinger who both committed suicide. 

For the last class, May 21, I had fallen far enough behind to have forty-one albums I could have highlighted. Some albums I picked were Led Zeppelin III, Derek and the Dominoes, Jesus Christ Superstar, Idewild South by The Allman Brothers and Judy Collins' Whales and Nightingales, where she sang "Amazing Grace." She said she was hoping that would stop the war in Vietnam. For the last four albums, I picked albums that didn't chart that I like. I had The Beach Boys sing "This Whole World" from Sunflower, The Five Stairsteps sing "O-o-h Child," about things would get easier, Laura Nyro's cover of the 1962 King-Goffin hit for The Drifters, "Up On The Roof" and I ended with the ten-minute Latin jazz piece "Just For You" by Sweetwater, a relatively forgotten group from Los Angeles. Sweetwater sang "See the change in the world, just for you." The world didn't really change for me in 1970, and generally I'm not sure things are much better than they were then. As usual, I can't complain about my own life, despite missteps and hardships along the way. Other than being old, which I should have anticipated, but didn't, I am relatively healthy, financially more solvent than ever and blessed with a mate who got me through these last frightening months. 

High Holy Days 5781

 The  holidays, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, are  a month  away now. Like all religious denominations, Jewish congregations are trying to figure out how to safely do services. For most Jews, God sends people to tell you how to be saved from trouble. So we take good advice, like doing services online. There was  talk of doing services for the holidays outdoors, but that didn't seem workable. What the board at Tree of  Life Morgantown decided was to prerecord the services, then have them on YouTube at the appropriate time. My husband, Joe Hample, is the rabbi at Tree of Life. I have worked as a cantorial soloist (someone who sings at services but doesn't have a formal certification), so they decided to ask me to sing a few things, and chant in Hebrew from Deuteronomy and First Samuel. I've done the chanting before.

Last Sunday, Joe and I dressed for the holiday and went to the temple, where a congregant who works in tech recorded us doing the evening service for Rosh Hashana. I've been busy with my class at OLLI and Morgantown city council and haven't rehearsed much. I didn't have a lot to do at the service, and it went pretty well, although I was exhausted from getting up early after not sleeping well, and being there for four hours.

I was panicked about how all this would go. People tell me I sing well, but when I last worked, seventeen years ago, I did vocal exercises every day. I don't sing as well as I did. The last year I worked, 2003, was  the  worst year of my life, worse even than 2020. My sister was ill at the beginning of the year, and stuck home. Her son, then eleven, couldn't go out because two people were randomly shooting people in the Washington area, where they lived. My mother had pancreatic cancer. I visited Baltimore, where my mother lived, for her 75th birthday. While there, I suffered a heart attack. My mother died five weeks later.

My goal at the time was to retire from the school district in 2004, and work full-time somewhere as a cantor. I auditioned for a job that came up in August 2003 when a cantor suddenly left his post, and I was hired. My cardiologist had advised me not to do that, but I hadn't yet (maybe still haven't) killed off my closet Type-A personality. I did the job, sixty miles east of Los Angeles, after buying a new car with the first of my inherited money. I have never been so exhausted in my life. It was a hard job anyway, rehearsing with a choir and singing the music left by the former cantor (we sang in the same key, which may be why I was hired). I got  along well with the rabbi there, but not so much with the choir and director. They were talking about hiring a full-time soloist in July, maybe me, but I looked around and decided I didn't want to live in that community. They ended up not hiring a cantor anyway. The whole experience was debilitating and depressing.

When Joe and I moved to Morgantown in 2012, there was talk at Tree of Life of using me as a cantor, which I squelched. I felt like I had closed that chapter of my life. Now they want me to do a few things, not beyond possibility, but still a drain on my not abundant energy. Joe has taken on most of the singing, which was too much for him. He's been working like mad to get it together. The people in charge, like those at most congregations, don't realize how hard it is to do the holidays.

I don't typically have panic attacks, but when I started going over the music, I thought about my mother,  my own precarious health, and what had  happened to my family all those years ago. It wasn't pretty.

