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SURVIVING THE PANDEMIC: “Caffè sospeso.” “Tikkun olam.” “Pay it forward.”
By
Published: Apr 07, 2020
Category:
Pandemic: Dispatches and Essentials
CAPTION: Doctors have attached photographs of themselves to their chests so their patients will recognize them and know there’s a person underneath the hazard suit.
On Twitter, John Richardson, the Senior Political Editor of The Atlantic, wrote four perfect sentences in a row. They read like poetry — and prayer — so I broke John’s paragraph into single lines:
Today is my birthday and I’m so grateful to be healthy and alive.
I want my friends and family to be healthy and alive.
I want New York City to be healthy and alive.
My other desires are gone.
I had that perception yesterday.
Back story: When my daughter was born, I bought the biggest car I could find. A tank, really: an already ancient Mercedes, 2.5 tons, not much in the way of air bags but so armored that in any kind of collision odds favored its passengers.
Mid-afternoon yesterday, my daughter and I were in the car, bound for a downtown errand. We turned East on 116th Street. The FDR Drive was 100 yards away. As we approached the Drive, we had a clear view across the river to Randall’s Island. In spring and fall, my daughter has played sports there; on summer nights, she’s moshed at concerts there. Yesterday, there were trailers parked on Randall’s Island. Sixteen of them, all white, presumably refrigerated.
On the FDR, my daughter, who is vastly smarter than her father, played music.
And now Passover is upon us.
In the Bible story, the Pharaoh has doubled down on Jewish servitude, and God has unleashed plagues to change his mind. Frogs, boils, more — Pharaoh is unyielding. The final plague approaches: the death of the first born. Who would believe such a thing could happen? Well, the Jews. They slaughter lambs and mark the doorframes of their homes with lamb’s blood so the angel of death will recognize Jewish households and “pass over.” This happens. Night brings the wailing of Egyptian parents.
Our Pharaoh is clueless, corrupt and heartless. He struts across the podium, nakedly displaying his illness, a rageaholic who has no idea what to do, bullying his team of carefully selected third responders to praise him. It’s clear: These people, who have been wrong about everything for months, are in no danger of getting anything right as the crisis intensifies.
Our Pharaoh hopes that learned helplessness exhausts us, defeats us, makes us point fingers elsewhere. The result is not what he intends — he’s losing his audience. We’re tuning out. Spending less time with the news. If you’re in the stage I’m in, your life — and the lives of those you love – is your primary focus now.
Passover is a tribal gathering, but this week’s Passover rites will be virtual. That is not, however, the significant difference between this Passover and all that have come before. This year the origin story — the salvation of the Jews — no longer applies.
Blood on the doorway is meaningless.
This plague obeys no God.
This Passover, we are all Egyptians.
That’s terrifying. But if you push past your fear, you see good news. Heroes everywhere you look. Activated faith — to cite just one example, the Cathedral of St. John the Divine, an activist church since forever, is being converted to a makeshift hospital. And then there’s the key element: us.
This morning, I read about the plight of plague-ravished Italy, especially the area around Naples.
“Everyone here is having problems now,” Mr. Gallinari, the florist, said. “There are lots of people who are going hungry. You can see that their behavior is beginning to change.” Reports of social unrest across the region — shopkeepers forced to give away food, even some thefts — have ruffled a usually close-knit community. “The other night I caught some kids trying to break into my garage,” Mr. Gallinari said. “This is new for us.”
Even so, such incidents are rare. More striking — and representative of neighborhood life in Naples — has been a groundswell of community initiatives, to fill the void of absent state support. Some have set up a mutual aid help line so that volunteers can deliver food and assistance. And certain shops have begun encouraging customers to cover a shopping bill for someone unable to pay, in the Neapolitan tradition of the “caffè sospeso,” or suspended coffee.
Caffè sospeso means “suspended coffee,” a tradition born in the working-class cafés of Naples — if you’ve had good fortune, you pay for two coffees but take only one.
In our country, we know it as “paying it forward.”
The Jewish version is “tikkun olam.” It means “repair of the world.” A huge project, but enacted on the personal level: “To save one human being is to save the entire world.”
In so many languages, in so many traditions, the same statement, the same focus — look out.
I’m so grateful to be healthy and alive.
I want my friends and family to be healthy and alive.
I want New York City to be healthy and alive.
My other desires are gone.
A HEAD BUTLER READER IS MAKING MASKS
Alice Glass is an out of work theatre artist in Berkeley. She’s making high quality masks with a filter pocket. She lives across the street from the post office, so mailing’s not a problem. She writes, “I’m a one-woman operation. I don’t have super high volume, but I would love the boost.” Find her masks on etsy.
JOSH RITTER’S WEEKLY “SILO SESSION.” TONIGHT. 8 PM ET
The theme of this week’s living room concert is “night picnic.” You’re encouraged to set a blanket out, fill a thermos, and enjoy a healing, thrilling hour on the floor. The charity this week will be Children of Promise NYC. And not that Josh needs help… there will be a surprise guest. To choose your easiest path to the concert, click here.
ESSENTIALS
Forgive me, but I ordered the “lounge pants.” For supplements, creams, and other possibly necessary items, click here.
LATE NIGHT
Eric Clapton, “Over the Rainbow”
