Friday, March 20, 2020

The park between my house and the House of a Hundred Grandmothers should be closed, but the gates are open. I go through. No one else is there. When I reach the House, I wave at the guard through the glass doors. He comes to a window that I hadn’t noticed before, dressed in a mask and scrubs, and opens it. I hand him my package and tell him who it’s for and that it’s a birthday present. I send them a text message. Their caregiver comes down and gets it. At the bakery at the heart of town, the racks are full of challahs, as usual on a Friday, but rather than sitting there open to the air, each is in an individual bag. The cheap coffee shop next door is open again, for takeout only. I get a coffee and a cheese burekas and sit at a bench by the curb eating them. A man whom I don’t know passes by. He wishes me the Hebrew equivalent of “Bon appetit” and a good Shabbat. I get a hummus plate to go at the usual place and bring it home to eat. Once home, I see that my robot vacuum cleaner has finished its job, but is stuck in a loop trying to park, repeatedly tracing the same triangular path. I move it closer to its docking station and settle down at my desk. It’s only midday, but I don’t have anywhere else to go. And close to nothing, not even my usual Shabbat cafe, will be open tomorrow.