As if the people of Hiroshima had decided to sweep up the atomic rubble and pretend that nothing had happened, it was jarring to see how quickly corona’s introspection dissipates
tepping into the office last Monday morning after ten weeks of lockdown gave me the bizarre feeling of entering a time capsule.
Like something out of polar explorer Captain Scott’s hut in Antarctica, preserved just as he’d left it on his doomed expedition a century ago, lay my pre-corona life.
The pens, the magazines and printed drafts of articles were still in disarray, preserved under a layer of dust that the cleaning staff had left in place in an abundance of corona-inspired caution.
It took a while to process the disturbing contrast of the scene. Outside, Israel was busy getting back to normal. The roads were full again, people were shopping, yeshivos reopening, politics was back in the headlines and life – with the addition of some social distancing – was moving on. But my desk was evidence that something extraordinary had just taken place.
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