He was in an isolation room. The room was dim, only slightly lit by a small night light next to the circular clock. It was well after midnight. He had been there for two weeks, and he knew there was only one nurse in the ward. He could call her by pressing the emergency buzzer. But he was tired and simply could not muster the effort to reach for it. It had been two long weeks, and the COVID-19 epidemic was intense. But he was able to reach for his mobile, which was right next to him. He wasn’t particularly old; he wasn’t ready to die. But it was clear from the news that he regularly received on his smartphone that this new disease was raging around the country, striking communities and people, and no cure had yet been found. He tried to get a grip. He had an important message for his family. In a moment of effortful decision, he picked up his phone, pressed the WhatsApp app, and began to talk.

“I want to be buried in Israel.” He pressed the “Send” button and gave the matter some thought. Again, he pressed on the app and spoke: “I want all my assets in Israel, including my two apartments, to be given solely to my sister Hannah.” SEND.

He reflected some more. Then he pressed the app and talked again into the phone, giving instructions that all the other assets that he had in California and elsewhere should be given to a number of different people and charities. Again, he pressed SEND.

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