This, too, shall pass.It may take some time, it will only be after the death rate around the world climbs, it will necessitate inconvenient changes to all our lives, but at a certain time – thanks to the discovery of a vaccine or perhaps with the help of a warm, humid summer – the coronavirus will disappear. Until then, however, what we are witnessing is a fundamental change to our lives. Everything we are used to – social contact, travel, school, work, prayer – has been upended.Beyond that, it also hovers like a heavy cloud over everything. Our moods are affected by it, conversations dominated by it, even dreams – both the ones we have when we sleep and the ones we have for ourselves and our children – have been interrupted by it.Israel is a country that has dealt with crisis in the past, and in that sense its citizens are prepared for the restrictions being demanded of them better than citizens of most other Western countries who have not faced this type of emergency – these type of Draconian restrictions – since World War II.Not here. To a certain extent, the mood today is reminiscent of the First Gulf War in 1991, when Saddam Hussein fired Scuds at Israel and the country taped its windows shut, walked around with gas masks at the ready and kept children home from preschools and schools.Only this time, Nachman Shai, the IDF spokesman during the First Gulf War, whose soothing demeanor and words calmed a jittery nation, was replaced by Health Ministry director-general Moshe Bar Siman Tov. But, unlike Shai, Bar Siman Tov is not trying to soothe the nation but rather impress upon it the gravity and the seriousness of the situation – the need to keep a distance of two meters from one another, to wash hands regularly, to stay at home as much as possible.And with good cause. Bar Siman Tov is responsible for the country’s health system, which in the best of times struggles to cope with the seasonal flu. Imagine what the need to hospitalize 5,000 or 10,000 people would do to that system.It would collapse. The extremely strict measures the country is taking now are designed to prevent the need to hospitalize that many people, as a collapse of the health system under that type of burden would be nothing less than a national disaster.The mood today is also reminiscent of the height of the Second Intifada – say, 2002 – when concern about suicide bombings was on everybody’s minds. But then, unlike now, people were encouraged to go on with their everyday lives, to show that life goes on. And they did – malls remained open, performances took place, schools were not closed. Life went on, but the heavy cloud hovering above was palpable to all.Now, unlike then, we are being asked to alter our everyday lives, not carry on as usual. And that is not easy for anyone. One thing that makes it more difficult is the uncertainty of it all, and both the unpredictability of the enemy – in this case the virus – and the sense that there is so little we can do.In times of war, or terror, one does not feel as helpless as now – there are actions the government can take to keep the enemy at the gate or the terrorist from blowing up the buses.But this is different. We in Israel, who have in the past been asked to take certain actions or adjust our lives for a national goal, are not used to this. Here the enemy cannot be seen or heard. This is a different type of crisis.The virus is brutal, hidden, unforgiving and it is altering our lives as if we are in some science-fiction movie. But still, the experience gained FROM past crises – the discipline and solidarity the nation has demonstrated in the past to overcome tremendous challenges and national emergencies like the First Gulf War and Second Intifada – can and must be mustered now to overcome this one.