Leave the scripts on the culture of poverty, hunger and crime, and start thinking about the families who will not face the challenge of closeness

• Illustration: Ze'ev Engelmayer

In light of the emergency, this week we were divided into three different groups - two groups working from two different offices, and one group working from home. Luckily for me, the management considered that I was the father of two small children and sent me to work in one of the offices. Really I don't know how I would endure a week of non-breathing closure with the kids.

Even before I knew about the closure, I had pretty much manipulated anyone who takes an active part in my life so that on Sunday and Monday I would be home alone, free to write the gigs for a column. So now I sit on Monday at noon, trying to convince two screaming kids that there is no difference between an orange and a blue bimba. The karma never goes out to the USSR.

Another thing I realized after the closure is that the butterfly effect is completely real. If four months ago, some Chinese guy chose to order from the menu at the Hubei District Batwing in a sweet and sour sauce, and today I'm sitting in the lowlands, staring at the scramble my child made on the wall because he went crazy during a power outage, after 150 hours at home - the butterfly effect is alive and well.

At least thanks to this power outage, we were a little out of the house. Monday wasn't just pleasant, it was already suspiciously hot, which made me think that if the experts were right and the virus had trouble surviving the approaching summer, we would all still be thankful for the pig capitalism that brought global warming upon us.

So we sat outside and shared half a pound of mascarpone ice cream, which I managed to buy from the new ice cream parlor that opened in the center, just before it became a potentially germ-busting pleasure house, whose opening is clearly not necessary.

The first thing I noticed is that, like Type C celebs, parents with strollers are also bound to nod their heads as they pass each other. The other thing I noticed is the amount of people. Since moving to the seat, I've always felt like sitting on a rocking chair outside and shouting, preferably with a deep southern accent, to anyone approaching my driveway: "Get the hell out of my property!" But I have no rocking chair (who has?), And the truth is, no one ever approaches my driveway.

Well, no one came close, until Monday. Curiously, there is the impression that the closure forced upon us by the Corona managed to get people out of their nooks, and also to do what dozens of clandestine small talk at the entrance to the consumer did: create a certain closeness between me and the seat people.

"What, are you staying at home too?"

Have you seen what it is?

"Do you work or work from home?"

Today on vacation, tomorrow is back to work as usual.

"Yes, me too. It's better to work, trust me."

Probably.

"You're something in the paper, aren't you?"

Yes.

"Say, what about Bibi?"

True, it was just an occasional small talk with someone I don't even know his name by now. But a minute later someone else came, too, and he asked me through the gate what sounded like, and then the neighbor across the road asked us if we heard they found a patient in the garden of Yavne, and the neighbor from the yard next shouted that she heard it was the girl who worked for Klein, and for a moment felt like the human porch scene in Naples , In the southern lowland version.

I don't buy all the apocalyptic scripts now running on social networks about poverty, hunger and crime that are at the gate, but I have my own apocalyptic script - about families who are not up to the challenge. Because when we are taken to the cafes, football, malls and other distractions of the Matrix, we only have narrow cracks to escape the truth.

And what if it lasts another three weeks? five? fifteen? Maybe we will find that the foundation for friendship with our spouse becomes a little less stable when the good binge runs out? Or is the love of our children, the one that doesn't depend on it, yet it depends on someone else tiring them for us for at least eight hours a day?

We are all horrified by the number of patients in Israel who leap from flash to flash, from the pictures of the famous streets that are emptying in all the big cities, from the stories of Italy. But like peace, the tragedy also begins from within. And there is the impression that with the impending closure, the difficulty of working, the lack of places of refuge and the sweaty summer approaching - a lot of pressure cookers, in many homes, are already starting to steam.

So try to take this weird time with ease - as much as you can - and remember that even when the pressure cooker is moving, it's still pretty steady. Oh, and relax with the TV. A wise man has already said that future generations will watch television as we look at the lead in the water pipes, which has slowly devoured the Romans. And that is without even seeing an entire panel arguing for 20 minutes with Arad Nir.

Naama

Naama came to me this week with a surprising question: "Dad, boys too can everything?"

What do you mean?

"They said on TV that girls could do everything, but didn't say boys could do everything."

So what, you don't think boys can do anything either?

"Maybe Superman."

Encourage

It happens every night. Usually between 2 and 3, but sometimes a little before or after. Odedi comes to our bed, places his head next to his mother and feet in my face. I wait five or six minutes, he falls asleep, and then I put him back in his bed. He usually returns, and then I give up and go to sleep on the living room couch.

Don't know if this waiver comes from a longing for the (long) days when I would crash on couches, or just because of my natural tendency to give up kids. But this week, I decided that it is not easy to sleep on sofas at the age of 45, even if it is your sofa, which was bought at a very respectable price.

So this time I went to bed as I was determined to succeed, like a kid in front of a Kinder Egg cover. Oded came in the habit of 2 to 3. I woke up with some residue of determination and waited for him to fall asleep. But then something strange happened: He put his head against my head, and put his feet toward his mother's face. I let him stay.

shishabat@israelhayom.co.il