I never get sick … until COVID-19
I’m hardy, I’m a traveller. I climb mountains and hike for weeks in remote forests. I never get sick.
But I did.
2020 what have you done? My dog, my partner John, and I bunkered down for eight months for you. We had a UCOOK farmers box delivered every week. We, the “egg on toast is okay” kind of couple, cooked with strange new ingredients. We laughed and ate and cuddled, blissful in our isolation, in love with the new pace … the silent nights, the slow mornings.
Re-calibrated, re-evaluated, revised priorities. We saw no one, insular and safe. And the curve flattened. I hankered for the wild, we headed out in November for a road trip, just a small one mind, paragliding, hiking my beautiful mountains, surfing the wild waves. Ecstatic to be free to roam in the sunshine.
Home, excited and exhilarated. Feeling tired and with a stomach bug. No worries, it will pass in 24 hours.
My friend Kath has COVID-19. We chat on WhatsApp, swop stories, giggle at the photo of her husband in a boiler suit and shield handing her a toastie with the extra length braai tongs. The next day, she’s in intensive care.
My body aching (from the hiking no doubt). Nauseated and endless diarrhoea. John is fine, off to the doctor for a routine visit, jokingly says, “I have a slight cough, maybe I have COVID-19.” Hazmat suit on, red alert, doctor furious, takes the swab. He’s positive. Two days later, I test positive. Not possible! We were so careful. Not us, no! We did everything we could, we didn’t see our children, we never went out, we practically bathed in sanitiser, sterilised our masks, washed our hands.
Now my head is caving in, this isn’t happening. I can’t stand up, I can’t get out of bed, I want to vomit. I want to run away, I want to die. I feel like I’m in a Thai jail, the rats are crawling over me, people are stepping over me. I’m lying in a passage, no one sees me. I’m crying, I’m dying. I’ve been poisoned, no one knows I’m there. I am in a foul mess, my breath stinks, I can’t breathe. My head is being kicked in. I’m crying, and no one sees me. I can’t lift my arms. The meds are toxic, I stop taking them, I can’t have any more poison. My body is liquifying, can’t move. My body is dissolving. I’m terrified.
My friend Kath is now in a coma on a ventilator. John wants to take me to hospital. I won’t go – I’ll never come back. I promise if the oxygen level falls below 90, I’ll go.
The angels from the Community Security Organisation supplied us with information, oximeters, and thermometers. The sweetest, kindest voice calls me every day, forces me to do the readings. My temperature never went over 40, and my oxygen never fell below 90.
I stayed home, crawled from my bedroom to the bathroom, slept and slept and slept, every day slightly better. Curtains closed, light too bright. Seeing flashes of neon purple, coral shapes. Best to keep still, eyes shut tight. Apartment looks strange, nothing is in focus, a zombie like voodoo land. Very scared. Everything is very slow.
Kath died. My friend Kath is dead. I’m alive. I’m shattered and heartbroken.
The miasma is lifting, I can drink a cup of tea. Suggest we order some soup. John orders from Woolies and presents me with my favourite kale and broccoli soup. It’s green. I can’t swallow green, it’s bile, more poison. I cry, he has tried so hard, and I just go back to bed, sobbing. Fearful, fragile, and sad.
Every day now pretty much the same, sleep, wander around the apartment, feeling stronger. Vault forward to day 16, and I’m skinny. Never been skinny! Head isn’t clear and I’m forgetting things. Mid-sentence, I clam up, cannot fathom where the conversation is going.
I find myself in the kitchen with a knife in hand not knowing why. Load the tumble drier and never switch it on, smelly mouldy wet washing in there for days. I lock my phone and have no idea of the password, no idea at all, it’s my son’s birthday; same password for decades.
First day out, and I’m brave. Leave the building with some trepidation, but I’m good, I’m strong. Walk around the block and the neon purple shapes appear on the pavement, I try and sidestep them, but they are always there, bouncing along in front of me. It’s unnerving. People coming towards me and I panic, I’m going to infect them, I’m going to kill them – what am I doing out here? I must get home as fast as possible, I’m a killer.
