I don't remember when I first heard about the coronavirus. I do remember when it made its first appearance in my personal life.
It was late February. We had just returned from a visit to Israel, and our seven-year-old daughter Aviv's school had just opened its doors for the start of the new year. Upon her return to classes, we received an email from the school. If you returned from abroad, the letter said, please let us know. If you were in dangerous areas, the school's management warned, it's possible we could ask you and your children to enter a 14-day quarantine.
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On Friday, March 13, the school officially closed down. A family of good friends had already decided to enter voluntary quarantine. We, on the other hand, chose to take advantage of the free time and amazing weather to go out with friends. The city was no different than before. The restaurants were open, the park teeming with people, and friends came over for a meal. There was no sign of the storm just around the corner. That night, however, a good friend, with whom we had spent time just a few hours earlier, called and said, "I think I've become a statistic. I took an afternoon nap and woke up with a high fever." The first domino had fallen. Our lives, we realized, really needed to change.
A city on hiatus
The quarantine began. In the first days, aside from not leaving the house, everything was pretty normal. We felt good and showed no signs of any symptoms on the horizon. The kids lost their minds a bit, but that was expected.
Around us, things started deteriorating rather quickly. Everyone was ordered to self-quarantine, restaurants and bars shut down, and all schools were shuttered as well – all over the course of one weekend. The streets around us quickly emptied. Traffic consisted mostly of ambulances. As the days passed we heard the sounds of people less and less, and more sirens. New York, a city on hiatus.
On Monday I started to feel my throat. By Tuesday evening my fever had already started to rise. During the night, my friend who had fallen ill and was tested, told me it came back positive. The next day all the other telltale symptoms appeared for me. Headaches, weakness, fatigue, and mainly extreme muscle aches. I called New York state's coronavirus hotline, to see if I could come get tested. I would have to be on hold for over 200 minutes, the automated system told me. I could forget about a test, I realized. Around 24 hours later my partner, Hila, also began to show symptoms.
At this stage, the anxiety levels were already quite high. We were both sick, although not yet severely, but who knows. And what about the kids? Will they get infected? And who will take care of them? I so badly wanted to be back in Israel. It's illogical, I know. As if somehow our situation would be any different in quarantine in Israel? And yet, our desperation in New York didn't seem like the better option, just the opposite.
The days passed and the symptoms waned. Very slowly, but surely – Hila and I started improving. For the duration of the quarantine, the kids maintained a fairly regular routine, only at home of course. We were able to order food on Amazon every few days. The delivery person left the groceries in the lobby, and I quickly went down, wearing gloves and a mask, to pick them up.
After two weeks of being castaways in our home, we went out. It was as if we had vanished for two weeks and came back to a completely different world, almost apocalyptic. The park at the end of the block was almost empty, our local cafe was closed with a sign asking patrons to help the business online.
But the most surreal thing I saw was the corner of the park adjacent to the Brooklyn Hospital Center, where our eldest daughter was born. People standing in a line stretching down the street, wearing masks and trying to keep a safe distance from one another. At first I didn't understand what all the commotion was about. Very quickly, however, I realized – all these people were trying to get tested.
Leaving quarantine made it clear to me that we needed to leave the city. The depression in the streets and the sense that the situation would get much worse before getting any better was simply too much for me. At that moment we launched our own personal exodus from Egypt operation, the 2020 version.
We found a house for rent in the Pocono Mountains in Pennsylvania, on a lake, where social distance is the norm. And we've been here since Sunday. Living in middle-of-nowhere Pennsylvania, with a lake near our home and deer in the yard. The furthest thing from New York you can imagine, utterly different from our regular lives and urban selves.
How long will we be here? I still have no idea. How much longer can we afford to be away from the city we love so much, but has become a virus hotbed? This is also up in the air.
One thing I do know – the future is shrouded in fog.
