I tapped on the glass and waited for the driver to respond. He lowered the car window a bit, looking at me curiously.

“Can I help you?” I asked. He had been parked in front of my house for a good 10 minutes now. “Are you lost?”

He“Can I help you?” I asked. blinked, as if he didn’t quite understand the question. With a raised eyebrow, he held up his smartphone to insinuate that these days, it’s impossible to be lost. After all, he has Google; he has GPS; he can make a call to anyone, anywhere.

He’s good.

Five minutes later, off whisked the “no-way-I-can-be-lost-I-have-a-phone” guy.

It reminded me of a time a dozen years ago on my husband’s first trip to Israel. I was serving as his official tour guide and on that first day in Jerusalem set off to find my favorite falafel place—a tiny, 10-table shop somewhere in the Old City that I attempted to navigate by sight. We meandered about the narrow alleyways and cobblestone lanes searching for the sign I would surely recognize ...

“What was the color of the sign?” he asked.

“I think it was ... red,” I replied.

“And what street did you say it was on?” he asked.

“Oh, it’s around here somewhere,” I mumbled. “It starts with an ‘R,’ maybe.”

All of a sudden, he pulled out a fairly large rectangular object and started naming streets with an “R.”

“What is that?” I asked, frowning. “Where did you get that?”

He triumphantly held up a color-coordinated, laminated map. It stared back at me, as if to suggest that these days, it’s impossible to be lost. Even in Jerusalem.

It may very well be impossible to get physically lost in the second decade of the 21st century. But what about emotionally, mentally, spiritually?

There are all kinds of lost.

Jews, in fact, are the original lost. As soon as the Israelites left Egypt—the place where they were enslaved, where they suffered so much—after the initial relief came doubt and insecurity. The way forward seemed unsure. They lost faith in their leader and themselves.

“And when the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mount, the people gathered themselves together unto Aaron, and said unto him: ‘Up, make us a god who shall go before us; for as for this Moses, the man that brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we know not what is become of him.’ ” (Exodus 32:1)

No matter that they had witnessed miracle after miracle. They still doubted their sense of direction. And because of that, they were left to find their faith—or at least to pass on a sense of faith to the next generation after wandering 40 years in the desert.

Lost can be overwhelming; it can be downright scary. You stumble in the sand, seeing the wide, empty expanse in front of you, no signs of familiarity on the horizon. In the case of the Israelites, they were in a desert full of other people also struggling with their footing and blinking in the sun, with no idea where they were headed. Sure, you can look for signs, you can attempt to find a landmark all by yourself, but sometimes, there just aren’t any.

AndWho doesn’t feel a little lost right now? who doesn’t feel a little lost right now? For many of us, the first two months of 2020 started like any other months, even though we heard a whirring sound in China and then nearby nations in Asia. As January moved into February, the buzzing got louder, and with the start of March, the noise was deafening. Not exactly the Red Sea parting, but certainly, some waves started crashing around us.

This enemy, a virus, we can’t see it. We can’t argue with it or lash out at it; it is a silent, pervasive enemy that has perfectly normal people hoarding paper products in their closets. It’s an enemy that won’t allow us to hug our neighbors or come within feet of them. It has temporarily taken schools, libraries, playgrounds and large gatherings from us and our children, but it doesn’t have to get the best of us.

We are not lost, just having a little trouble finding our way right now.

As for the Israelites, there was not an easy path. There was no quick fix for that group. And there may not be for us as well, but we can certainly try. We can forge a path. We can find a way out of this desert.

How to go about that?

1. Regroup. This is a time for devices and technology. Organize by phone, text, etc. an early-morning coffee or after-dinner phone call to talk liturgy. Keep it to 20 minutes or a half-hour, but make it a daily practice for now because we need it; we need to “gather” and talk. You can share thoughts on the weekly Torah portion or one of your favorite psalms (Tehillim). Suggest a new recipe for Shabbat or Passover. Make the most of this time with others in a way that is reassuring and has intellectual value.

2. Recharge. Go for a quick walk outdoors; take in nature and the beauty of the season. Most cities and towns are allowing individuals, immediate family members or those walking pets to go out for a while as long as they keep physical distances from others. If you have a patio, yard or nearby grassy area, sit with a cup of mid-afternoon tea. Whisper your prayers just outside your door. One thing we can all do: Open the windows of your homes. Let in the spring light and air, and encourage the ventilation of rooms.

3. Rewind. Be it a contemporary Israeli tune or classic Jewish music and songs, add audio into your day. Listen to one of the many inspirational lectures, classes, podcasts or videos online. Learn how to make challah, if you never have from scratch before. The convenience is that you can work or do other things at the same time, though that’s not required. You can afford to take a break during these hectic days. Sometimes, just doing nothing but listening is the best way to visualize where you’re going.

Just as Moses doubted himself and his ability to compel others to follow him, we often need to dig deep to find our compass to faith, emunah. We have to believe that there is a larger hand that will guide us out of the desert, out of the wilderness, even out of the hodgepodge of urban streets as convoluting as Jerusalem’s.

No GPS or laminated map required.