A socially transmitted disease

Going to shul over Sukkot felt somewhat like gaining access to the business-class lounge.

Aspiring entrants wait nervously in line for their documentation to be carefully checked, information recorded, physical features scrutinised, before being waved into a space that is spread out, spacious, and socially just a little awkward. Much like a business-class lounge, it also presents a magnificent opportunity to “people watch”. Which is what I did when after a seven-month absence, I went back to shul this past weekend.

COVID-19 is very clearly a social disease. And in spite of what they might have told us, it’s not the diabetic, the bald, or the aged who are at risk, but those who don’t have the ability to follow the social rules that pandemics ask us to. One morning in shul, and it became clear why some had already contracted the disease, and why others would soon follow.

The service I went to took place outside. Chairs were spaced a good few metres apart, and each person was given a seat for their posterior and one for their luggage. There was hand sanitizer everywhere. Anyone called up to the Torah did so from their seats, and mask wearing was mandatory. Mingling was kept to a minimum. By most, that is. Best of all was the efficiency that meant that the whole service was done and dusted in one hour and fifty minutes.

But not everyone was able to manage. And it was fascinating to observe those who simply couldn’t “get” what was expected of them. A few cases in particular caught my attention. First, there was someone who would take a carefully placed chair and move it to a non-careful place. Then, there was someone else who would come and simply stand in close proximity between two people, and then there where those who wore masks as a face decoration rather than a preventative tool.

In observing them, I realised that these are the people who on a Zoom call wouldn’t look to see that the camera isn’t focused up their nose. These are the folk who might walk out the house before checking that they haven’t buttoned their shirt to their pants zipper or who would unquestionably leave a patch of hair on their cheek when shaving. They are the ones, I realised that day, who are most at risk, and who might well kill us all.

Until now, I had no appreciation how dangerous a lack of social awareness could be. Now I’m certain that it’s potentially deadly.

I have often told my children that I was unlikely to hire a person who didn’t button their collar down if the shirt required it to be done because this meant that they couldn’t see what was clearly in front of them, and that their attention to detail was lacking.

It sounds harsh, but the reality is that we need to be aware not only of those around us, but how we appear and the impact we have on our environment. COVID-19 has underscored that lesson.

It’s not difficult to get into that business-class lounge, it’s getting out of it while healthy that’s more of a challenge.