It was a beautiful weekend for succah hopping. The sun shone brightly, the air was crisp and though it was mid-October, the weather was mild enough for us to sit in the succah, chat with old friends and watch the leaves hover in the air as they tumbled to the ground, quickly covering the grass with shades of orange, yellow, brown and red. It felt like a perfect day.
Succoth is a fall festival celebrating the 40 years the Israelites wandered in the dessert and the temporary dwellings they lived in. But it was only when I lived in Israel, in the 60s, did I see how it was meant to be celebrated, and what a festive time it was. As a child growing up in New York, I knew, mostly theoretically, that some peopIe built succahs, but I never experienced sitting or eating in one. In the Lower East Side apartment where my grandparents lived, my grandfather would point out the succah in the small enclosed alley, which we could see from his kitchen window. It was a rather fragile looking shelter made from poles covered with straw mats. But we never either entered it or ate there, and so I didn’t realize then, it was meant to dwell and eat in, to recreate and remind us of the temporariness and fragility of life. In Israel, apartment dwellers built them on their balconies, and strolling any street during Succoth provided an architectural tribute to man’s ingenuity in the variety of succah designs erected.
Living in Washington we became part of community where building a succah was observed, and our friends, the Mendelsons, built one annually holding an open house to share the celebration with their friends. They have been building a succah as long as I have known them, and our friendship goes back to the mid-60s. It is one of the invitations I look forward to each year, which unfailingly arrives in my mailbox, in the fall, around the time of the Jewish New Year.
Sitting there, warmed by the sun and surrounded by friends, I felt thankful for the years of our friendship and seeing, if sometimes only annually, people I have known and connected with over the years. Aging and the passage of time, was very much on my mind. I would turn 86 in a few days, and had just been honored by my synagogue as Chalat Ha Torah, (Bride of the Torah) an honor given to a “revered older member of the community.” As I said in my remarks, “I was deeply touched to be honored, but aghast to realize I had aged in.”
I looked at the people sitting with me in the succah. I had known most of them for years, and I was curious about how they were holding up physically. It is very much on my mind these days. Some looked hale and healthy, and others showed mild to significant physical limitations and fraility. Lou, a friend and former neighbor, had gained a lot of weight which aggravated his health, and I watched with sadness as he struggled to rise from his chair, rejecting needed offers of assistance as he twisted his body to use the chair arm to pull himself up. It took a few minutes and was painful to watch as we all wanted to rush in and help him up. I could understand his pride, however, in insisting he could do it himself. How difficult to acknowledge physical limitations to oneself and even more so to do it publicly.
I was glad to see Bubbie Gail, a Somerset neighbor, one of the kindest, most generous people I know, and I have known for many years. She told us she was struggling with the early stages of macular degeneration, and trying to figure out how to deal with the changes it would require. She had lived in her house for close to 50 years, and hated the thought that she might have to leave it. It sobered me when I was reminded that I was a few months older that she. Somehow, I was sure that she was the older one.
My good friend Aileen, is an almost daily reminder of decline. We have been friends and kindred spirits for almost 40 years, introduced by Helen, a mutual friend, who died about 4 years ago, living the last years of her life in an Alzheimer’s care unit. Helen brought us together for a Friday night dinner at her house, because knowing we shared a love of travel and a sense of adventure, she believed we would click, as we did. We subsequently traveled together to Turkey, London, India, and China, trekked together in Nepal, with a guide and 6 shleppers. Later we shared apartments in Miami and Palm Springs during the winter.
Fifteen years ago, Aileen was diagnosed with a leukemia-like blood cancer, and told that her life-span with the cancer was about 12-15 years. During the last year, the blood transfusions she regularly received, started losing their efficacy and she began to decline, using a cane, then a walker, and then finding her mobility even with a walker very limited because of her declining strength. She gave up driving a few months ago and began bringing in help to assist with daily tasks. She is a private person, maintains a brave front, and doesn’t complain, but it is clear there is very little she can do on her own. When we go for lunch or coffee, I pick her up in my car because, even with a walker, she cannot handle the three blocks to Starbucks. It breaks my heart to see my co-traveler so physically compromised, trying to face decline with a brave front. When I ask her how she is doing, she replies “pretty much the same,” keeping the details to a minimum. Sadly, she called on Thanksgiving Day, saying, “I can’t join you today. I really am not feeling well.” Fortunately, she was able to connect with a geriatric psychiatrist, whom she meets with regularly, who is helping her deal with her decline.
As I was working on this essay, an email from a former boyfriend arrived, who reported recently having two mild strokes, leading to the decision to undergo surgery to clear his arteries of plaque. When we dated many years ago, he was dealing with his father’s decline from heart disease, and it now appears that the family history has caught up with him, and he is facing a very serious operation.
At the same time, sitting in the sunshine, I was gratified to see how well the Mendelsons, who are my age, are doing. Although they no longer a one-day Open Succah, which was a marathon event, spreading out their hospitality to several days during the week, they appear to be doing well, as gracious and hospitable as they have been since I have known them.
In spite of my periodic worries about aging and decline, my recent trip to Apulia, Italy, reassured me that I could keep up with of group of 16 active people, mainly in their 70s, even though I was the oldest by a few years. Although not a rigorous trip we walked 3-5 miles a day, and I never lagged climbing small hills and occasional flights of stairs. When I finally revealed my age, I was met by surprise and encouragement about “how young you seem.” It is all very flattering and even reassuring, but I do have to admit to myself it is time limited, and that I too will at some point face decline. It worries me, as I wonder about the changes I will have to make in my life. But I try not to dwell on the unknowable future, and for the time being have decided to “age in place,” in my apartment, as my parents successfully did in theirs.
My parents’ experience of remaining at home, until the end has encouraged me to believe that it may be possible for me too. My mother experienced her decline and eventual death over a three- month period and was able to remain at home, thanks to my father and the care from hospice she received. My father, who had lung cancer, experienced a rapid decline within a ten- day period, and my brother was able to be there and care for him. Both my parents lived a long life and relatively healthy life, my mother until the age of 83 and my father until 90.
I feel my life has gone by quickly, but I also feel I was born a long time ago. I need only to scroll backward from today to the years of my birth to realize how many years have passed, and how many eras I have lived through from the days we got our first telephone and our early black and white television, to the internet and iphone. I feel grateful that I was born when I was, to experience the optimism of the “greatest generation”, believing we could win the war, solve the world’s problems, and live in a forward-looking world of continuing progress. That was before we recognized the climate crisis, and what changes it would take to slow it or solve it, and the untractable problems associated with racism, nationalism and poverty. Sadly, my grandchildren will not live in an era of the expanding pie or imbibe the optimism that marked much of my life. I count my blessings each day.
(Ed. Note: In conversations with Myrna about this piece, she also acknowledged the potential for functioning and dynamic economies to lift standards of living for people and societies. And that in the future, this potential could prevail to provide an expanding pie.)