O pinion
A Dispatch from Dark Days in Texas
BY BETSY MARKMAN
DO YOU KNOW the scene in
“Willy Wonka & the Chocolate
Factory” when all four grand-
parents share the same bed in
an effort to keep warm? Texas
has been like that this week,
but without a daughter at the
stove cooking soup.

I am currently in the suburbs
northwest of Austin, Texas,
where I am sitting out the power
outages in a friend’s guestroom.

I am warm, safe, dry, fed and
enjoying the company of
several others. We’re very fortu-
nate. Exceedingly fortunate to
have what we need and be able
to offer warmth, hospitality,
cooked food and electricity
to others.

I write this on the third
day of my evacuation, the
fourth day of the storm, a few
hours before (hopefully) we
pick up an emergency supply
of my heart medication that I
spent hours yesterday getting
transferred to the only open
pharmacy in this suburb of
80,000 people.

Day 4 sees fresh snow on
top of ice on top of 6 inches
of existing snow that hasn’t
melted. Any that’s disappeared
is being heated in someone’s
home to be used either to flush
toilets or to melt into drinking
water. Day 4 sees hunger set in
for those whose food requires
actual cooking.

Day 4 sees people give up
hope. Day 4 is when we start
hearing of people discovering
deceased neighbors in the snow.

My apartment is a mile
from the JCC in Austin. My
power went out early Monday
morning and
returned yesterday, three hours after
the water was turned off until
further notice. The apartment
is one of 300 in my complex, in
a neighborhood of a half-dozen
such complexes, shopping areas
and private homes. They’re all
dark, and they’re all cold.

The neighborhood is about
50 years old, and the city never
ran gas lines, so everything
is all electric and has had no
power at all since the wee
hours of Monday night. The
temperature has been below
freezing the whole time, down
to 9 degrees Tuesday.

When I woke up at 4 a.m.

Monday, I was cold, but my
Facebook friends told me
we were part of a system of
40-minute rolling blackouts.

Forty minutes off, four hours
on. No big deal. Then 40
minutes turned to four hours,
then seven hours and finally
40 hours. My phone service
went out by 7 a.m. Monday, so
I just lay in bed reading on my
iPad. The phone lit up at 8 with
Facebook messages and texts,
including a note from a good
friend in the suburbs who had
light, gas heat and a gas stove.

He also drives a pickup.

I messaged him and asked
if I might be able to stay with
him and asked him to pick me
up if I still didn’t have power
by noon. The phone service
went out again, and we didn’t
connect until about 2 p.m.,
when I borrowed the phone
of a neighbor with a different
carrier. I texted this friend, as
well as my dad and my son on
opposite coasts.

I know my city doesn’t really
have snowplows, but I didn’t
expect his 30-minute round
trip to take more than two
hours. He was unable to get
up the hill into my apartment
complex and parked a block
from the entrance, two blocks
from me. He walked uphill the
rest of the way, then walked
back down carrying three days’
worth of my supplies.

I evacuated early. I am
not sure how well I could
have survived in an unheated
home with no communica-
tion. I feel guilty as I use my
fully charged phone to read
Facebook updates from friends
who are charging their phones
in the cars. Facebook has been
amazing during this time, as
the few in my neighborhood
group who have four-wheel-
drive SUVs transport firewood,
diapers and food from neighbor
to neighbor.

The local middle school has
become a “warming station”
but only until 9 p.m. The
synagogue I attend opened
this morning as a refuge, one
hour after the power came back
and water was confirmed. The
giving and sharing are heart-
warming and among the most
important work happening
anywhere in the country.

COVID-19 complicates
everything about this recovery,
and I wonder if we’ll have
repercussions from the fact
that many families are doubled
up, with far more human
contact than anyone has had
in months. One of the people
who evacuated to the home
where I’m staying has not had
either COVID jab. I’ve had
both plus two weeks for them
to take effect, and my host has
had one.

Shabbat arrives tomorrow
night, and I look forward to
hearing my host chant kiddush
after I light candles. Other
candles have been far more
important this week. l
Betsy Markman is a middle school
ESL teacher in Austin, Texas.

Embracing a Different Kind of Purim Tradition
BY SHARON WEISS-GREENBERG
ONE YEAR AGO, we were
debating how to navigate Purim
carnivals — not whether they
should take place. We were told
that masks would not protect
you from COVID-19 and were
to be worn to celebrate Purim
18 FEBRUARY 25, 2021
purely for entertainment.

Last year, my family
dressed and attended Megillah
readings with fewer than 100
people, which was considered
extremely cautious at the time.

By forgoing a potluck Purim
meal for pizzas that were deliv-
ered and served to family units,
we did not feel like we were
compromising the holiday too
much — and in making said
minor adjustments, we were in
fact going above and beyond
the then gold standard to
prevent the spread of COVID-
19. A number of people sent
coronavirus-themed mishloach
manot or dressed up like
Corona beer, but we all thought
that this would pass well before
we had set our tables for the
Passover seder.

We were living in a more
innocent time. The novel
coronavirus that originated in
China would soon sweep the
globe, but for many of us it
still felt far away. Testing was
halting at first, and it wasn’t
until after we had put away our
Purim groggers and costumes
that we became fully aware of
how dramatically cases around
the world had begun to spike.

Then the lockdowns began and
life has never been the same.

Since Purim one year ago,
we have adjusted, adapted
and found compromises —
both clever and painful — for
observing and celebrating
JEWISH EXPONENT
Jewish holidays. We’ve gone
virtual for many rituals and
services, and done our best
to maintain connections,
relationships and commu-
nity. It seems that as we
approach each holiday still
knee-deep in the pandemic,
we begin by worrying about
what this holiday can look
like. We wonder how we can
salvage the joyful, meaningful
experiences. When it comes to Purim,
this feels especially painful.

Not only are we one year into
the pandemic, but Purim
translates especially poorly to
Zoom. How can we experience
the cathartic joy, the carniva-
lesque release, the downright
silliness when we are not
together? But instead of trying to
recapture the raucous joy
of Purim, it’s time to adjust
our attitude and lean into a
different, often neglected side
of this holiday.

There are four mitzvot
related to the holiday of Purim:
reading the Megillah of Esther
(which tells the story), eating
and drinking in a festive
manner, sending mishloach
manot (edible food packages)
and giving to the poor.

This last should be our
focus. We will still read the Megillah
See Weiss-Greenberg, Page 38
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM