Guinea pig with a life jacket

A year ago, we were holidaying in South Africa, visiting family and friends, and my late parents’ graves in the Pinelands Jewish Cemetery. We were also recapturing memories and enjoying the Cape Town beaches.

At the time, there was barely a mention of a mysterious disease in the Cape Times and just a few fleeting internet references to it. We did notice a proliferation of face masks at the airport when we left Johannesburg, although I thought nothing of it at the time. Who was to know…

Perhaps I’m a random sample of one, but as someone in his 70s, the thought of death is often close at hand, especially with the passing of close friends and contemporaries. This was so much more so this past free-floating, anxiety-filled year when a vicious, merciless, take-no-prisoners enemy has been on the loose worldwide. It has almost gone unchallenged, and leaves in its wake untold deaths, misery, and destruction. People’s livelihoods have been destroyed, and this has led to increasing poverty on an unimaginable scale.

As a former Capetonian, these past few weeks have been especially heart breaking, and my heart goes out to those families – many who I know well – who have suffered unbearable losses.

On a personal level, our three daughters and sons-in-laws’ businesses have been decimated, while my wife and I have barely seen our children and grandchildren this past year, and not hugged them at all.

The year 2020 resulted in us changing our lifestyle dramatically. For the past 20 years, I have become used to visiting the far corners of the world as a fundraiser. So, it has been a major adjustment to be home bound and pivot to Zoom for work, not being able to engage investors and donor prospects face to face.

We have been good citizens when it comes to wearing masks and social distancing, but we have been joined at the hip by fear, a constant presence.

We have managed on our daily walks around the neighbourhood to have quality downtime, with three lockdowns and a myriad of restrictions that included initially not walking more than 100m from our home. However, we have been virtual prisoners in our apartment, feeling at times isolated, and yearning for the company of our family, friends – and my colleagues at the water cooler.

Taking all this into account, and especially with the dramatic spike in daily infections, when the news came through that the vaccine was available, we saw it as a no brainer. We needed to arrange an immediate appointment with our Kupat Cholim (medical aid society) in Jerusalem for the vaccine.

My wife, a former nurse, was more sceptical than I was about venturing into the unknown and the possible risks of being a guinea pig, but I saw it as a life jacket, a saviour, a genuine light at the end of a murky and devious tunnel. So too did almost two million others over the past few weeks as we literally scrambled to be first in line.

We marvelled at the military style operation and efficiency of the nurses and doctors who were calm, sympathetic, and understanding. They were unfazed by all the people – who were surprisingly calm and patient – sitting a metre apart in the cavernous Israel Convention Center. They certainly inspired confidence in us in being among the first to take the plunge with their incredible competence and effective manner in dishing out the jabs.

We aren’t naïve and our spectacles aren’t rose-tinted. We know that even when we get our green passport indicating that we have had the vaccine, we aren’t yet off the hook from the virus. We still have to proceed with caution and vigilance, needing to continue wearing our masks and respecting personal space. However, we’ll do this with less fear and anxiety.

One thing I do know with certainty: we will definitely re-engage with our vaccinated friends. Besides being with our immediate family, this is what we crave the most. There is hope on the horizon.

What we have learnt from this year from hell is that we are more resilient than we sometimes think we are. We recognise that calling on all our reserves of self-discipline and foregoing immediate pleasures – as difficult as this may be – seems to be paying off.

Perhaps the most important thing we have learnt is that when the chips are down, we value and appreciate what’s truly important in our lives. That’s our family, our friends who have been there for us, and the quality of our personal relationships.

Finally, for us in Israel, we have nothing but admiration for our health system, for our first responders and fellow citizens. Our vaccination nation has been a wow factor, a source of great pride and inspiration. Israel at its best!

• Solly Kaplinski is the former principal of Herzlia School in Cape Town. He emigrated to Canada in 1993, made aliyah in 2000, and now lives in Jerusalem.