I was alone in New York during the pandemic, in the aftermath of a breakup and unable to go home. A Korean family taught me to believe in the kindness of strangers
Like many Jewish families, the Wolfsons take Christmas extremely seriously. Latkes and smoked salmon are served before homemade cranberry sauce and brussels sprouts. My dad’s hand-painted menorah, which he made during the ceramics cafe boom of the early 2000s, sits proudly underneath the Christmas tree.
As such, I had never missed a Christmas with the family – although there had been some near misses. In 2019, we spent Christmas by my dad’s hospital bed after his stroke – us sipping on hospital canteen gingerbread lattes, him having Christmas dinner in the guise of vanilla-scented protein, fed through a tube. In 2020, I saw my family only from six feet away, double-masked and on the doorstep. I delivered presents, but they were not opened for a few days, to let any stray virus dissipate.