I've calmed down now and I've accepted my role, but like most things I'm doing, I keep thinking I won't do it again. I'm still here, well after my "use by" date, my sister is healthy, her son grown up and married. I try to just count my blessings instead of obsessing about the past. Joe and I plan to visit with my sister in Maryland at the end of August, and maybe, as is my custom before the holidays, we'll visit my parents in the cemetery in Baltimore County. 

Purim 5779

I've been rereading this blog. I guess I'm my favorite writer. I noticed that my non-travel posts are about being depressed by the weather and the political scene here in West Virginia. When I saw a therapist at Kaiser-Permanente in Los Angeles about fifteen years ago, I glanced at the diagnosis sheet and it said "Depression-Chronic, Moderate." On the one hand, I don't have a lot to complain about, compared to people I know here whose parents beat them or were drug addicts, or they had no clothes or shoes for school. I didn't have any of that, and I live comfortably now, with love from my husband and my cat.

We are in spring now, but in Morgantown it's not really warm. Temperatures dropped below freezing last night and there was a snow shower as we left temple last night after services.

Wednesday night and Thursday, March 20 and 21 was the Jewish holiday of Purim, a time to celebrate the deliverance of the Jews of Persia. It's a Mardi Gras-like holiday, with costumes and alcohol. There are plays based on the Book of Esther, the Jewish queen of Persia. Esther becomes queen after winning a beauty contest held when the former queen, Vashti, refuses to dance for the drunken king and his friends. The story has changed since I was a child. Vashti used to be considered a bad person, but she's become a feminist hero now. Rabbi Joe, my husband and the rabbi at Tree of Life Congregation here in Morgantown, writes a parody of a Broadway musical every year for Purim. This year, it was "Man of LaMancha" reimagined as "Man of LaShushan," Shushan being the city where "Esther" takes place. In Vashti's song, the king "Looks like a pig and smells of beer."  Esther, who wins the beauty contest to become queen, the character all the little girls used to want to be, is reimagined in Joe's play. She sings (to the tune of "Aldonza") :

"Won't you look at me, look at me,
God, won't you look at me!
Hardly the nice Jewish girl you suppose!
Shrinking from lust
And in fear of starvation,
A child in a temptress's clothes!

If you feel that you see me not quite at my holiday best,
Read the part I don't mention, your scripture reveals all the rest!"

I'm sure this flew right past all the kids, and most of the adults. Definitely not the traditional interpretation of Esther's state of mind, but there is enough hatred and fear in the story to scare anyone. That's why it's usually read in Hebrew, so people won't understand it.

It didn't help that our Purim party at Tree of Life, the Saturday night before the actual holiday, was the day after the shootings at the two mosques in Christchurch, New Zealand. I didn't feel like celebrating a story where people are murdered. Or maybe it was a chance to see a modern version of the kind of hatred expressed in Esther, and to find a way to triumph over it.

I was touched by the response to the shooting in New Zealand. I saw videos of school kids performing  haka, a traditional Maori dance. I've learned that it's performed at rugby games, but all the kids know it, and stood by their Muslim friends and neighbors in solidarity. The Prime Minister, Jacinda Arderen, announced an immediate ban on the types of weapons used in the shooting, with apparently little or no political opposition.  I wish we could have a government like that here.

Purim is the yahrzeit, the anniversary, of my mother's death on the Jewish calendar. At Tree of Life, I say Kaddish, the memorial prayer, for her on the Friday before the holiday. I also like to go to Chabad, the Orthodox group in town, where they have a service on the holiday, and I can say the prayer. This year, however, the Muslim Students Association at West Virginia University held a vigil for Christchurch outdoors at the school on the evening of Purim, starting with a Muslim prayer service at sunset. A half dozen or so students spoke, all beautifully, as well as a couple from Tree of Life in Pittsburgh, expressing solidarity with the frightened Muslim students, and Imam Kip and Rabbi Joe. Two of us City Councilors and two State Delegates spoke briefly. The point that I tried to make when I spoke is that everyone in Morgantown is part of the city, whether one is from here or not, planning to stay, or leaving after graduation. We are one city. My inspiration was from the students in New Zealand.

Joe and I have talked about leaving here. His contract is up July 1, as is my City Council term. I wanted to run again. Our Council has done good work this last two years, and we finally have an all-progressive group of Delegates to the State Legislature. Many bad things happened in the Legislature this year, so much hatred expressed. Everyone says "This isn't who we are", but hateful people keep getting reelected, only, thankfully, not in Morgantown. Maybe that hatred is exactly representative of people in other parts of our state.

