Grateful/Guilty

Like others I know who had power some or much of the time these past weeks, I feel so very grateful and also a little guilty. It feels odd to have something vital while neighbors don’t. Keeping busy, offering whatever help you are able to, mitigates the feeling somewhat, but knowing you definitely don’t want to trade places neutralizes that. And the possibility of being in that position next time is both worrisome and scary.

I was “inconvenienced” by not having access to media’s images during the hurricane and its immediate aftermath, but also relieved. When I finally got to see them a week later, I understood how good it was not to be exposed to continuous news during the event. Hearing interviews and viewing devastation in full color is not only disturbing and nightmare-worthy, but also more cause for Jewish guilt.

However, some news was heartwarming. Email restored, I was privy to uplifting entries which showed chesed abounding in our community and others. Achiezer, Chabad, Hatzalah, individuals and our shuls have been working independently and together to ease hardships. Some people are exhibiting super human powers, dispensing aid tirelessly. Others are working quietly behind the scenes to the same effect though unheralded. Knowing that we can be good to each other, that help is available for the asking, is somewhat soothing.

I remember the unusual eerie quiet in this neighborhood after 9/11, with no trains, no planes. Hurricane Sandy created similar unearthly silence in our area with a difference. The darkness was absolute, the unusual quiet from JFK and LIRR, deafening. Mother Nature’s sounds took over with howling winds, crashing tree branches, rushing water. Explosive pops accompanied by bursts of light were followed by relentless sirens.

I’ve shamelessly admitted to being a chicken, here in this column. Last year we heeded multiple warnings and fled Irene. After Irene struck, we were emailed and texted many photos of our downed tree. We returned to deal with the large fallen tree in our front yard; it had always leaned in towards our house but miraculously fell onto cable lines in the opposite direction.

This time we had only one message referring to “south of Sunrise” and didn’t run away; instead we moved mattresses down to the den. We had supplies, closed our old windows as best as possible and hunkered together. We were unsure which threat was more dangerous – overhanging tree limbs falling through the roof, or possible water surging into the basement and ground level.

My neighbor told me that water did indeed surge up the road below ours, but thankfully stopped halfway up the street. I’m glad I didn’t see it coming and am sad for those who live down the road. Taking a walk with my son the next afternoon in the mockingly bright sunshine, we saw with our own eyes some devastation so close to our home.

We didn’t need the TV or Internet to confirm what we knew was just beyond, in Lawrence, Hewlett, North Woodmere, Atlantic Beach, Far Rockaway, Long Beach, and further.

The snowstorm seemed simply ridiculous. Some, having just gotten power back, lost it again. Now chunks of icy snow were falling on my roof. Cringing from fear instantly tightened every muscle in my body, in a really bad way. Only one thing could possibly de-stress me, you guessed it, yoga practice.

Peaceful Presence power had been restored. Since I live walking distance, I subbed for teacher friends who couldn’t get there. I walked in the morning but drove in the late evening. The parking lot was super creepy at night. Gourmet Glatt’s generator was crazy loud, CVS was lit, but everything else dark. Sometimes nobody showed up. Though they may have wanted to, they couldn’t get there, either too busy recovering their homes, or dealing with the latest problem of no gas.

I preferred walking since driving had become incredibly hazardous with no traffic lights, downed wires, and tense drivers creating a bad combo. The line for gas in Cedarhurst and elsewhere was reminiscent of the ‘70s gas crisis. People were getting impatient, angry, aggressive.

More thoughts in my head–I should be home helping friends, but also here helping stressed women stretch and breathe. The inner chatter receded when they arrived. For each 75 minute class I led, I helped others and myself. My yogi friends also expressed conflicting feelings, gratitude/guilt, exhaustion/elation, crying/laughing, tightness/release.

In the middle of this was a beautiful wedding, attendants were generously bussed in, mixed feelings were repaid with incredible light and hope during the difficult darkness.

There are still those without power. Though many are recovering, some aren’t even close. I don’t know the right comforting words. Perhaps just knowing we’re not alone, that we’re a community, that help is out there, food and shelter as well as a sympathetic ear. Let’s be kind to each other, give or get the help we seek and need. Let’s breathe before speaking, make eye contact, show compassion and respect. Let’s be ok with whatever we’re feeling and then exhale and try to let it go. Let’s just be the best we can be.

Miriam Bradman Abrahams is Cuban born, Brooklyn bred and lives in Woodmere. She organizes author events for Hadassah, reviews books for Jewish Book World and is very slowly writing her father’s immigration story. She can be reached at` mabraha1@optonline.net