Experiencing nostalgia evokes memories of people, objects, places, events, or experiences from the past. These memories are often smoothed over. The hardships of the past are often overlooked, and the positive aspects are emphasized, and sometimes exaggerated. This selective memory contributes to the overall warm and comforting feeling that nostalgia can bring, along with pangs and sighs and tears.
Some folks love nostalgia. They like to wear vintage clothes. They have lots of photo albums: hard copies and online, too. They’re big on oldies but goodies. They often say things like, “Life was so much better in the old days.” Or, “They don’t make them like they used to.” They won’t listen to any music made after the Beatles broke up (April 1970, by the way).
I’m not big on nostalgia. I don’t reach into that bag too often. I tend to lean into what’s next, not what was. I’m aware of the extent to which the Jewish calendar can seem, at first blush, to be all about nostalgia. “Remember the Shabbat and keep it holy.” Tell the Passover story every year. Build a sukkah every year, etc. But I relate to these dicta not as cherishing the past but rather engaging the future with the strengths gained from history. Yes, it says in the Haggadah: “In every generation, it is incumbent upon each one of us to see ourselves as if we had personally left Egypt.” But that’s not an invitation to relive the pain of slavery and the hardships we endured. The purpose of bringing it up is to remind us that the journey is not over. It’s the opposite of nostalgia.
Nostalgia crept up on me the other day as I walked into Blacker’s Bakery. Picking up the challah for my family and for the temple is a standard Thursday ritual. I shmooze a little with Karen and Becca Blacker. If I’m lucky, there’s a pastry sliced up for a taste or a crinkle cookie with my name on it. As I wafted in, following the aroma of freshly baked bread and sweets like Pepe LaPew following the scent of perfume, it struck me. Like Proust’s madeleine from A la recherche du temps perdu (In Search of Lost Time), that overwhelming bakery sensory experience brought me back to Covid time. Life was so fundamentally different then. We were filled with anxiety, feeling unsettled and unsure of what was next. But getting into that long line outside Blacker’s bakery to get my challah made me happy. I wasn’t sure of much, but I did know my Shabbat would be a good one. As I walked home, challah in my backpack, I felt such a deep appreciation. As the nostalgic moment enveloped me in memories, I understood that it was important to appreciate that moment again.
Mixed feelings of joy and sadness is an apt definition of nostalgia, and it fits so many recollections of Covid time. It’s hard to believe how we’ve managed to fire up the engines and blast off again into space. It’s odd how such a life-altering time has faded in so many ways to the back of the mind. But Covid time changed everything. Nothing will ever be quite the same. What those changes are continues to be a colossal question. What remains true throughout time is that sharing appreciation and gratitude is vitally important. For challah, for love, for hope.
Before Shabbat 