In a state, I can’t breathe, anxious. Hands are shaking, and I don’t know what to do. They are coming, I’m paralysed, trembling, and crying. A lovely lady stops and empties her shopping bag and I breathe into the packet, in and out. She leaves me there.
Out of isolation now for three weeks, and I’m back on the mountain with my dog. I’m happy and safe there. The streets scare me, I still have irrational fears, forgetfulness, and anxiety.
It will pass.
- Hedda Baxter is the mother of two grown-up children and lives in Cape Town.
Getting my head around six million individuals
If ever you question the importance of commemorating Yom Hashoah, which we do this week, keep in mind that we’re not talking about statistics, but the systematic annihilation of a huge percentage of our people.
In fact, before the Holocaust, 60% of all Jews lived in Europe. Two out of three of them were murdered during the war. In 1933, there were 9.5 million Jews in Europe and this number was down to 3.5 million in 1950.
This is hard to absorb, I know, but so often, people dismiss comparisons of the Holocaust with the behaviour of Israel or even with apartheid. The more I acknowledge what it means to murder six million Jews systematically, the more I realise that there is simply no comparison.
This year marks 80 years since the beginning of the mass annihilation of Jews and each year, fewer and fewer survivors remain. Many died this year of COVID-19. Their survival enabled us to understand what they lived through and how six million of their brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, cousins, aunts, uncles, and other family and friends were brutally murdered. The only reason for their death was because they were Jewish.
Until recently, the number six million was simply a very large number to me. Although I had seen the movies and read the books, I couldn’t quite identify with it as being six million people like me and all those I love in this world. It really isn’t easy to absorb and comprehend this number in terms of individuals who had a future, perhaps a degree or three, a wife or a beloved, and children. They had potential and lives yet to be lived, but their lives were stolen from them way before their time.
The Nazis took away their humanity, their individuality, and attempted to make them just a number, which they tattooed on their arms.
Every year, on Yom Hashoah, we observe a ceremony under the auspices of the president of Israel known as “Unto Every Person there is a Name”, in which names of those who perished in the Holocaust are called out.
The point of this particular exercise is meaningful because an individual is given a name by their parents. And they and their families have a surname that they share. This makes every single person a unique individual. Each person has a name, a personality, a particular look, a way of walking, talking, and a way of being that is special to them. So, starting with a name we are given at birth, a person is individualised. And so every year on Yom Hashoah, we do our best around the world to individualise and humanise as many of the six million Jews who died as possible.
To date, Yad Vashem has recorded 4 800 000 names of Holocaust victims on its Central Database of Shoah Victims’ Names, with more than 2 750 000 names registered on Pages of Testimony.
Here’s the thing: if we had all the names of the six million who were murdered, and could say each name, age, and place of death in one second, we could cover only 86 400 individual names in one 24-hour Yom Hashoah.
To read six million, we would need almost 70 days of 24-hour non-stop reading. If we recited names for only 12 hours a day, giving the reader time to sleep, eat, and have a few short breaks, we would need 138 days to cover the names of the six million Jews who were annihilated in the Holocaust. And that’s if you can read all their vital details in one second.
This brings me a little closer to understanding what the number six million actually means in terms of individuals.
On the Yad Vashem site (YadVashem.org), you can find lists of these names. I went to look this week and found 23 people with the surname Krost who were victims of the Holocaust. I know of a handful. I wonder who the others were. Were they also family?
Then, I looked at the lists of children’s names and there were literally hundreds of pages of names of children, some not even a year old. I couldn’t help the tears as I read names, ages, and where and how they died. I felt quite sick. I couldn’t help thinking that these littlies, who should have been playing and having fun without a care in the world, were brutally murdered because by chance they were born Jewish.
It was then that I decided that I was going to light the six commemorative candles with my sons this year. We will recite the El Maleh Rachamim prayer, and then start reading children’s names and keep going until we can’t anymore. I believe this will give us a better inkling of the massive horror of the millions who perished all because they were like us.
