It has been eight months already and counting. We were all hoping that by this point we would be back to normal. When the coronavirus appeared on the scene, and we were told that the country would be going into lockdown for two weeks, we never imagined that we would still be here today. Even as things loosened up, we never thought that the school year would open as it did, and that now the schools would be struggling with the debate about whether they should or should not stay open. (Montgomery County schools just closed for two weeks.) All of this is just causing people to be more and more isolated. To feel more and more alone.
Holidays are times for people to spend with family and friends. It was difficult for us to see our loved ones on Passover all alone, then on birthdays that came and went, anniversaries, and other celebrations. New couples held only small weddings, and so on. Even the High Holidays were so unusual! What do we make of all of this? This question has been asked of me with some more urgency this week as we face an uptick in numbers and a Thanksgiving holiday on the horizon. This is an inner struggle for many people, some wanting to say enough is enough, and we cannot deal with the isolation any longer; and yet, no one wants to be a contributor to the reason why COVID is getting worse and not better.
I have no comment on the medical side of this conversation, but I would like to address the isolation issue. This is not the first time in history that people have felt isolated—not only because of a pandemic; sometimes it can happen for other reasons as well.
Let us look at the famous biblical story that we read in this week’s Torah portion, where Leah is married to Jacob but doesn’t feel loved. She feels all alone, isolated. Each time she gives birth, she gives her infants names that express how she feels, her longing for her husband to love her. Her first son’s name, Reuben, means “now G-d has seen my humiliation.” Her second son’s name, Shimon, means “G-d has heard the hatred that is felt toward me.” The third son she names Levi, meaning “finally my husband will feel attached to me.” And it goes on with the other names as well.
Here we see Leah, a lonely woman longing for a relationship, not wanting to be all alone. It is not fun to feel isolated.
However, this is only scratching the surface of the verses. Since we know that Leah is buried together with Jacob, clearly she wasn’t “hated” by him, so what did she mean? Equally important, how does this story relate to us?
At first Leah was sharing her feelings, expressing how she felt. She felt alone, isolated, and unloved. She hoped that one day her husband would notice her, and her feelings would dissipate and evaporate as if they were never there in the first place. Life would be full of roses. Yet, as we delve deeper into the meaning of the names, we see that actually she was not talking about herself at all, but about the virtues of her children. How great they would turn out to be!
As Leah named her children, she looked into the future, not only at her current predicament.
True, she felt isolated, but she wasn’t depressed; she made sure that only good would come out of the relationship. In the end we see that her children were all good children—they passed the test of time, and even her relationship blossomed. Take Reuben for example: When his younger brother Joseph is given a “double portion” as the first son instead of Reuben, he doesn’t complain. Reuben not only accepts it, he even tries to save Joseph from the pit (but he is unsuccessful). Here we see how one can take a bad situation and turn it into a positive.
Here is a lesson for us as well. During life before the pandemic, we might not have had too much time to think about our personal life, and we just went with the flow. We participated in holiday events, community events, and so on. Now, we are forced to think about what our contribution is to our family, to our community, and to society.
How are we making that difference?
