Day 93 Nat'l Emergency: Firestorm in Publishing, Plague in a World Without End

My professional world—the business of journalism—has been roiled for the last week (longer, to be sure, but let’s stick with the current firestorm) by publication of an Op-Ed in The New York Times by Senator Tim Cotton, Republican of Arkansas, and the subsequent ignominious departure of the newspaper’s editor in charge of the Opinion section, James Bennet (https://nyti.ms/3h3F6N9).

The most damning explanation for the publishing of Cotton’s submission was an admission by Bennet that he never read it before it was posted. 

I don’t expect the editor of any publication to read everything that appears in their trust. Trust. That exactly is what a newspaper, magazine, blog or any form of written or electronic communication is, at least for those that purport to be committed to the public good. It is a bond between audience and purveyor that stringent standards have been met pertaining to accuracy and truth. 

Note I did not include objectivity in that bond. Publications may choose to be advocates, to take sides. But not at the expense of accuracy and truth.

Note also that at the beginning of this post I said the “business of journalism.” No one enters this endeavor with the intention of losing money (perhaps with the exception of Jeff Bezos, the world’s richest human and the owner of The Washington Post since 2013, though I am sure he would prefer to make some shekels rather than have them depleted from his ever enlarging fortune). 

When I was editor and publisher of Chain Store Age the president and owner of our publishing house chided me for spending what he considered to be too much time reading copy and insufficient time marketing and selling the publication. I replied that while I did not read every little tidbit, I felt it was my obligation to read any story that could have an impact on how Chain Store Age would be perceived.

I was responsible for the trust our readers placed in our magazine. I wasn’t always the first person to read through an article. But nothing, nothing, would appear in print or bytes that I could not confirm as to its veracity. 

Bennet failed to properly monitor Cotton’s op-ed, either by his own editing or by that of a subordinate. The senator’s essay should not have been shelved. Rather, it should have been edited more diligently, as The Times itself acknowledged in a preface to Cotton’s submission on its Web site (https://nyti.ms/2XWCrMx).

White and Black: Next time anyone suggests that Blacks and Whites are treated equally by law enforcement, ask them to imagine what the body count would have been if Black Americans had turned out for protests armed to the teeth with assault rifles and other weapons of destruction like the anti-quarantiners did in Michigan.

Ponder if this passage from “World Without End” strikes a familiar chord with you: 

“Caris could not remain silent. ‘The plague spreads from one person to another,’ she said angrily. ‘If you stay away from other people, you’ve got a better chance of escaping infection.’ 

“Prior Godwyn spoke up. ‘So the women are the physicians now, are they?’ 

“Caris ignored him. ‘We should cancel the market,’ she said. ‘It would save lives.’ 

“‘Cancel the market!’ he said scornfully. ‘And how would we do that? Send messengers to every village?’ 

“‘Shut the city gates,’ she replied. ‘Block the bridge. Keep all strangers out of the town.’ 

“‘But there are already sick people in town.’ 

“‘Close all taverns. Cancel meetings of all guilds. Prohibit guests at weddings.’ 

“Merthin said: ‘In Florence they even abandoned meetings of the city council.’ 

“Elfric spoke up. ‘Then how are people to do business?’ 

“‘If you do business, you’ll die,’ Caris said. ‘And you’ll kill your wife and children, too. So choose.’ 

“Betty Baxter said: ‘I don’t want to close my shop—I’d lose a lot of money. But I’ll do it to save my life.’ 

Caris’s hopes lifted at this, but then Betty dashed them again. ‘What do the doctors say? They know best.’ 

Caris groaned aloud. Prior Godwyn said: ‘The plague has been sent by God to punish us for our sins. The world has become wicked. Heresy, lasciviousness, and disrespect are rife. Men question authority, women flaunt their bodies, children disobey their parents. God is angry, and His rage is fearsome. Don’t try to run from His justice! It will find you, no matter where you hide.’ 

“‘What should we do?’ 

“‘If you want to live, you should go to church, confess your sins, pray, and lead a better life.’”

That’s how Ken Follett in his book “World Without End” depicted the official and communal response to an outbreak of plague in 1349 England after it had ravaged Europe. Follett published his novel in 2007. 

