Published: 31 March 2020
Last updated: 4 March 2024
"I CAN'T IMAGINE being stuck in this flat for the next two months," my German wife tells me as she tries to finish writing an article for a German newspaper. She says this from the living room, where she has set up a workspace and which also serves as our young daughter’s playground.
I don’t know if my wife is showing signs of fear or depression. Some German cities have already gone into lockdown but Berlin still allows its residents to leave their homes to go jogging or for a walk in the park. People must keep a distance of two metres apart. At night, the streets are empty.
My wife wants to go to her sister’s house in the country but I want to stay in Berlin. She points at my daughter who is almost asleep in front of the television. But I treasure my desk, my supermarket and many other things. "I have been in worse situations,” I tell her.
“You didn't grow up in Israel. Once, when I was in the army, guarding in the south of Lebanon, I was locked in a tank for more than two weeks with my tank crew." She cuts me off. She wants to continue working. “I don’t want the experience of a soldier,” she says.
The supermarket near our house has become an accordion. One day it is empty of basic products like rice, pasta or toilet paper. On another day, I walk home with my daughter walking beside me because the stroller is packed with food products. When it is available, you can't buy more than two small bottles of hand sanitiser at the pharmacist.
My daughter is irritated. She has not been to her kindergarten for almost a week, she has not been able to play with other kids. My wife told me that when she took her to the park and she saw other kids from a distance, she started to cry. Or maybe she just feels my stress and anxiety. And now I can’t take her shopping because kids are not allowed in stores.
My wife again starts talking about the country house. I’m afraid we could get stuck in a village of 50 people who will all suspect that we brought the coronavirus with us. Or more specifically that I, the Jew, brought it.
When we come home, the first thing we do is wash our hands. My wife again starts talking about the country house. I’m afraid we could get stuck in a village of 50 people who will all suspect that we brought the coronavirus with us. Or more specifically that I, the Jew, brought it.
It is, after all, an old Christian tradition to blame Jews for plagues. My wife ignores me and calls her sister. They say they need to think. Maybe they are also afraid. How do we know we want to get stuck with each other for two whole months? Her sister and her husband ask about our arrival from Tel Aviv just a week ago. My wife says Israel had fewer cases than Germany. But then there was our flight and the time spent at two airports.
I try to calm her down and explain that it's better to stay in town, across from the supermarket and inside our fully-equipped house. We can both work from home, taking turns to look after our daughter. I’m trying to sound optimistic but I know it's not true. I have started to feel that our house is a prison. I have the keys but I can’t get out.
I know that everything I learned in Israel will not convince her. I cannot explain how, war after war, we sat in shelters, isolated, with canned food. How we were afraid of rockets landing on our heads.
The next day I feel better but my wife feels worse. I'm trying to tell her how good life will be when we overcome this epidemic but she's sinking into depression in front of my eyes. And I know that everything I learned in Israel will not convince her. I cannot explain how, war after war, we sat in shelters, isolated, with canned food.
How we were afraid of rockets landing on our heads (and they often landed near us, in Haifa or) in southern Tel Aviv. It was 1986, I was 14 and we spent lots of time in shelters fearing for our lives. I remember some of the neighbours were in their pajamas. And I am not even going to mention the Gulf war.
Angela Merkel's speech helped boost morale. The German chancellor said we could, together, overcome this terrible time. Her words were followed by deeds, such as a promise by the Berlin government to pay 5000 euros ($A9000) in compensation to all freelancers, people like us who had lost jobs or the capacity to earn money. The need of Berlin’s freelancers was so great the website to apply for assistance crashed the day after the announcement.
We get a response from my wife’s sister. We can come if we want. She thinks again about the village and living in one room for up to two months, and that in Berlin she can still go for walks. She decides we stay.
But the future is unknown. We live in fear, no matter where we are.
Photo: Videograb taken from Chancellor Angela Merkel addressing the nation (AFP)
