When we found out we were expecting our first child at the start of the year, my husband and I were overjoyed. We took a trip to Israel, shared the news and started buying the essentials (and non-essentials) for the nursery.
We never imagined that within a few weeks, we would be in the middle of a global crisis. We never thought that we would be isolated from our family, friends and colleagues; that I would be going to hospital appointments alone; and that after the birth of our son at the Royal Free Hospital last month, most of his introductions to family and friends would be made over video calls.
But with the restrictions imposed by Covid-19, we accepted the situation for what it was — and for what it continues to be.
Still, we were determined to celebrate the arrival of our son — and mark his brit milah in a way that could safely include as many people as possible.
Ahead of the pandemic, I envisaged a fun and food-filled kiddush at synagogue. Coming from a loud Sephardi family, I would have invited as many people as possible and decorated the synagogue with balloons, flowers and teddy bears. I would have dressed up for the occasion and continued the Iraqi-Jewish tradition of giving our guests shasha — decorated bags filled with sweets, chocolate, nuts and popcorn to celebrate the baby’s birth.
With government-imposed restrictions in place to curb rising infections, it was clear this could not happen — but that did not mean we couldn’t find a safe and meaningful way to mark the moment.
We were determined to celebrate his birth because Covid-19 has already taken away too much. It has robbed us of quality time with family and friends; devastated our economy and at its worst, stolen so many lives of loved ones. We were not going to let it take away this rite of passage.
We contacted our local synagogue and arranged for the brit to take place as part of the morning service. As a “life cycle” event, we invited 15 mask-wearing guests — including our parents, grandmas, siblings and even some uncles (including one who doubled up as our photographer). We decorated the shul in baby blue balloons, flowers and bears, as I envisaged. We dressed up for the occasion; I wore heels for the first time in months, my husband wore his navy suit and reluctantly agreed to wear matching designer masks I bought the day before. There were individually-wrapped kosher bagels and sweet treats available for guests to take home if they wanted, with a side-serving of hand-sanitiser. We live-streamed the service on Zoom, with people watching from the UK to Israel, Canada and Holland.
Walking into the hall ahead of the service, I was nervous. I held our baby for as long as possible before he was carried in on the ceremonial pillow. I made sure he was fed and wrapped up in soft blankets before the moment. I thought I would leave the room during the service, but I wanted to be as close to him as possible, despite his cries.
A few drop of wine later, he was fast asleep. He was held up to the camera in front of the open ark and my husband announced his name to watching guests. It might have been remote, but it’s a moment I will never forget.
Guests on Zoom wished us all a mazel tov, individually popping up on the screen as they clapped, blew kisses and sent us their love.
Still holding our sleeping son, I sat in the corner and watched our families throw balloons, laugh and catch up for the first time in months. I was full of joy and grateful for the intimacy of the event. It was a simcha.
One day this pandemic will pass — but my memories from that day, never will.
