Lockdown Redux: Next Year in Jerusalem

On this splendid Easter Sunday in Northern Tuscany I will spend the day in quiet contemplation as I look out on the Apuan Alps and down onto a small magnolia in full bloom in the stone piazza below. Due to pandemic restrictions my son is unable to travel home from University and like others I will pass Easter alone, or some, in only immediate family groups. 

I was raised on the east coast of the U.S., primarily in the northeast but also throughout the southeast. That we are a nation of immigrants is undeniable. The regions of the northeast and southeast of the first settlers, (Jamestown, VA. 1607, Plymouth, MA. 1620) are thriving areas of diversity. 

In the mid 20th century northeast my childhood friends and neighbors were a predominantly western/southern and central european multiethnic group and I often joke that the reason I ended up in Italy is that most of my grade school friends were Italian, citing names of Belletti, Porcari, Campion, Bazzano, John Joseph Raymond, (anglicized from Giovane Giusseppe Raimondo) and Palazzolo, the spelling of which, I was told and will remain forever in my mind, is: 2 of everything except the P. 

A citizen of relative long term heritage of18th century Scottish/German and early 20th century Irish descent I was always welcomed into their homes, and became familiar with their history and cultural traditions. 

My fondest memories include after school lunch of tempestine in brodo, dot pasta in homemade broth, served by my friend’s Grandmother, as her parents both worked, in their small immaculate suburban home filled with all their treasured and comforting religious icons.  

We have now spent over a year in various degrees of lockdown isolation in an effort to keep this pandemic virus at bay and in addition to the tragic illness and loss of lives, the most difficult part is not being able to see family and friends which is most evident in holiday periods. The impact, and toll this has taken, on our emotional state is immeasurable. 

As a young adult, back at University in the northeast, from several years in the deep south, my close friends were Jewish. I was invited to their homes at the Jersey Shore over long weekends, as a break from campus life, which brings to mind sensory memories of their wonderful food and once again, traditions. 

The final  words of the traditional passover Seder during this spring period,  are “next year in Jerusalem” a message of comfort, solidarity and hope for the future. A universal sentiment we can all benefit from in these difficult times, the hope that we will be together in the future, wherever we are.