Features
I’m a veteran expert in stopping epidemics. Here’s why Jewish institutions should cancel everything.
By GARY SLUTKIN
CHICAGO (JTA) — I am an infectious disease epidemiologist who worked at the World Health Organization on epidemics in over 25 countries around the world.
As a physician and member of the Jewish community, I prize the Jewish teaching that places the saving of a life above all other laws and practices. It is my expert opinion that as a result of the emergence of the novel coronavirus COVID-19, the Jewish community (along with all religious and community groups) must change what we are doing immediately: We need to suspend our usual religious services and social gatherings.
Many communities have recognized the emergency and already made this change, and more and more are doing so in the hours before Shabbat begins. But others are still making small-scale changes or contemplating what to do next.
Each community and individual will have to work within their own traditions and norms. But as an epidemiologist, I know that these recommendations will save lives.
I have worked to help stop epidemics of many sizes and infectious patterns — from AIDS in Africa and Asia, to tuberculosis in San Francisco, to cholera in Somalia. I also ran the Intervention Unit for WHO, which guided countries in epidemic control and the behavioral changes needed.
All serious epidemics disrupt populations, and all require important changes to what the population does. These changes are necessary and urgent to avoid preventable deaths and the spread of infections that cause more preventable deaths. That’s why I recommend that we as Jews temporarily but immediately refrain from attending synagogues and other in-person meetings, no matter whether we live in an area where there is a known case of COVID-19 or not.
This virus is easily transmitted through droplets in the air, through hand to hand (to face) contact and on surfaces, and is much more dangerous than the seasonal flu. The seriousness and lethality of this virus to older people is exceptionally high, and other adults also have higher risks of serious illness as well as high likelihoods of causing transmission to older people.
First and foremost, we must take these steps because we value human life: our own lives, our families, and the greater community and the world around us. Stopping group contact is an essential method right now for preventing ourselves from getting this easily transmitted and highly lethal virus, and also to stop any spread to our families and the community.
Mistakes and delays and less than perfect compliance with new behaviors and practices can be deadly. We have seen this happen already in other countries, like Italy and elsewhere in Europe, and we are witnessing the active spread in Seattle and New York state. Other cities and parts of cities will see lethal outbreaks if they are late or noncompliant.
Complacency, denial and overconfidence are common among us, but there is no place for this now.
You may get pushback from your family or friends, and you may feel social pressure to go about business as usual. But this is not a time to care about that — now is the time to do as much as we can to prevent the spread of disease and death. Resist these impulses and counter arguments.
This pandemic will go on for at least several months – we still don’t know how long. As we learn more, we will be better able to make more localized and informed decisions about when and how to adjust or attempt to get back to normal, but now is the time to stop any possible potential for getting infected yourself and causing illness, perhaps serious illness to yourself — or for unknowingly infecting others, which you cannot judge by appearances of health right now.
Major global and local crises require these adjustments but also challenge us to increase our humanity and the best parts of our communal lives.
Synagogues and our religious communities present both significant challenges and value in that regard. However, we must now learn to balance our spiritual and emotional health with the real physical risks to our health today.
Therefore, unfortunately:
We must suspend our usual religious services and gatherings now.
Crowds and close contact risk invisible spread and disease to you and others, and you don’t know who might be carrying the virus.
In addition, in our daily lives:
Cancel and don’t attend other non-essential in-person meetings.
Learning can be done on conference calls, including video services like Zoom, Skype and Google Hangouts. The same goes for meetings. It may sound harsh, but remember, the risk to what we schedule isn’t simply inside the synagogue walls. It also takes place for the participants on transportation, street encounters, etc.
We must stop (“ban”) all handshaking, as well as hugs and embraces.
Even the “fist bump” and “elbow rub” puts two individuals in closer proximity than is optimal and I recommend we stop this entirely.
That doesn’t mean we can’t greet one another with respect and warmth. The heart, “lev” in Hebrew, has been taught in Jewish and other traditions to be the seat of spirituality. Consider alternatively placing your hand to your heart and bowing your head in acknowledgement of an encounter with a fellow community member. It may feel awkward at first, but can help to maintain critical social distance while honoring the encounter. It might even feel good.
Practice frequent and thorough handwashing.
I cannot overemphasize frequent and thorough handwashing throughout the day. An incredibly frequent means of spread of respiratory pathogens is a sick person touching their face, shaking hands with another person and that person then touching their face. We touch our face dozens of times a day, mostly unconsciously. This practice with an unwashed hand is enough to cause the infection through your eye, nose or mouth touched. Develop a different relationship to your hands, be aware if you have touched a door knob, railing or other surface someone may have touched. These surfaces also harbor the virus if they have been touched by someone sick or incubating the infection.
Keep social distances.
It is best to be further away from people than we usually are. This may seem weird or unusual, but it means in the grocery store, or wherever you go, try to be 6 feet or more away from others.
If you are sick with a fever or cough, stay home.
Call your doctor to determine if you really need to go in. Some medical facilities are getting full or risk being so, not everything is coronavirus and there are no treatments for now. If you are having shortness of breath or feel seriously ill, of course seek care as usual.
For those who are holding small services at home:
Don’t kiss communally shared objects.
Prayer books, mezuzot and the like should not be kissed for the duration. Even touching communal objects or surfaces should be avoided, unless you can assure handwashing immediately after.
Stop sharing challah and kiddush cups — and consider how and if you need to serve food.
It is very hard to ensure not spreading respiratory viruses by serving and sharing food.
Focus on the Jewish tradition of acts of lovingkindness.
While this is not an infection control recommendation, it’s an important Jewish value. Do you have a friend or family member or neighbor at high risk for whom you can run an errand? Many people are at home now working, in self-quarantine or just trying to stay safe. Check in on them safely. Pick up the phone and see how they are doing. See if they need an errand run for them without potentially passing on an invisible infection.
The isolation that can help protect our physical health should not erode our mental health. This important part of Jewish life can be adapted — perhaps not so easily, but we will figure out ways to do this with care and understanding.
While this is a moment for in-person synagogue activities to pause, this is an ever more critical moment for the role synagogue can play in the lives of people who are isolated, fearful or just in need of comfort. Nearly everyone is in some level of emotional and mental distress over what is happening.
There are brain processes we have as invisible to the eye, yet as powerful as microbial processes and just as crucial. Even in good times, our synagogues and religious communities represent crucial elements in our own sense of well-being and social safety net. This is all the more true during a frightening global crisis.
While nothing can fully replace human contact, our phones and computers offer a great means to connect in full safety. This is the moment for rabbis and synagogue leadership to be most mindful of preserving human life by using all technology tools — including the phone, of course — to make our communities virtual but still alive until this pandemic is under control. Which we are all now helping to ensure.
After decades of working to stop epidemics, I saw many very tough situations and many hard days, weeks and months. Epidemics follow a curve up and then back down, and eventually they end. It is up to us and our most important and trusted institutions to stop the spread now — and to keep the curve of infections and deaths as small and short as possible.
Better days are ahead. Our synagogues will again ring with beautiful voices and much joy. We will get there with these strong and proactive steps to ensure as many beautiful voices as possible are there to join us.
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of JTA or its parent company, 70 Faces Media.
Features
I Speak “Jew”
By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”
That’s all.
Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967
He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project
Features
At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence
By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact. A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store. He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls. “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.) “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says. We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s. After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William. The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales. “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says. “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods. “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods. The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete. I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage. Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed. She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly.
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene. For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century. Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.
Features
Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco
By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier. She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego. When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape. They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places.
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom Toledano’s first language. The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world.
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country. His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano. His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele. He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.