What do I say to all of them, to each of them? Each expressing their worry or non-worry in a way unique to their nature?

17… 18... 19... 20. I hear her methodically count as she lathers her hands under the water and then turns the tap off. She has meticulously followed CDC instructions regarding how to correctly wash one’s hands. “It’s something of an art form,” the guidelines had read. “A timed, multistep process that can involve some light singing.” I don’t hear her singing, though.

Another daughter has brought home a few hand sanitizers and places them in strategic positions around the house. She hangs up a sign on the front hall mirror that reads in big letters: NOTICE! If you are coming in from outside, please sanitize your hands right away.

“I’m so glad I don’t have internet or texting,” says a married child. “I have no idea what’s going on, and I like it that way. They tell me my child has no school, and we have to be vigilant about going outside and washing hands, but I’m not busy checking in on my iPhone every minute to get the latest horrific updates.”

My son calls me from his last holdout yeshivah and tells me that he and his friends have spent the last hour dancing and singing, “Mashiach is here.”

“I know I’m not going to get the virus,” he says dismissively and slightly arrogantly, as only a 20-year-old can. He’s on a high.

A short while later, his brother calls me from his also last holdout yeshivah and says, “Ma, I don’t feel well. How do I know if I have coronavirus?”

I ask him if he has fever. “No.”

“Shortness of breath?” “No.”

“Are you coughing?” “No. “

“It doesn’t sound like the virus,” I say cautiously. Wanting to be responsible, I add, “But if you’re still not feeling well in a few hours, check it out.” Thankfully, I don’t hear from him again.

Then I catch another refrain of, “Mashiach is coming,” as my young son cartwheels into the house. He’s been coming home every day from school (while there still was school) telling me that his classmate’s uncle who is a rebbee guaranteed that this is it, the beginning of the war between Gog U’Magog, which signals Mashiach’s arrival any day.

“Do you believe it, Mommy?” he keeps asking. “Isn’t that great? Mashiach is here. I’m so excited!” I have to be cautious here too. I don’t want to sound like a heretic — especially to my impressionable son — but I’m frankly not sure I’m ready to jump onto the “if there is a coronavirus pandemic, it must mean Mashiach is arriving” bandwagon.