In this edition, there is a story about the Holocaust on page 12 that stands out for me. It’s about the Wannsee Conference, where the decision was made by the Nazi leadership to murder Jews en masse. What really hit me was Holocaust educator Dr Matthias Haß’s warning that it was because of the small incidents of antisemitism that the Wannsee House decision was made. It was the accumulation of decades of slowly building antisemitism that seeped into German society over years that eventually led to the dehumanisation of Jews, he said.
How often do we dismiss or not make a big deal about what seems to be minor incidents of antisemitism or racism? Sometimes it isn’t always so clear and sometimes it is. But it’s not easy to stick your neck out, especially when you are alone in a situation. And sometimes it might be cleverly disguised as anti-Israel sentiment.
The next time someone says to me, “Don’t make a big deal about it” referring to antisemitism, I will remember how I tried to get my head around the systematic murder of six million Jews.
Is the US losing interest in the Middle East?
The United States-Saudi Arabia relationship is a really interesting case study for those who watch Middle Eastern geopolitics closely. Some background to current events is necessary to set the context.
On the one hand, Saudi Arabia is a difficult ally. Its human-rights record is suspect, to say the least. It was clearly responsible for the killing of the journalist Jamal Khashoggi in 2018, which caused a worldwide outcry. It has also been involved in a war in Yemen that has created a humanitarian disaster, with high civilian casualties and hunger, malnutrition, and illness in that country.
On the other hand, it’s a strategic US ally, and a stable, pro-Western country. It entered the war in Yemen for good reason – to prevent the Iranian-aligned Houthi forces from taking over the country. It was also the second biggest oil producer in the world in 2020.
President Joe Biden was left with a difficult choice. Heading up a Democratic administration, which supposedly prides itself on its support for human rights, he couldn’t leave things as they were. On the other hand, he couldn’t damage the US’s vital strategic and national interests. To this end, he seems to have attempted to walk a fine line by taking the following actions:
He released a redacted intelligence report that blamed the crown prince for being behind the murder of the journalist, but took no further action. He has made it clear that the US no longer supports the operations of the Saudi coalition in Yemen, and has temporarily paused the sale of offensive arms to Saudi Arabia, but has allowed the continued sale of defensive arms.
More importantly, he didn’t act when Saudi oilfields were once again attacked by Houthi missiles and drones on 7 March, which led to a spike in oil prices briefly above $70 (R1 021) a barrel.
The US said on the Monday that its commitment to defend Saudi Arabia was “unwavering”, and in a Twitter post, the US mission in Riyadh condemned the attacks, which it said demonstrated a “lack of respect for human life” and a “lack of interest in the pursuit of peace”. However, the US took no further action.
The main issue, however, which is being brought to the fore by the awkward US-Saudi dance, is that the US is losing interest in the Middle East. The area is much less of a priority than it used to be.
There are a few reasons for this. First, the US no longer relies on imports of oil from the region. Last year, according to The Economist, the US was in fact a net exporter of oil and natural gas.
Second, the US has been involved in long and endless wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that have cost trillions of dollars and achieved very little.
Finally – and this has been the policy across three US presidents now – the US wants to pivot to Asia and focus much more on countering a rapidly growing and influential China. It wants to lighten its burdens in the Middle East, and instead focus its energies on what everyone believes will be the world’s leading growth region of the 21st century.
This doesn’t mean the US will withdraw totally. It still has troops all over the area, and has vital interests in preventing a nuclear arms race there and not allowing terrorist groups to grow and find sanctuary. However, given recent events, it seems clear that it will scale down its activities and no longer expend the time and energy it has in the past. Its military activities will be curtailed.
The effect of this clear signal from the US has been dramatic, and it no doubt played a major role in the Abraham Accords and signing of peace treaties between Israel and the United Arab Emirates and Bahrain. If and when the Saudis join the emerging Israel-Sunni reproachment, it will no doubt also be due to the fear of less US involvement in the region and of therefore having to face their enemies alone.
While this development has been positive for Israel in that it now has new strategic allies in the region, bringing much more diplomatic strength and regional influence, in the long term, there must be concern.
The US moves towards Saudi Arabia are a portent for it becoming much less involved in the region, and clearly show its intention not to be dragged into any more wars there.
