Techno-Kosher

There we were, my daughter and I, bagging our groceries at the supermarket. Yes, there are usually no baggers to be found here in the Holy Land; just another opportunity to do a mitzvah for a typical harried mother with her five children in tow, with no hands to spare. It’s Hashem’s way of allowing us to do yet one more act of kindness, while doing something seemingly mundane. But that day it was just the two of us, my daughter and I, packing away industriously so as not to hold up the line–when suddenly, my purse began to emit some kind of sound…. much like I had packed a mini-sized Chassidic wedding orchestra, in full stereo, and had managed to squeeze it into the space usually reserved for half eaten cookies and old receipts. I looked at my daughter.

“Is that us?” I asked, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible under the blaring music emanating forth.

My daughter appraised the situation, and mortified, realized its source.

“It’s the phone!” she cried. Apparently, the ‘Frum Phone’ she shared with her brother (which I dubbed the i Frum Chassidi 360 fourth generation) had been set to a rather loud rendition of some lively Chassidic tune, rendering us both immediately uncool on the spot. I decided to have a talk with my son about choosing something more appropriate and more ‘ring’ like. But when we scrolled through the choices, we were treated to a slew of songs, ranging from Sephardi, Litvish, Ashkenazi and what I like to call ‘Chazzanish’. So in the end, they agreed to disagree: When my son used it, it sounded like an abridged version of Shwekey, and when it was my daughter’s turn, it played a more sophisticated and yes—a less musical ring.

When I first heard about Kosher phones (yes, that is truly what they are called—they even come with some type of  kosher certification), I thought it was some kind of a joke. But when our oldest started Yeshiva high school, this was the only phone he was allowed to carry, for two very simple reasons: no texting mechanism, and no internet. Imagine! A phone that is used as—a phone!

When we moved from the States six years ago, texting was in full swing, but it had yet to become a worldwide addiction. Blackberries where still something you mostly ate, and the i Phone was still an infant. Not EVERYBODY had one. Most people had phones that could text, and that was that. Now, six years later, the communications landscape has completely changed into the i Haves and the i Havenots. We are part of the latter, and despite feeling totally uncool at times, my thumbs are probably healthier than most.

Our children have asked my husband and I on countless occasions why we don’t just ‘give in’ already, like everybody else, and just break down and buy one—or two internet enabled phones. And whenever the subject of their ‘nebby’ phones come up, I give them the same speech as I do every time. And since they are not really interested in my articles so much, they won’t have to hear it again—but you readers, are not so fortunate, for you are about to be treated to Mommy’s favorite phone mussar speech; so here goes…

No, we don’t have phones with texting ability because Mommy and Tatty like our children to stay off the cell phone (and internet) except  for any of the following scenarios: “Mommy, I got here,” “Mommy, I’m leaving,” or “Ta, I ran out of money—what do I do?” Aside from that, cell phone usage is banned in or out of the house. Why do we need to expose ourselves to needless radiation? The phone is so that everyone can be reached when they are out of the house for two minute intervals. Period. A phone in this family is—a phone. And in twenty years’ time, when other kids their age are undergoing thumb transplants and or suffer thumb paralysis, they will thank us for all those years we spared them from this worldwide pandemic.

We are not shying away from technology—on the contrary, we realize that the world is moving in that direction, with or without our wanting it to. Everything is computerized, e-mailed, or scanned. You can’t escape it. That’s why when our daughter wanted a laptop for school, and of course, for all her pictures —she got one without internet access. Only her grandfather knows the code. In this day and age when kids seem to be born with a microchip encoded in their DNA, they are not able to live in a ‘techno free’ environment. They seemed to have picked up these things by osmosis—they just KNOW it without ever having been taught.

There have been times when I would type away at my computer, only to get stuck by some ‘techie’ issue. Stumped, I would try to navigate through the different icons, until I finally broke down and called tech support (my then five year old son). With no previous training, or experience, he managed to get me out of quite a few computer conundrums. So I know that we have to reach some safe compromises when it comes to technology—but there are no compromises when it comes to the phones.

Recently, Klal Yisrael has been witness to too many human sacrifices, in the form of pure Jewish souls. The Rabbis keep exhorting us to do teshuva. But how can we connect to The Source of all life, when we are disconnected? And the irony of why we are disconnected is because we are SO connected! Connected to i Pods, Blackberries, e-mails, Facebook and text messaging. Advertisements have begun to appear in Jewish publications imploring us to put down our ‘weapons of mass destruction’—our phones—and to begin to pay more attention to our families, to our surroundings, and of course, to Hashem. Even in the secular world, a famous pop star is begging kids not to ‘text and drive’. Texting has become the opium of the masses, even leading to senseless casualties, as seen in a recent horrible train crash brought about by a conductor’s selfish need to text.

We read the Chumash, and we learn about the trials of the Bnai Yisrael, and the incredible yetzer they had to fight in order not to worship idols; I was never able to  understand it. Couldn’t understand this pull to worship anything other than Hashem. Now, in the twenty first century, we have new idols. How many people obsessively check their phones every five minutes to see if they got a text? How many people are willing to give up their dependency on their Blackberries or i Pods? These are the new idols of this generation, and that is why my husband and I have tried so hard to resist—because we are afraid. Afraid that we too will fall into that abyss of total disconnection. A disconnection so deep, that as long as everyone has internet access, why do we need Mashiach, or the Third Beit Hamikdash for that matter. Life, is very good. And with a Blackberry, it’s even better….

Everyone is guilty of this feeling of disconnection. One night when our family was visiting, and five of us were sitting around our living room, each brandishing a laptop in a different state of electronic inertia, someone piped up from about seven feet away, “Did you get my e-mail yet?” This, sadly, is the farthest thing Norman Rockwell could have imagined. A far cry from his 1940 era paintings of families sitting around the dinner table, or in front of the fireplace. Now, we sit around ‘warming’ ourselves by the glare of our laptops, and phones, disconnected from one another, disconnected from Hashem, disconnected from our purpose in life. We have moved away from the tenets of basic humanity, morphing into electronically sedated droids of some sort. All these little wonder gadgets have caused a tremendous chasm in our ability to appreciate the natural wonders of our world. How sad.

I always picture that when the day finally arrives, with Hashem’s help, and the Beit Hamikdash will make its grand appearance in Yerushalaim, there will be long lines of Yidden bringing their sacrifices. Except, instead of pigeons and sheep, we will be bringing our laptops and i Phones, our Blackberries, and Face book profiles. And we will place them on the altar, and watch all those hours we stole away from our families, away from Hashem—away from ourselves, slowly rise in plumes of penitent smoke, freeing us from these cyber shackles we have imposed upon ourselves. And all the ‘i’s’ will turn into ‘we’s’ (and I don’t mean the game console) and we will finally open our eyes to all we have missed, and all that we could have missed.