As I read that passage a few days ago I could not help but reflect on the similarities between reality and fiction. For sure, Follett wrote his story with 21st century sensibilities in mind. There’s no way of knowing if the sentiments expressed by Caris, mother superior of a nunnery, could have conceived them. 

No matter. It made for absorbing, timely reading. 

Day 19 of Nat'l Emergency: Mah Nishtanah

“Mah nishtanah halielah hazeh mikol haleilot?”

Why is this night different from all other nights?

As they have for decades if not centuries before each seder, briskets will simmer awaiting the conclusion of the first part of the Passover story related in the haggadah. Matzo balls will swim in chicken soup. Horseradish will sit next to slices of gefilte fish. Wine cups await to be filled four times over.

The sweet voice of a grandchild singing the “Mah nishtanah”—what is different—should be lilting through my home next Wednesday, April 8, the eve of the first day of Passover. One of the youngest at the table would recite the Four Questions that distinguish the evening. It is how Jews have marked the seder for generation after generation, for millennia. But not so this year. 

The Angel of Death has upended tradition. Indiscriminate fear of the novel coronavirus will keep families apart. Our children and their families live in Massachusetts and Nebraska. Coming home for the holiday does not qualify as essential travel during a pandemic. Better to seder-in-place than risk contamination on the trip to Westchester from their homes.

Envy is a vice frowned upon by God. But I do envy my friends with year-round access to children and grandchildren who live nearby. Hugs and kisses are not meant to be limited to holiday visits and family vacations. Their absence at the seder table is all the more painful when catastrophic events prevent physical togetherness.

We will Zoom the Four Questions and the rest of our seder liturgy. It is better than nothing. We will see and hear them but won’t be able to touch our legacies. We will miss their frantic search for the hidden pieces of matzo, the afikoman, required to be eaten to conclude the seder banquet, and the squeal of joy when it is discovered. Perhaps we will have each family hide an afikoman in their own homes. Again, better than nothing.

Jews can find humor in almost everything, even life threatening, tradition-busting situations. Coronavirus is no exception. Making the rounds on the Internet—“Biblical Irony: Passover Seder may be delayed by a plague.” Of course, comedy is no match for reality. “Thousands of locusts swarm over Israel, Egypt — just in time for Passover,” headlined The Daily News on March 6. 

Growing up in Brooklyn my parents’ seder attracted 25-40 celebrants depending on how many guests they invited to augment the 18 in our immediate family of aunts, uncles and cousins. Led by my father and his brother, the seder was a raucous affair. Reading from the Maxwell House haggadah, the brothers would drone on in an Eastern European trope that befuddled my brother, sister and me and anyone else who tried to follow along in Hebrew (no English to be heard except for the chattering among my mother and her three sisters which prompted my father’s repeated unsuccessful appeals for them to be quiet). 

The seder back in the 1950s and 1960s was a time of family ingathering. Everyone lived in the New York Metro. By the time my wife and I took over seder chores some 30 years ago, family togetherness had dissolved. My sister had moved to Los Angeles. Her family stays there for Passover. My brother’s family in Maryland kept coming north until about 10 years ago. 

Our seder ritual has become more universal. Over the years, aside from incorporating English, themes covering the emancipation of Russian and Ethiopian Jews as well as the treatment of refugees from all zones of conflict have become integral parts of the haggadah we have fashioned. 

In an ironic way, conducting a virtual seder via Zoom reinforces a central theme of the seder to be kind to the stranger among us. It took Zoom founder Eric Yuan nine attempts to earn a visa to emigrate from China 23 years ago. He spoke little English. He might not qualify for a visa under the current, more restrictive, admission standards. Today, Yuan is a successful technology entrepreneur worth an estimated $3 billion.

As we peer into the Zoom-enabled camera of our computers, tablets or smart phones we must remind ourselves that the Torah admonishes us no fewer than 36 times to treat the stranger fairly because we, our ancestors, were strangers in Egypt. Not slaves. Strangers.

Passover teaches us how ephemeral the status of our existence might be. Originally invited by Pharaoh to live as guests in Goshen in Egypt, the Israelites were considered dangerous aliens by a successor. Though God smote the ensuing Pharaoh and his subjects for enslaving the Israelites, he commanded the former slaves to welcome the stranger, to treat him “as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt. “  

It is a lesson to be imparted from generation to generation, in person and, this year, virtually.