When I look out the window, which I do a lot of these days, I see what others see: not much.
Snowfall silently. (This is, after all, the Chicago suburbs in the spring.) Someone go one. A car rumbles by. So it goes in the age of at-home order constricting tens of millions of Americans. But that’s not what. What a lot of us feeling is something else – the unseen grip of coronavirus, and with it comes to a conscious present that reminds me of the Passover season.
It is a story familiar to many people from Exodus in the Bible (or courtesy of Charlton Heston’s role as Moses in “The Ten Commandments”): A tenacious Pharaoh who refuses to free the Israelites slaves, so God Dispatches a series of patients to persuade other Egyptian rulers. The last disaster was the worst: the death of the first Egyptians. The Israelites avoid this terrible fate by marking the doorposts of their home with the blood of a sheep (more on this later); Thus, the spirit of the Lord passes through them. Hence, name: Passover.
Now, Flash-Forward. Here we are, eons later, wrapped and bent over in the place at our updated, hoping for a plague of another kind to overcome us. When some venture out – for sustenance, for fresh air or otherwise, for a sanity dosage – those who try to impart themselves with disinfectants, rubber gloves and medical masks. Social distancing, which six-foot buffer between humans, is a bizarre addition to our new benchmark, our daily Lexicon….