While Israel now has a lot of new allies as a result, and it seems the friendships will be warm, none of the new allies are major military powers. Local regional alliances, useful as they are, cannot replace the world’s main superpower, and an unstable region will surely become still more unstable without the US’s active presence.
Israeli leaders have long suspected this, but the fact that the US hasn’t responded militarily to the two recent attacks on the Saudi oilfields when in the past, under any president, there would have been a robust and strong response, shows how dramatically things have changed. The US can no longer be relied on as a military ally. Israel will be left to fend pretty much for itself if and when the next war breaks out in the Middle East.
- Harry Joffe is a Johannesburg tax and trust attorney.
Looking for descendants of Lithuanian great-grandfather
I would be grateful for any information a reader may have as I search for descendants of my great-grandfather, Eliahu Zvi Bloch, a Kohen who lived in Anassisic/Anusshishok, Lithuania, near the Latvian border, from roughly 1820 to 1900.
My grandfather, Elchanon, the son of Eliahu Zvi and his third wife, Sarah Oralowich, who grew up in an orphanage, is the only one of the family who emigrated to the United States. I recall hearing that some of Elchanon’s siblings or half-siblings emigrated to South Africa in the first half of the last century.
I know very little else. I believe the family migrated to Lithuania from Germany around 1750 or 1800, that Eliahu Zvi’s father lived to be 100, and that Eliahu Zvi was 66 years old when my grandfather was born. It’s possible that some family members migrated to Israel, either prior to statehood or after living in South Africa. I would welcome any information, even if marginally related to my family, such as knowledge of life in Anassisic/Anusshishok. I live in Silver Spring, Maryland, United States, and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org
- Apr 2021
- Mar 2021
- Feb 2021
- Jan 2021
- Dec 2020
- Nov 2020
- Oct 2020
- Jul 2020
- Jun 2020
- May 2020
- Apr 2020
- Mar 2020
- Feb 2020
- Jan 2020
- Dec 2019
- Nov 2019
- Oct 2019
- Sep 2019
- Aug 2019
- Jul 2019
- Jun 2019
- May 2019
- Apr 2019
- Mar 2019
- Feb 2019
- Jan 2019
- Dec 2018
- Nov 2018
- Oct 2018
- Sep 2018
- Aug 2018
- Jul 2018
- Jun 2018
- May 2018
- Apr 2018
- Mar 2018
- Feb 2018
- Jan 2018
- Dec 2017
- Nov 2017
- Oct 2017
- Sep 2017
- Aug 2017
- Jul 2017
- Jun 2017
- May 2017
- Apr 2017
- Mar 2017
- Feb 2017
- Jan 2017
- Dec 2016
- Nov 2016
- Oct 2016
- Sep 2016
- Aug 2016
- Jul 2016
- Jun 2016
- May 2016
- Apr 2016
- Mar 2016
- Feb 2016
- Jan 2016
- Dec 2015
- Nov 2015
- Oct 2015
- Sep 2015
- Aug 2015
- Jul 2015
- Jun 2015
- May 2015
- Apr 2015
- Mar 2015
- Feb 2015
- Jan 2015
- Dec 2014
- Nov 2014
- Oct 2014
- Sep 2014
- Aug 2014
- Jul 2014
- Jun 2014
- May 2014
- Apr 2014
- Mar 2014
- Feb 2014
- Jan 2014
- Dec 2013
- Nov 2013
- Oct 2013
- Sep 2013
Naale Elite Academy
Letters/Discussion Forums6 days ago
Protest not a creative solution to education funding crisis
Letters/Discussion Forums6 days ago
Only those on the frontline should be vaccinated
Letters/Discussion Forums6 days ago
Looking for descendants of Lithuanian great-grandfather
Youth6 days ago
KDVP holds siyum for firstborn boys
Voices6 days ago
Time for Israelis to pray for South Africa
Voices6 days ago
Join us for Yom Hashoah
Religion6 days ago
Finding faith in the hippo
Israel6 days ago
Helen Mirren to play Golda Meir in upcoming film