What do I say to all of them, to each of them? Each expressing their worry or non-worry in a way unique to their nature?
17… 18… 19… 20. I hear her methodically count as she lathers her hands under the water and then turns the tap off. She has meticulously followed CDC instructions regarding how to correctly wash one’s hands. “It’s something of an art form,” the guidelines had read. “A timed, multistep process that can involve some light singing.” I don’t hear her singing, though.
Another daughter has brought home a few hand sanitizers and places them in strategic positions around the house. She hangs up a sign on the front hall mirror that reads in big letters: NOTICE! If you are coming in from outside, please sanitize your hands right away.
“I’m so glad I don’t have internet or texting,” says a married child. “I have no idea what’s going on, and I like it that way. They tell me my child has no school, and we have to be vigilant about going outside and washing hands, but I’m not busy checking in on my iPhone every minute to get the latest horrific updates.”
My son calls me from his last holdout yeshivah and tells me that he and his friends have spent the last hour dancing and singing, “Mashiach is here.”
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