Waiting and Hope – by Nuha Salibi
“In the world of the coronavirus we are waiting. But waiting for what? … Our waiting has an intransitive feel. ‘For what?’ is hard to answer. For it to be over. For those who are sick to recover. For a magically resurrected economy. For school to start and the multiplex to open. For a paycheck once again. Waiting to go back to where we were… We are waiting for a solution to the inexplicable. We are waiting for deliverance from our vulnerability to nature, of course – and from death – but even more from our vulnerability to self–interest, lying, hoarding, and venality that make the pandemic even worse. Which is to say, we want to be delivered from ourselves.” ( Richard Lischer, “Waiting for Good News”, Christian Century, April 8, 2020)
During this Paschal season, we are waiting as we are sheltering ourselves and self- isolating. “The definition , per Dictionary.com, of ‘shelter’ in verb form is ‘to find a refuge.’ Further, Merriam- Webster defines refuge as ‘something to which one has recourse in difficulty.’ …During this crisis, the only thing to which I have ‘full recourse in difficulty,’ where I can truly shelter in place, is the inner spaces of my mind. Sheltered in that place, I’m fortified by the stillness and can carry forward to outer circumstances calmer and with kindness and compassion. To summarize another meme I read, we stay at home not from fear but from love.”( Valerie Woods , “Where I Found My True Shelter”, LA Times, April 4. 2020)
Having grown up in the Middle East, I have always felt that my home and my neighborhood are my ultimate shelters. Congeniality and sociability are our lifelines and they are endemic in my upbringing whether in times of peace or war. I was raised by a mother who was an extreme extrovert; our home was always open to friends and strangers. My father, on the other hand, liked his privacy and I would hear him sometimes complain, ”Mary, why is our house like a hallway (or corridor as we would say it in Arabic) ?” as our doorbell was eternally ringing and our neighbors would be popping in at all hours to borrow a cup of sugar or just for coffee or tea. For all that, my dad still was a gracious host with young and old alike.
Funnily enough, when I got married, I discovered that Raja was the exact copy of my mother with his many committee duties and his love of having people over all the time. I used to think that he could not breathe without people around him. During the civil war, our home was a meeting place for all our acquaintances and in the evenings, our neighbors would gather in our little living room to watch TV or play casse tête, a game a friend had taught us and which now I have totally forgotten. Instead of the endless cups of coffee, I would make what we called white coffee, a drink that consisted of water, sugar and orange blossom water instead of the coffee beans and offer cookies that we bought in large tin cans known as Marie biscuits. On some evenings, it would get so late that Raja would jokingly announce to our guests that they were welcome to stay so long as they made sure they would turn off the lights and close our door when they left; we would all laugh then since a few were already fast asleep on the couches.
Thus, when we settled in the U.S., the running joke every evening was when Raja would ask me, ”Shall I close the front door?” and my standard answer would be , ”Who do you think is coming over to visit?” That sense of isolation was the one thing Raja could not get used to although in no time, we did make quite a few friends and enjoyed their company whenever time would allow as we were both busy with our various jobs and responsibilities.
Nowadays, in what someone has dubbed “the twilight zone”, as I and my shadow go around the house before I lock up cleaning all the surfaces I had touched during the day with a clorox disinfecting wipe – from doorknobs to light switches, computer desk tops, iPads and pens, faucets, fridges, microwaves, and electric kettles, TV and radio remotes and everything else I can think of, I thank God that I have a home to take refuge in and that I have e-mail, skype, and telephone to keep in touch with friends and loved ones around the world. I say a prayer for all the people who are putting their lives on the line to keep us well fed, healthy, and as comfortable as is possible these days. I thank God for my neighbor who knocked on my door to ask if I needed anything for him to bring me and my children who do all my shopping for me so that I can stay home because of my age. I am thankful for my friends who responded so promptly by putting my granddaughter Rita on their prayer chains when she was diagnosed with COVID–19 symptoms. Indeed, there are many heroes around us whom we cannot count but who are exposed day and night to respond to our various needs and keep us safe.
As we approach the various religious feasts this holy month – whether it be Easter, Passover or Ramadan – we will be celebrating virtually with loved ones through the various technological devices. Those who are fortunate to be well and those who are suffering, those who live alone and those who live with family, those who are homeless and those who are grieving over loved ones – we are all one family with lessons we need to learn to be able to share our humanity with each other. When my younger daughter was born, it did not take us long to choose a name. We had already named our first child Laila, which is an Arabic word meaning” night or dark beauty”; therefore, for our second child, we chose Samar, thinking about the Arabic expression “nightly evening conversation” or “nightly social evenings” in Arabic known as “layali as samar”, and each of our girls in her own way epitomized those attributes that are the wellspring of our way of life and community ethos in our tradition and that of many others. As Dr. Craig Spencer said: “We all need someone to lean on at home and at work” while we wait to ride out this invisible menace that has disrupted life as we knew it. We should never forget that love and peace, amity, good will and a common faith in our humaneness- all these are values we look up to and need to preserve.
I will end with part of the lyrics of the 1939 song made famous by Vera Lynn that speaks of hope in the midst of hardship:
“We’ll meet again
Don’t know where
Don’t know when
But I’ll know we’ll meet again some sunny day.”
Lastly, here are the last words of Queen Elizabeth’s moving and unifying televised address on April 5, 2020:
“We will be with friends. We will be with our families. We will meet again.”