Facebook Post by Rabbi Perlin in the Time of Coronavirus (4/5/2020)
Sunday Post 4/5/20: Packing Up the Crystal
I am packing up the crystal. Carefully. Slowly.
They are a metaphor for life right now:
Fragile. So very fragile.
And filled with anxiety, because I am doing it myself.
Transparent, reflecting and refracting light and time.
Beautiful. Exquisite really.
I stuff each one, wrap the stem, roll it up in paper
And place it in the china barrel with loving care.
There is a rhythm to this packing.
I am getting the hang of it: lift, stuff, wrap, roll, pack, repeat.
I’m getting the hang of it,
Just as I am getting the hang of life during a pandemic.
How many L’chaims have we said over these glasses?
There won’t be any more holidays or dinner parties in this house.
No more Passover seders for 20. No more Rosh Hashanahs.
No more Thanksgivings. No more celebrations calling for champagne.
Not at this house. Not now.
Not anywhere for a while.
And as I lift and wrap in rhythmic silence,
I feel the weight of each glass, not all the same because they are fine crystal,
Not all the same, because each one seems to be filled with memories
Of what was, once upon a time.
And with hope in my heart, I pray for memories yet to be.
I hold each glass and say to Gary,
“We need to use them in the new condo. Life is short.”
And he agrees. We need to use them more often.
Life is short. And fragile. So very fragile.
But, we will use these beautiful treasures,
Because, I am confident that there will be more memories, and holidays, and celebrations
In the world to come. I have to believe that – I do.
My life flashes before my eyes.
I was nineteen years old when I picked these glasses out.
And there are a few that were Gary’s mother’s.
Forty-four years of marriage, God-willing in July.
We’ll stay inside. We’ll wear masks. We’ll be okay, please God.
There is no rushing the packing of crystal.
It takes time and care.
There is no rushing this virus.
It will take its time, and demand so much care.
And now, these precious heirlooms will be filled with a memory that is not a celebration.
If they make it in the move, they will be survivors, and so will we.
A sobering reality.
For me, the cup is never half empty, or even half full.
I gave a sermon one Thanksgiving – for me, the cup overflows.
Not today. Not tomorrow.
But, it will overflow again. We will raise these cups in thanksgiving, again.
We will say L’chaim (To Life!) again.
So I wrap, and I write.
I plan. And I refrain from planning.
I am packing my crystal,
And like life these days,
I am taking it one moment at a time.