[As
I get settled at the podium, I pick up my phone. I lower my head and begin to tap and swipe
away, looking up occasionally to say: “oh, so sorry, I gotta take this…uh,
just a sec…be right with you…oh,
right…the
d’var
torah!”]
Missing
the moment
What
I just did was a joke…but also NO joke. As I have engaged
in חשבון הנפש –spiritual accounting–during
Elul and these 10 days of repentance, I have felt particular remorse—not
for all of the moments in which I missed the mark, ,חטאתי I sinned, but
for all of the moments I missed. How many times was I in the car
supervising my kids as they learned to drive when I responded to a text, read
an article, or grazed over to Facebook? How many times when I was in our room
after our 10 p.m. computer curfew, talking to David, but also playing
solitaire? How many times was I having a meeting when my phone went off and I
reached down “just gotta check this—could
be my kids” and checked my text messages?
I
doubt very much that I am alone in this experience of engaging with a
technological device instead of being fully present in the moment. I will not
ask for a show of hands. But I do very much hope that exploring distraction,
its causes and costs, can help not just me, but all of us, to retrain our sites
on the target from which we have strayed—what E.M. Forster captured in his
memorable phrase: “Only connect.” If not, while I am talking, feel free to plan your work
schedule for tomorrow, or fantasize about your post-fast feast.
The
late Rabbi Alan Lew taught about the importance of staying focused. As he
analyzed the rules in Parashat Shoftim about exemptions from the obligation to
go to war, he noticed commonalities. The Torah teaches that you cannot be
required to go to war if you have:
1)
built
a new house and not inhabited it
2)
planted
a vineyard but not harvested it; or
3)
are
betrothed and have yet not married
Rabbi
Lew taught that people in these situations are excluded from obligation because
of טירוף הדעת—their mind is pulled in multiple
directions, and hence, cannot fully engage in the life-or-death decisions
required in battle.
Their
minds are pulled in multiple directions.
OUR
minds are pulled in multiple directions. We might not be engaging in battle,
but we are making life-or-death decisions every time we get behind the wheel of
a car. And also every time we cross a street.
And it might not be life-or-death decisions, but we are surely losing
real connection when we engage in a conversation while operating a phone,
computer or iPad.
Why
Are Our Minds Pulled in Multiple Directions?
The
easiest and most immediate answer is that we are not alone—we
are constantly in the company of all of these incredibly enticing devices. They
offer news (though honestly, how many times a day do we NEED to check the
latest headlines?), entertainment (I can listen to edifying podcasts!), and the
promise of connection (better check my e-mail, maybe somebody needs me!). And
oh, the apps: I even have an app for meditation!
But
beyond the sheer seduction of worlds upon worlds available in the palms of our
hands, there is more going on. I notice that I tap, tap, tap my phone when I
feel bored, when I feel anxious, when I feel frustrated, or sad, or mad. I can
take myself away from the challenge of the moment with a tap or a swipe. I don’t
have to tolerate difficult emotions.
And
I am an impatient person. I don’t like waiting. The other day I was
in the doctor’s office. The nurse asked me to wait
while draped with a paper blanket on the examining table for the doctor. Would
you be surprised to hear that I grabbed my phone and was looking at my calendar
when the doctor entered the room? That was nothing compared to the long and
angst-filled waiting in the years of my late sister’s
illness—waiting for news of a treatment, waiting
for test results, waiting with dread for a phone call. Those moments,
sometimes days, sometimes months, of waiting, were agonizing. I felt I couldn’t
engage fully in what I was doing because I might have to take the call, or cancel a professional engagement and jump
on a plane. Not surprisingly, my Solitaire addiction ratcheted up to an
unprecedented level during that period. Just one more game…and
another..and another…though, to be honest, my angst was
not salved in the least.
The
Costs of Distraction
There
is a rabbinic teaching that, when we are brought before the Throne of Glory for
our ultimate judgment, we will be called to account for every lovely flowering
tree that we failed to notice and enjoy. So easy to do, when we are
caught up in thoughts, or conversation.
