Soup

There’s a tradition in our family started by Eva, my dad’s wife, to make a big pot of soup and have it ready when someone comes home from a trip. When you are jetlagged, the last thing you want to do is go out to a restaurant or cook. After a shower, opening the refrigerator and seeing a beautiful pot of soup in the fridge is nirvana. Soup made with love – you can taste the difference. 

I made a pot of homemade chicken soup and matzoh balls about two months ago in anticipation of Jeff coming back from Israel. He had been there since January, working in a busy Emergency Department in Ashdod, Israel. Today, I am defrosting the soup made for him. I don’t think I’m going to see him for a while.

I know for some of you it’s tough to quarantine with family. Tempers are short. You don’t have the usual distractions. But quarantining alone is no picnic. Everyone in my family is on lockdown in their prospective countries.  

My brother is staying here. He too, separated from family. And it’s kind of weird to live with your brother for weeks in the house you grew up in. It just adds to the surreality. 

We are both in Milwaukee with our 99 year old father. Even for a Holocaust survivor this current situation “feels like the end of the world”. He watches at a distance, as an outsider. His joie de vivre, social interaction, has been snatched from him. His hospice nurse recommends the two of us “use FaceTime or something” instead of visiting. His apartment is a short walk from my house. Going there makes me anxious but not going is even harder. Isolation and loneliness are leading to a huge decline in his quality of life.

So when I cook he wants Hungarian meals from the old country like Káposztás Tészta (cabbage and noodles), cholent and Toltott Kaposzta (stuffed cabbage). And of course soup.

Make soup for someone you love, they can taste the difference.

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