Trumpensschreckenswut

It was shortly after the bleach-injection/UV lung treatment idea unleashed by Donald "Mengele" Trump and slightly before I happened upon a Christian Trump supporter's Facebook page where prayers were being solicited for God's anointed one (who seemed to be suffering from a case of "loosened tongue") that I realized what I need -- what we all need -- to get through the double-plague of COVID-19 and 45. 

What we need, my friends, is one word that contains the amalgam of shock, horror, rage and fear we are experiencing as Americans at this moment when it appears that our president is literally TRYING to kill us.

(A measure of how horrifyingly sick this present moment is is the fact that I find myself wishing for a president who was merely incompetent...not incompetent and resentful, incompetent and narcissistic, incompetent and science-averse, incompetent and sociopathic, incompetent and racist, incompetent and homicidal.)

As English is disadvantaged by having a limited number of syllables permitted to individual words, I knew that this was likely to come from German, a language famous for words of impressive length that convey entire weltanschauungs (world views).

But who to consult in the dead of the New York night as I gnawed away at my cuticles, chewing Elderberry gummies (high in Zinc and vitamin C!) and counting the cans of tuna, cans of diced plum tomatoes, cartons of Oat Milk and boxes of lentil pasta on the floor of my office/emergency food storage locker?

It came to me in a brilliant flash. My oldest son, a culture writer living in Germany for the past 12 years was just greeting the Munich morning as I stared balefully out the window at an idling Mt. Sinai Ambulance parked on the corner of Amsterdam and W116th Street.

As one of his gigs, for the New York Times, entailed covering the German language theater scene in Europe I felt this was a reasonable ask. And even if he were not up for the task, his wife, my Italian daughter-in-law, was fluent in German as well. 

Perhaps their best credential was that THEY WERE AWAKE!

Through our WhatsApp call I conveyed what I was seeking. I did not have to give too much of a preamble, shorthanding the assignment as my search for the schadenfreude equivalent for this state of mind. 

Two brilliant minds went to work. I humbly suggested that the word end in "angst," which every American could relate to. There was a first version. That was amended. Angst was in it. Then angst was taken out. Angst, they explained, was implicit. 

Include his name or not? I thought not. They argued for specificity. 

Some more back and forth, some family gossip and then my daughter-in-law produced the word: Trumpensschreckenswut. If I could figure out how to place an umlaut over the u in Trump I would, so add your own if you can.

What does this mean? This word of twenty-one letters encapsulates this moment, names the unique and horrible psychological state we find ourselves in as American citizens being held hostage by the Mad King Donald.

It literally means Trumpish Horror/Rage. 

This word is a world unto itself. A terrible world, to be sure. A world with monsters, straight from our childhood nightmares.

The length of the word reflects the length of our quarantine, the interminable sentence of the Trump presidency, the endless ability to be shocked afresh, anew, every day, several times a day.

But being able to identify a free -floating threat is helpful. We named the thing. We know what it is. We can examine it. We can talk about it. Soon we can overcome it.

And the kinder were correct. There is no need to add the word "angst."

Angst is implicit.

Angst colors the dawn of every day that 45 is the American president during the crisis of COVID-19. 

There is a Make-Shift Morgue One Block Away...And Other True Tales of the 2020 Pandemic

1 a.m. April 22, 2020.

Week seven...or is it eight?... of the quarantine.

I am camped out in my home office, aka Emma's old room, aka Adam and Anna's guest room, aka the pandemic food storeroom.

I am here because it is where I feel safest right now.

As is my habit, I just spent about an hour reading the latest news reports...on CNN's live update feed...on Twitter...on Facebook...on NYTimes.com.

Others need to immerse themselves in escapist fare -- which I wholeheartedly salute, by the way -- but for me, staying informed is a way of staying sane, keeping control or equilibrium.

This is coming to you from Manhattan's Morningside Heights, from Amsterdam Avenue and W116th Street, to be exact. We live in faculty housing, opposite Columbia University.

Two blocks south is the former St. Lukes hospital, now Mt. Sinai West. To accommodate the number of dead, a makeshift morgue in the form of a refrigerated truck is camped out on W115th Street.

Columbia has always been our backyard, since we moved here in 1994.

Now it is our only yard, the sole stretch of outdoors where we feel safe to walk, aside from the grassy lawn in front of our bungalow up in Monroe, NY.

Until a month ago we were walking around the reservoir in Central Park, along the Hudson in Riverside Park or around the perimeter of Morningside Park.

As the virus spread, the crowds began to feel threatening. Even thinned out, there were too many people.

