By Eric Schechtman

We are now three years since the pandemic began impacting us in March 2020. Many people lost loved ones. Early in the pandemic I lost both of my parents, Allan and Judy Schechtman, within nine weeks of
each other.

My parents lived in Cleveland, Ohio, their entire lives. I grew up there, and after a short stint in Los Angeles, work brought me to this area and North Woodside in the late 1980s. I have no family here, so my wife, Shira, and I would go see my parents in Cleveland at least three times a year for Passover, the Jewish New Year, and Thanksgiving. Even after they moved out of my childhood home and into a senior apartment, we kept this pattern. So when we said goodbye at Thanksgiving in 2019, we never imagined that was the last time we would visit either of them in their apartment.

In April 2020, just one month after much of the world shut down and with my parents’ building locked down, we were forced to celebrate Passover via Zoom. Only aides, screened daily for fever, were allowed in. We think an aide brought Covid to them. Just one month later, my father was diagnosed and admitted to the hospital the same day. Two days later we dropped everything and traveled to Cleveland. Unfortunately only one of us—my brother—was allowed into his room, so I had no opportunity to say goodbye. Three hours later my father was gone.

The death-and-mourning traditions we have in Judaism are very helpful for coping with the loss of a loved one. But two of them—a funeral service and the tradition of shiva—were taken away. We had to hold a graveyard service, with very limited attendance, and I (rather than a rabbi) sang the memorial prayer. Shiva, the first seven days of mourning, is normally a time when family and friends come to visit, but we had to do it over Zoom. It was very lonely.

Nine weeks later we had to repeat this for my mother, but at least this time we had five days to say goodbye.

The Silver Lining

The traditions Judaism provides for death and mourning make sure no one is totally alone. After losing a loved one, we join a minyan (a group of at least 10 adults) to say the memorial prayer morning and night daily. For parents we do this for 11 months.

Others in the minyan may also be mourning. This becomes a support group by another name. At each anniversary of a loss, a minyan member speaks to the group about their loved one, even many years later; it helps to bring them alive.

Not every congregation is large enough to support this, including my local one. But I could Zoom anywhere around the world, so I found solace at my childhood congregation in Pepper Pike, Ohio. By joining there, I also had a way to break into a minyan group where I didn’t know anyone: Those my father taught when they were children recognized my name. I became more integrated into the morning and evening minyans over four months, and I ended up rejoining this congregation.

At almost exactly the end of 11 months of prayer for my mother, in-person attendance was allowed again, even as Zoom continued, so my wife and I took the opportunity to travel there periodically. I began reconnecting with members of my childhood congregation, who got me through all of this. To stay connected I became the Zoom host for all their services, and now three years later we have completely integrated into our new congregation as very active members, even though we live here. This is the silver lining—a gift from a very difficult situation.