Using Cohen's own notes, and recollections of Israeli soldiers who heard him, Matti Friedman teases out the astounding story of the Jewish singer-priest on the Yom Kippur frontline
April 29, 2021
It’s the morning of my first vaccine and I double mask and jump in the subway to head to my appointment at Harlem Hospital. I get out of the subway and make a wrong turn, which leads to another wrong turn and worries that I will be late. I start to run, panting under my masks and fogging my glasses, but arrive just in time for a lovely nurse with sky-blue fingernails to give me my injection.
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I have been so focused on making and getting to this appointment that I am unprepared for how emotional I’ll feel as the needle goes into my arm. But what a year this has been. The suffering. The loss. Fresh horror stories still coming in daily. Though my loved ones and I were lucky to stay safe, I haven’t seen my parents or adult son in more than a year or admitted to myself until now how much I have missed them. Missed everyone. But here is the vaccine, holding the promise of protection and the chance to be together again. I find myself reciting the
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