At the synagogue, many of the people who did the work of keeping things going have moved away for careers or just to a bigger city. The older people, not much older than I am, don't always have the energy to get things done. Many of them travel frequently or leave town for the winter months. I don't know how long this congregation can keep going, but they have supported Joe and me the last seven years. It's Joe they want to see from their hospital bed, Joe they want to do a funeral or a wedding for a family member.

Ryan Wallace, one of the Councilors I am closest to, announced last night that he and his wife Christine are moving to her hometown of Toronto this summer. This is a blow to me personally, because I have been close to them, but also to Morgantown generally. They are fitness buffs, and are responsible for our Health and Wellness Commission, started late last year.

It's common for West Virginia people to say "Should I stay or should I go?" I don't blame Ryan and Christine for leaving. They are young and have children, and Christine has parents in Toronto.We have made our community here, and I hope we will be able to stay.

At The vigil at WVU 3/20/19

Tree of Life Pittsburgh

I am the spouse of the rabbi here in Morgantown, West Virginia, Joseph Hample, "Rabbi Joe." Our congregation is called "Tree of Life"; we are eighty miles south, an hour and a half drive, from Tree of Life in Pittsburgh. The news tonight is that eleven people were murdered by a man at this morning's service in Pittsburgh.

I was at a meeting today with City Councilors and other local officials and the three men on the Monongalia County Commission. I am on Morgantown's City Council. Rabbi Joe has Torah study every Saturday, which I don't attend. I got the news from one of the Commissioners about the shooting.I stepped out of my meeting and called Joe to tell him the news. I tried to concentrate on the meeting, but I was too freaked, and left early to be home with my husband.

This wasn't the first time I was upset about an event in another Jewish community. Last summer, Nazis carrying swastika flags and guns demonstrated in front of the synagogue in Charlottesville, Virginia, about 230 miles from Morgantown, over the mountains. They have a small synagogue on a main street in the middle of a college town, just as we have. I was already on the City Council and suggested we have a plan in case something like what happened in Charlottesville happened in Morgantown. I couldn't get anyone excited about "doing something" including the rabbi.

Two bouquets of flowers were left at the door of our synagogue today and both Rabbi Joe and I have gotten notes of support on social media and concerns for our safety and well-being. I was in Squirrel Hill in Pittsburgh, the neighborhood where the shooting occurred, just this past Wednesday, and posted about my trip on Facebook.

I've heard lots of cries of "How can this happen here?" People who go to Europe are always surprised that synagogues are often unmarked, that someone has to vouch for you to be allowed in. Here in the United States, synagogues sit boldly on main streets with little or no protection.

Of course, it has already happened here. People were murdered at Emanuel A.M.E. Church in South Carolina by a white supremacist in 2015. Someone with a grudge shot up a high school in Parkland, Florida last year. And in just the past week, pipe bombs were discovered mailed to figures in the Democratic Party, and another white supremacist killed two people at a Kroger near Louisville, Kentucky, because the African-American church he originally targeted was locked, and he couldn't get in.

The shock is that this could happen to us, to Jews, as if we were somehow on a different plane than African-Americans and high school students. We are not exempt, not even in the United States, and despite our wealth and the relatively conservative political bent of many Jews in Pittsburgh, we are not "better than" any other religious or racial minority.

Even though there are still many Jews in this administration, there is a prejudice against anyone who is not "white" and "Christian" pushed by the right-wing ideologues who are now in power, and despite their denials, anyone who is a Republican has signed on to that. And we still need sensible regulation of firearms, desperately.

Thoughts and prayers are something we, as religious people, can do. We can also call out prejudice, not just against Jews, but against Muslims, African-Americans, immigrants, and certainly against gay and trans people. There is an election coming up. I've already voted here in West Virginia. It might help, but we need to form alliances and be out on the street with all people of good will. There will be a vigil on WVU's downtown campus, at Woodburn Circle, Monday, October 29, at 7. I will be there.

Rabbi Joe at Tree of Life Morgantown, with flowers left at the door on Sunday after the shooting in Pittsburgh