The Pandemic in Israel

A personal view Stefan C. Reif At the end of February and the beginning of March I was back in Israel, deriving pleasure from the delightful spring weather and the blossoming almond trees, and all was well in my personal little world. I had spent time with my partner Renate in Salzburg, where we had sampled the wonderful wintry scenery, the newly opened spa a few hundred metres from her apartment, and superb local concerts. She had then come to Cambridge where we had enjoyed lunching and dining at St John’s, davening at Thompson’s Lane on Shabbat, working on a joint research project and visiting the superb Tutankhamun exhibition at the Saatchi Gallery in London. I had made all my plans for the coming six months, including lectures in various centres and different countries, had arranged for Renate to join me in Israel for Pesach and had booked seats at the superb Tel Aviv Opera House until the end of the season in July. We booked an early summer holiday at an outstanding hotel in Cyprus. El Al even surprised me by writing to say that because of my many flights my gold card had been upgraded to platinum, and detailing all the advantages. My investments were doing well and I was managing to look after all the needs of my homes in Cambridge and Beit Shemesh by sharing time between them, never leaving either for more than three or four weeks.

Within a few short weeks, our lives, and those of millions of others around the whole globe, had changed dramatically and drastically. Just before Pesach, Prime Minister Netanyahu saw the Covid-19 catastrophe looming and shut down the whole of Israel. He was so convinced that he was doing the right thing that he even advised other countries to do the same. His court case for alleged financial misdemeanours was postponed and he was able to concentrate, as acting prime minister (and in the absence of a new coalition), on handling the prospective defeat of the evil virus from China. He

appeared on television every evening as the chief of staff in the battle and explained, always with an emphasis on the use of the first person singular, how he was managing the situation. “I saw”, “I did”, “I said”, “I arranged”. Others involved were grudgingly allowed walk-on roles in his meticulously choreographed presentations.

The streets became eerily quiet. We had to order our groceries and have them delivered. My daughter, Tanya, collected items for me from the pharmacy. Those in the retirement age were defined as high risk, without any regard as to their actual state of health, and instructions were given about not walking more than a hundred metres from our homes and not seeing family members. No synagogue services, no entertainment, no gyms or pools. One was given the clear impression that one was a statistic and not a person. Pesach was to be celebrated alone. Masks, hand-washing, disinfectant gels became part of daily–no, actually hourly–life. It took some time for the ultra-Orthodox folk, especially in Jerusalem, and the ultra-liberated youth in Tel Aviv, to adapt to the new requirements, by which time many more infections had occurred. The political battles between right and left, religious and secular, Jews and Arabs, raged on regardless.

How was one to celebrate the Seder on one’s own? It was difficult enough not to be able to attend services in shool but the prospect of reading the Haggadah to oneself loomed ahead and there were undoubtedly many of the older generation who believed that, in such circumstances, their lives were barely worth living. Given their usual record of strictness, insensitivity, and aversion to change of any sort, some of the leading rabbis–mainly from the Sefardi side but including a few Ashkenazi authorities too–astonished us all by suggesting that we could leave our computer devices on over the festival and share the Seder that way with those near and dear to us. Within twenty-four hours there were voices of serious dissent and some of the rabbis, under the threat of being condemned as kind and thoughtful in their halakhic decisions (Heaven forbid!), timidly withdrew. We had of course “misunderstood” the original ruling. I read what had been written in that ruling and was convinced that it was fully justified from

many angles. One local Rabbi in Beit Shemesh explained that in his view it would be good for the soul and spiritually uplifting to sit alone and read the Haggadah. I felt that he must know different kinds of partners and family members from the sort with whom I was familiar. Renate and I celebrated the Seder and did all the yomtov davening together on line. It was strange but it was a relief.

Much more seriously, hundreds had died or were hospitalized, many thousands of workers were being sacked or put on extended leave, public education had virtually ceased and businesses had closed down or were on the brink of doing so. For me personally, it was a lonely time but the damage was less catastrophic. Flights were frozen until better times, lectures were postponed or Zoomed, conferences were cancelled, and opera and concert tickets seemed worthless at least for the moment. At least I was able to finish two books and to make progress with a third. Most of the Israeli population felt that if we willingly and obediently succumbed to all the regulations and restrictions, there would soon be a return to normality. It would only be a question of time. There was disappointment, frustration, and depression but we generally dealt with those (all in our own ways) doggedly rather than cheerfully, and hoped that our sacrifices would soon prove worthwhile.

After a period of about six weeks, the numbers of infections were significantly lower and Netanyahu began to ease the restrictions. Most Israelis had long admired his skills as a politician and a diplomat, especially in the international sphere, but also as something of a financial wizard. The country had been booming and the threat from Covid-19 had been contained; prosperity would return. Even those who were Bibi’s political foes admitted to a sneaking admiration for his managerial abilities and his foresight. He milked the situation for all it was worth. He presented it as his personal triumph and who could deny him this glory? In the middle of May, Netanyahu was riding so high that he was even able to put together a coalition that would incorporate into his government, and under his leadership, many of his most powerful opponents in the Knesset and keep him in power for at

least another eighteen months. Few believed that the head of the Blue and White party, Benny Ganz, would ever be permitted to take over from Bibi as prime minister. Towards the end of May, Netanyahu appeared on television to impart the good news. We should all go out and have a coffee or a beer. Life would soon be back to normal. He had brought us through the valley of the shadow of Covid. Restaurants, yeshivot, night-clubs, bars, and beaches filled up, and most of Israel smugly thought that the danger was now over for us, if not for other less fortunate countries.

As the Scottish poet Robert Burns wisely put it, “The best laid plans of mice and men gang aft agley, an’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain.” Within two months of that rash invitation to celebrate, the numbers of infections had risen to some 2,000 per day and Israel had moved from the most admired country to the one whose citizens would be shunned at ports of immigration around the world. Netanyahu now spoke in the first person plural about the miscalculations that we had made and threatened another total shutdown. Finally, at this advanced state of the game, a supremo was appointed who knew something about health and more targeted measures were employed. Promises of payment for every citizen were made. But for many it was all too late. The frustrations and disappointments of three long months boiled over into anger, demonstrations, civil unrest, even violence. Netanyahu’s court case provided an opportunity to poke fun at him and to forecast his imminent political demise.

Why had there not been proper plans from the start? Why had one man taken responsibility and credit for everything? How could an individual facing charges in court properly address himself to a nation’s problems? One even heard rabid Bibi supporters in the market stalls acknowledging that they had lost confidence in him. Perhaps, after all, the king had no clothes. As with failures of all sorts in a variety of contexts, the person who is down and out is abused by a succession of those who may have wished to do so beforehand but had lacked the courage to dare. The numerous achievements of Likkud governments as a whole and of Netanyahu as their leader in particular were