Fear was beginning to creep into our conversations. Would there be flights? Should everyone leave now?

When we first greeted our children, it was a joke — the corona foot tap instead of a hug.

We’d waited so long for this chasunah, and now, to our delight, for the first time in several years, our entire family would be together for just over a week — from the aufruf until the last Shabbos sheva brachos. Cousins would meet for the first time, siblings would catch up, families would enjoy each other’s company — with the added exhilaration of the simchah we were celebrating, and Purim on the horizon.

As with every family event, the planning had been complicated. But finally, they all had somewhere to stay, and we were stocked with favorite foods, cribs, tissues, toys for all ages, and what seemed like a mountain of diapers and baby wipes.

Of course we knew about corona. We’d bought hand sanitizers to place at the entrance of the hall with large notices asking our guests to wash their hands when they entered.

When the first person canceled, we were surprised and saddened. The trickle soon became a stream that wended its way through our guest list, as the older members of our family decided it was no longer safe. In hindsight, they were correct.