The
rabbis were talking about the sin of missing the moment. Imagine if we
were called to account for every sight, smell, or sound we missed as we were
plugged in to our phones or other devices.
Even more terrifying: imagine we were called to account for every
emotional connection we missed when we were multitasking when we should have
actually been there—our attention drawn elsewhere when we
should have been listening, looking, and feeling what the other was
communicating!
In
I and Thou, Martin Buber posited that there are two fundamental and very
different ways in which humans can relate, I-It, and I-Thou. In an I-it
relationship, we are relating to the other, whether the other is a person, a
tree, or an animal, as an object. We are interested in the utility we can find
in that other. In an I-Thou relationship, we are encountering the other with
our full being, without agenda. When we meet the other as a “Thou,” by which Buber meant the most intimate, familiar YOU, we
are truly alive, we are truly present in the present moment. In this kind of
genuine relating, we become fully human. Even more than that, says Buber: “When two people relate to each other
authentically and humanly, God is the electricity that surges between them.” We experience God’s
presence precisely in the moments of I-Thou encounter.
When
we attempt to be with another AND check our email, we are involved in an I-it
relationship.
When
we go out for a meal and leave our phones out on the table because we are
expecting an important call, we are making an IT out of the person across from
us.
When
we sit on a conference call while reading the news on our computer, we are
objectifying each and every person with whom we are supposedly in conversation.
More
than that, though, we are making an IT out of ourselves, robbing ourselves of
our deepest humanity.
When
someone tells you they are multitasking, they are not. They are I-itting.
We
have forgotten Buber’s precious teaching: all real
living is meeting.
How
shall we live our days in the year ahead? Surely not in continuous I-Thou
encounters—we might be attracted to that, but no
one can live at that level of intensity—we would never pay our bills or get
our laundry done—though perhaps we could grow to be
more present even amid those mundane tasks.
The
Promise/possibility
I
want to offer you a teaching from my favorite rebbe, Shalom Noach Berezhovsky,
the Slonimer, as a vision and promise for us.
The
Slonimer Rebbe holds Avraham Avinu up as an example of presence and
mindfulness. At the end of his life, it is written of Avraham,
אברהם זקן בא בימים וה׳ ברך את אברהם בכל
Abraham
was old, had entered his days (come of age), and God blessed Abraham in
everything. The Slonimer asks: why do we need to learn that Abraham was come of
age if we already knew he was old? He answers: each of us is given a portion of
Torah at birth, and each day, a small piece of that portion is revealed to us.
In addition, each of us has a task —a tikkun/repair that is ours alone to
do. One person’s task cannot be done by another, and
one day’s
task cannot be completed at another time. What was it that the Torah wants to
teach us in telling us that Avraham ba bayamim?
Abraham
came into his days—he inhabited each and every day of
his life. He learned something new, and he performed some act that healed or
aided the world daily. Maybe one day he apologized to Isaac for the trauma of
the Akedah. Maybe he found new neighbors with whom to make a covenant of peace.
But perhaps his acts of tikkun/repair were not always so dramatic—perhaps
one day, he gave a friendly greeting to a lonely soul; maybe on another day, he
listened really well to Keturah, the wife of his old age.
Because
he truly was present to the moment-by-moment learning and healing of each day,
each of Avraham’s days was full, and rich until he
died at age 175. God truly blessed Abraham in everything.
May
we come into our days in the year ahead.
May
we experience the wonder of doing just one thing at a time.
May
we feel the power of paying our full attention to the person we are with,
whether at work, at home or at shul.
May
we pry the phones, or mice, or tablets from our hands and learn to be with our
own experience.
May
we meet many Thous, and may we discover the exaltation of being an I.
May
we experience the electricity of God’s presence surging through and
between us and those we truly meet.
May
we come into our days in the year ahead.
May
God bless us in everything.
Ken
yehi ratzon.
Sources
Sholom
Noach Berezovsky, Netivot Shalom on Hayyei Sarah.
Martin
Buber. I and Thou. Martino Fine Books. 2010 (reprint of 1937 edition).
Alan
Lew. This is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared. Little, Brown and
Co. 2003.
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