THANKSGIVING 2021

by Rabbi Rose Lyn Jacob (My Wife)

Thanksgiving 2021 arrives this Thursday, and I can honestly say I do not envy those making their personal pilgrimage, whether by car, train or plane. While the traditional Thanksgiving hymn says, “We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing,” this year I would give it a pass.

I understand how eager people are to see their loved ones, even it means taking the risk of illness and death. Last year most people cancelled their travel plans opting to stay home, watching the Macy’s Parade, and dine on a microwavable turkey dinner from the freezer section. There were virtual visits via Skype and Zoom and some took the opportunity to drive by grandma and grandpa’s house or nursing home and wave Thanksgiving greetings through the window. Most hunkered down and stayed put.

With only 50% of eligible persons fully vaccinated, families are having to decide if they CAN gather together safely this year. CDC predictions show an uptick in the numbers of infected and subsequent deaths, but won’t know for sure until 21 days after Thanksgiving. Breakthrough infections are possible even with the booster shot. So, we’re opting to stay home again this year. Crazy as it seems, YOUR right to remain unvaccinated trumps MY right to travel and visit friends and family safely.

One thing I’m not immune to is nostalgia. And I have been positively awash in holiday memories this past week. With over 60 years of Thanksgiving dinners under my belt I’ve been awash in holiday memories and my mental guest list has grown very long. During my childhood I never experienced a “Norman Rockwell” Thanksgiving.” Unlike the famous painting, OUR family turkey was never presented to the guests on a platter, whole and stuffed, admired in all its brined and browned glory. Instead, my father, a man well versed in poultry anatomy and skilled with an electric knife, elegantly carved the guest of honor in the kitchen, placing light and dark meat on platters to pass. There were serving dishes of stuffing, bowls of cranberry sauce, and an assortment of Jewish and Hungarian side dishes switched out for “traditional” all- American foods, like marshmallow topped sweet potatoes, and “classic”, string-bean casserole with mushroom soup created in 1955 by an employee of the Campbell Soup Company. I hope there was a bonus in her Christmas paycheck!

Whether you enjoy it or not, the turkey is THE all-American Thanksgiving food. But folks of every ethnic background have always found ways to personalize (and improve) the All-American bird with foods that reflect their heritage. Even those who do not traditionally consume turkey, cook one, because they are American, and that is what Americans do for Thanksgiving. Some gather with family to eat the tasty and diverse dishes of their immigrant ancestors, foregoing the string beans and marshmallows, and leaving the roasted bird as an untouched centerpiece, to be stewed or made into sandwiches the next day.

So how did we end up with this national holiday that evokes in every American feelings of gratitude, spirituality and patriotism? George Washington was the first president to proclaim a day of thanksgiving, issuing his request on October 3, 1789, but it fell short of becoming an actual Federal holiday. Subsequently, individual states, mostly Northern states, each held its own day of Thanksgiving. For fifteen years, the editor of Godey’s Lady’s Book, Sarah Josepha Hale, waged a one-woman campaign to get an American president to create what she referred to as, “the day of our annual Thanksgiving.” She persevered, finally writing to President Abraham Lincoln, urging him to have the "day of our annual Thanksgiving made a National and fixed Union Festival." Lincoln acted immediately, issuing a proclamation for a national, annual day of observance on September 28, 1863. He made the point that we Americans didn’t always give due credit to the Creator who enabled our abundant harvests. Included in the proclamation were the following words, “I do therefore invite my fellow citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those who are sojourning in foreign lands, to set apart and observe the last Thursday of November next, as a day of Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens.”

I’ve spent several Thanksgiving abroad, and I’ve noticed that there is a particular pride in observing Thanksgiving with other Americans, even ones you’ve never met before, when you do find yourself in a foreign country. As if with the wave of a magic wand, all politics are set aside, and all feast together not as Republicans or Democrats, but as Americans. As Lincoln pointed out, we Americans are obliged to set apart and observe the holiday at the same time it is observed in the U.S. Many years ago, while studying in Israel, I helped assuage the homesickness of my fellow American students by pulling together a Thanksgiving feast for forty-five. We feasted on Tarnagol Hodu – Hebrew for turkey, which translates as Indian Rooster!

