O pinion
My Mother Was Not a Number. Let’s Honor Her.

BY JONATHAN KAGAN
ON SEPT. 18, my mother,
Bebe Kagan, just two days shy
of her 95th birthday, died of
COVID-19 disease in an Iowa
nursing home. Like many in her
age group, Mom was a first-gen-
eration American. Her parents
were immigrants from Ukraine
and Moldova, who came to this
country to escape persecution
and seek opportunity.

Growing up in Bridgeport,
Connecticut, Mom studied
hard in public school and was
one of the first in her family
to attend college. At age 19,
she got cancer, and though
cautioned against marriage, she
married my dad and together
they raised and educated
seven children.

At 48, Mom’s cancer
returned, this time necessi-
tating amputation of her right
leg. With three children still
at home, she carried on as a
homemaker, doing laundry,
making dinner, reviewing
homework and driving with
her left foot.

My father died in 1994,
and Mom continued to live a
vibrant life in Florida until July
of this year, when she relocated
to Des Moines to live close to
my sister. Just two months after
her arrival, Mom was infected
with the SARS-CoV-2 virus by
a nursing home staff member. A
week later she was hospitalized,
and five days later, she died.

The women in my mom’s
family have a history of
longevity, many living far into
their 90s and a few past 100.

Mom herself had no signs of
imminent health risk. There is
no doubt that COVID-19 killed
her. And there’s every reason to
believe that had Iowa enacted,
supported and enforced safer
public health measures, Mom’s
risk of infection would have
been reduced and she’d likely
be alive today.

The record of public health
decision-making during the
pandemic in our country is
well-documented, and while
some leaders and jurisdictions
have acted boldly and with
prudence, many balked at
stay-at-home orders, did not
issue face mask mandates
(despite evidence that masks
work), and shunned social
distancing recommendations,
opening bars and restaurants
which have repeatedly led
to surges in COVID-19 case
numbers and deaths.

The Talmud, the book of
Jewish law, says that whoever
saves one life, saves the entire
world, and makes the point that
one person can make a difference.

For society to continue, selfless-
ness and kindness must exist.

It is surely understandable
that some view mask wearing as
an unwelcome inconvenience
because it can be. Not being
able to gather with friends and
family, fellow congregants and
co-workers, in groups, as we
used to, is a real loss for many
of us. And, if there is just one
thing that most Americans
still have left in common these
days, it’s that we hate having
people telling us what to do (or
shaming us for not doing).

But let’s not forget that we
also have another thing in
common — a very good and
important thing: We accept
some responsibility for one
another’s safety. For instance,
even though we might arrive
at our destination sooner, we
haven’t decided that stopping
at a red light is an infringement
on our liberties. We recognize
that for all of us to be safe
on the road, we each have to
adhere to some rules.

In that same way, if each of
us could think of and follow
the proven COVID-19 safety
practices (i.e., mask wearing,
social distancing and hand
washing), just like we stop
for red lights, we could go a
long way toward protecting
both ourselves and others
from sickness and death from
COVID-19. While several of our elected
officials — with whom we may
agree on many policy issues
— have not exemplified the
public health practices that we
know save lives, we don’t have
to defend or copy their unsafe
behaviors. We can think for
ourselves and separate our
politics from our concepts of
social responsibility in civil
society. And in so doing, we
can feel good knowing that
we’re acting in accordance
with our values, doing right by
others and ourselves.

Bebe Kagan, a resilient and
strong woman who had more life
left in her, died alone in an Iowa
nursing home. My mom was
not a number, and neither were
the other more than 210,000
American victims of COVID-19
to those who loved them. At the
very least, we can honor and give
sanctity to their lives by together
doing all we can to prevent more
sickness and death during this
pandemic. Speaking for all of
us who have been left behind to
mourn, please consider your part
in sparing any more families the
pain and sorrow we endure. l
Jonathan Kagan lives in Potomac,
Maryland. I Thought Anti-Semitism Was a Problem of the Past.

Then I Became Jewish.

BY KYLIE ORA LOBELL | JTA
IT WASN’T UNTIL I started
converting to Judaism that I
realized that anti-Semitism is
very much alive and well —
and it’s only getting worse.

Last year saw the most
anti-Semitic incidents in
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM 40 years, according to the
Anti-Defamation League. While
the numbers aren’t yet in for
2020, there have been anti-
Semitic events every month of
the year so far.

And yet, when I talk to my
family about anti-Semitism
and why I don’t feel safe here in
America anymore, they don’t
quite understand.

I don’t expect them to,
either. If you have never been
discriminated against for your
identity, then you simply can’t
comprehend how it could
happen to others, either. You
don’t know how scary and
powerless you feel when people
say they hate you.

Growing up in a white
home in a predominantly white
neighborhood in Baltimore,
I never once faced racism or
any form of discrimination.

My family and I pretty much
looked like everyone else. We
could blend in and there were no
differences between the people
in our community and us.

On the other hand, in high
school, when my mom moved
us to Pikesville, a predominantly
Orthodox Jewish neighbor-
hood, I noticed that they
looked different from us right
away. Mostly, I’d see them on
Saturdays, wearing all black and
pushing baby strollers. The only
thoughts that crossed my mind
were, “Wow, Jewish people walk
a lot,” and “They must be really
hot in that dark clothing.”
Unlike my mom and I, they
JEWISH EXPONENT
couldn’t hide who they were.

Today, I’m one of those Jews
walking on Shabbat around
my neighborhood, which is a
little frightening nowadays.

But the few times when I have
experienced real anti-Semitism,
ironically, have occurred when
I wasn’t easily identifiable as an
Orthodox Jew. Like the time my
landlord told me her father used
to “Jew people down,” or when
my Uber driver said Jews control
the world and like to make
little children into matzah ball
soup (really!). The topic came
up because we were driving
through a predominantly
Orthodox Jewish neighborhood
in Los Angeles and he spotted
some haredi Jews.

The first incident was
offensive, and the latter was
horrifying. I shared these
See Lobell, Page 20
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