Because the campus is our only haven, which we walk with masks and sometimes even gloves, I have raised holy hell with the administration to ensure that people on campus comply with public health policies. For the space of an entire week, I sent pissy"Karen" emails to important individuals, prompting one of them to ask if I was "Mrs. Bollinger," that is, Columbia President Lee Bollinger's wife.

I must say that I stand by my letter, my pissy tone and actually do not think that I acted like a Karen, I acted more than an Erin...as in Erin Brockovich. What I wanted to know was: if Governor Cuomo AND Mayor deBlasio BOTH said that wearing masks in public is required...WHY WERE AT LEAST HALF THE PEOPLE ON CAMPUS WITHOUT MASKS, SMOKING, SOCIALIZING AND RUNNING SWIFTLY PAST ME, SENDING ME INTO A TAILSPIN OF FEAR???

It is amazing how many people truly do not think that a basic, commonsense public health policy applies to them...and I'm not even talking about the so-called "protesters," aka "Covidiots" waving guns around because they think their personal liberties have been taken away by a bunch of wussy scientists who are only trying to keep them alive.

I'm talking about some neighbors. I'm talking about security personnel at Columbia. I'm talking about the students staying in East Campus.

But I don't want to dwell on this. And I also want to say that I got a personal email today thanking me for my "tenacity," (YAY!) and assuring me that signs were going up on campus shortly informing everyone that it was mandatory to wear a mask.

I want to be more general, talk about the incredible disruption to normalcy, the lives spent indoors, the cessation of street life, night life, restaurant life, regular shopping life, the sirens, the 7 pm applause, the clever videos, the heartbreaking videos, the silly videos, the memes, the co-created concerts and benefits, the glimpse of celebrity's kitchens and backyards and basements, newscasters without make-up, none of us with neat hair or nails, weight gained or lost, food stockpiled, the fear of going hungry, the fear of not having, the uncertainty of what tomorrow will bring.

I want to talk about the fear, the despair, the anxiety, the flickering hope, replaced again by fear, despair, anxiety.

I want to talk about my awareness that as tough as this is personally for people like me, it is infinitely more horrible for others. If you have a roof over your head, money for food and are healthy, well, then...that is a Dayenu. You are one lucky bastard.

I want to talk about the heartbreaking deaths, how Facebook has been turned into a vertical obituary column, how people die alone, how people grieve alone, how Judaism's magnificent rituals have been constricted, how Purim turned into a death factory for so many, how so many rabbis have risen to the enormous challenge while others have failed their flock by worshipping the Golden Calf of disdain for truth and science. I want to talk about the shocking infection and death of our frontline medical personnel -- whom we call heroes when they are really being martyred, or maybe murdered -- about the stunning lack of preparedness in this nation, about critical supplies deliberately being withheld, about a president who has failed to say even ONE empathetic, unifying word,  about how America might be ending, or over or dying and we...the same.

Will we survive this?

I want to talk about my shock that we are hostages of an insane and evidently homicidal president (how did this happen that we cannot be guaranteed safety from our government????), my horror at the enablers who are still -- STILL -- propping him up, fueling his insanity.

I want to talk about the horror of this moment. The horror of listening to FoxNews when I visit my parents. The horror of Ivanka and Jared whom I hate more than I imagined I could hate people I do not personally know. The horror of governors who put wealth over health,  who lead their people to slaughter.

I want to talk about my rescue fantasies ala Deus ex Machina. Of Biblical justice meted out. The splitting of the Red Sea. A miracle.

I want to talk about my valiant friends who are alone. Truly alone. In their homes. What that is like. How it is different from being with others, even others you may not like.

I want to talk about my parents, ages 89 and 86, in their apartment in Great Neck, with two caregivers...and how terrifying it is to love someone so vulnerable during this time.

I want to talk about the deaths in the nursing homes, the bodies piled high, the terror of the administration at being discovered, families astonished and aghast and robbed of final hours and even truth and especially the dignity of a proper death for their loved ones.

I want to talk about the work I have been lucky to have. I want to talk about my adult children who bring me such joy and hope. Who are the sources of light in my life. Whom I miss...except for the one who lives with us, next to us, with his wife, with his music, with his wry observations and calm.

What a blessing.

And I want to say that one of the teachings of this terrible time is that love really does traverse distances. Love knows no bounds, no geography. It is here even when the person is not. I feel my children and my little grandson even though we are not together...just as I feel my sister, brother, parents and all my beloved friends.

This is my first foray at documenting this time aside from Facebook posts...of which there are many. It is late at night. Or early the next morning. Look, the new day has arrived. America is still here. We are still here.

Our story is not over yet.