While I won’t be spending the holiday with others this year, I certainly have more than enough Thanksgivings on which to reflect. These are wonderful, treasured, vivid memories of meals shared with friends around festive tables in far flung places from New Jersey, to Minnesota, and California and many states in between. In my mind I recall the attributes of each unique celebration. I remember the conversations, the side dishes, the circumstances of the invitations to dine, and more often, these day, I find myself recalling friends and family who have passed on, yet who remain vivid in my memory as the day we celebrated together.

Should you find yourself spending Thanksgiving at home, either alone or with your very small circle, I hope you’ll take a moment for a little prayer; a few words of thanks to the Power behind it all.

I enter Your gates with thanksgiving,

With gratitude I sing out Your praise.

You provide food for the hungry,

Sending the rains to bring forth bread from the earth.

Thanks to Your abundant kindness, our fields yield a rich harvest.

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, let us share our bread with the hungry; clothe the naked and shelter the homeless.

Help us to help those who have no help.

Help us to never take our blessings for granted.

Wishing each and every one of you a blessed Thanksgiving, no matter where you spend the day.

One is Born an Individual; One Becomes a Statistic

The following is the latest column by my wife, Rabbi Rose Lyn Jacob, from the Culpeper Star Exponent

Since the start of the pandemic, we have been inundated with numbers and statistics meant to help interpret the unfolding disaster around us. Thanks to our news outlets we’ve seen graphs and charts updated daily, weekly, monthly, breaking down numbers of cases and deaths; vaccination rates by location, the lack of ICU beds in hard hit rural America, and charted and graphed the over 1700 healthcare workers who have died of Covid so far. Our epidemiologists, politicians, medical professionals, sociologists and news outlets, can barely keep up with, let alone analyze the statistics generated by data gathering organizations like the CDC or American Public Media’s “The Color of Coronavirus Project” which breaks down figures of Covid deaths by race, ethnicity, age and location in the U.S. The data is dry, but, in the words of science writer Paul Brodeur, “Statistics are human beings with the tears wiped away.”

There is no question that numbers and statistics can be powerful. But as any newspaper editor can tell you, news of one death is a tragedy; news of a hundred deaths is a statistic. And it is the one tragic death that makes the headlines. Sadly, Covid has shown us that the closer that death is to you, the greater the tragedy.

Be honest. When you look at the numbers, do you find yourself thinking, “but I don’t live there,” or “I’m young and healthy,” or “my local hospital still has beds.” And be really honest and admit you are relieved when you look at the numbers and think, “I’m not an Hispanic or Black American, or Pacific Islander, Native American, or Evangelical Christian. I don’t go to rock concerts or other large gatherings, and I don’t have a job in an essential industry where I come face-to-face with the public”. What you’re really thinking is “I don’t fit into any statistically vulnerable group, so Covid isn’t going to impact my life.”

But all that is about to change. We now have a new category for statistical analysis: Covid Orphans. These are children who have lost a parent or a grandparent with whom they lived and/or financially responsible for them, or other primary caregiver. And as of this point in time, over 120,000 children in the U.S. have become Covid Orphans. Does it matter what color or ethnicity or statistical group they land in? I can tell you that 35 percent of the kids are white, about 32 percent are Hispanic and about 26 percent are Black. And there will be more. And one way or the other, all of us will be impacted by their losses as they enter a lifetime of uncertainties, lost opportunities, along with financial, social and mental health challenges. So many times during the pandemic I have uttered, under my breath, “there but for the Grace of God, go I.” And just last month, someone in my own extended family died of Covid, leaving three children behind, now officially “Covid Orphans”. Just one more statistic? No, not when the tragedy creeps closer to home.

Good or bad, it is human nature to hide our heads in the sand, hoping that bad things will pass us by, and rarely do we extend a hand to help the other. Martin Niemöller, a German Lutheran pastor during WW II, is best known for his statement on man’s ability to turn his back on “the other.” We, in the U.S., having all experienced tragedy during Covid, can no longer afford to categorize the suffering of each ethnic or racial group. The suffering is catching up with each of us:

First they came for the Communists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the Socialists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Socialist

Then they came for the trade unionists

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews

And I did not speak out

Because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me

And there was no one left

To speak out for me

Wishing you all a peaceful and healthy week.