A photojournalist travels across the city to document how curfews and quarantines have changed it.
For weeks, I have had coronavirus news for breakfast, lunch, dinner and midnight snack.
You talk to colleagues, and it is the only topic. You talk to parents, and it is the same. Friends, too. In my social media bubble, everyone seems very aware of the situation and its gravity, even if there is still the occasional joke.
But I was curious to see how other people see it. And I needed to work, to do something.
So, together with my camera and a mask, I decided to take a trip across the city to document how daily life has changed.
Day 1, March 24
I have never seen my city so empty. It is the first day since a military ordinance demanded that people stay at home. With our bags packed, provisions made and batteries charged, we drive on almost deserted streets and abandon places, you could hear the sound of Despair and frustration, and the rituality of nothing and the abandonment of man.
Day 2, March 25
I always wanted to go on a trip like this, but I never imagined I would be using the camera for the purpose of self-isolation.
My first stop is the market in the hood. Behind a stall with carrots and celery, people wore white rubber gloves. Some of them will turn 50-60 next month and come rain or shine or virus, they come to the market to buy their vegetables, milk, eggs, meat, toilet paper and most of them said they were afraid of the situation so they have bought Whole carts as if it were doomsday.
Some claimed the fear of the unknown, the sense of uncertainty, the fateful memory of the Israeli wars and the memory of the Holocaust.
Others are more optimistic about the warmth of the family and the feeling of togetherness, and maybe that's a kind of defensive I don't know.
Friends I met talked about the world that was and the unknown to come the day after.
They sought spiritual shelter and philosophical explanations to find some sanity in the chaos, fear, and sense of threat that swept us all.
Sarah, a very fashionable girl talked about not being afraid of herself but very afraid of the grandparents in the house alone.
Finally, a beautiful woman came out with flowers in her hand and talked about buying flowers for the hope and homey feeling it brings.
Day 3, March 26
It felt unnatural doing documentary photography without getting close to people; to listen to their stories while keeping them at a safe distance.
This feeling of distress will accompany me throughout, as street photographers need proximity like oxygen. In addition, the sense of man's zero resemblance to the invisible natural forces.
Street photography that looks taken from a science fiction movie, face masks, bright colors, deserted streets, and a world-end atmosphere.
Day 4, March 27
Later that morning, a soldier from a nearby military base visits us. He has been tasked with informing people that they should stay isolated at home.
"What can I say, more isolated than this you cannot be," he says, smiling.
A short and optimistic conversation with our soldiers who, just a moment ago, they were children in high school and were currently called to the flag to save the situation.
It's always absurd to see how you become heroes for a moment.
A long visit to the food distribution centre, which has become a battlefield of onions and holiday packages for the adult population, seems to be a joint customer in the X-files series.
Day 5, March 28
I keep writing things down in my notebook and notice that, for the first time, my notes are more personal than observational.
I think that documenting what is going on maybe what is keeping me focused, and even sane.
Busying myself with asking where we are going today, what point we will go to.
The depression starts to seep, the feeling of crunch causes a lack of air,
You can feel what death looks like.
At the market, people are buying groceries, women are selling flowers. If not for the face masks, it would look like nothing had changed.
Day 5, March 28
As I walk past the buildings towards the Square, it resembles the set of an apocalyptic movie.
There are few sounds to interrupt the silence here - just the heels of a passerby on the cobblestones, a tram in the distance, a pigeon.
The emptiness is both hard to bear and comforting.
Empty pool and no people, felling of horror no less.
Day 6, March 29
I decided to spend time at the pizza place not far from the main street.
There were only two cooks, ask to be photographed for the project.
"What can we say, more isolated than this you cannot be," they said, smiling.
But in the evening we watch the news, as we do every evening now, and the tranquillity and reassurance of the day is mostly shattered. But not entirely. That happens when I read an article in the paper about the situation in Italy called We Take the Dead from Morning Till Night. I cry like a baby and feel truly scared for the first time - not for myself, but for my parents.
Day 7, March 30
A day of writing, editing, despair, insights and trying to understand the unintelligible.
I believe most people are questioning the future, asking what is to come.
"This coronavirus thing makes you think long term, puts things in perspective, changes your ideas and brings a fear … the fear about tomorrow,".
I fall asleep thinking about what people have said, thinking about tomorrow.
