It all began with the best of intentions. And ended in three rounds.My beloved uncle was niftar (passed away) mid-week in Israel. It was a devastating shock when I received the news. He had had a very short illness of which I had not been informed, and his passing was utterly unexpected. A sister of his lived in New York, and so began my deliberations about going up for a shiva (condolence) visit.You see, traveling is difficult for me. Over the years, I have developed tremendous anxiety about driving long distances alone, especially over bridges. I am a single mother, so unless my adult son is available to drive, I am faced with deciding whether I can manage the journey on my own. This week, my decision was complicated by my car needing some repair work, which I had been putting off for financial reasons. Nevertheless, I undertook the repairs, and by week’s end, the car was given a clean bill of health.
All that remained was replacing my balding tires. Unfortunately, the tires I needed had to be ordered, and this could not be arranged until after the weekend. I had been hoping to make the trip on Sunday, so as not to miss work, and now I had no transportation after all. Phone calls and texts began flowing back and forth between me and my family in New York, and earnest discussions ensued with my adult son until late moztei Shabbos. His dilemma entailed missing a day of learning in kollel – should he go or shouldn’t he? He called his rav, asked a shaila, and was told, “Go!”
Well, his car also needed some maintenance, but, luckily, our community is blessed with a “mobile mechanic,” and early Sunday morning, they were able to complete the necessary work.
The sun was shining, the roads were clear, the car was ready, and at long last, by 9:30 a.m., we were on our way to New York. As it happened, it was also Mother’s Day, so traffic was a bit heavier than usual. The three-and-a-half-hour trip took us five, but finally, finally, we reached the bais avel (house of mourning).
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All of this is preamble is to emphasize the extent of my preparations and very, very good intentions. In hindsight, these preparations were woefully insufficient. Despite my having sat shiva for my father a few years ago, I was vastly unprepared to enter this makom of kedusha (holy place). And I didn’t even realize it until I got home five hours later!
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The only caution we had exchanged amongst ourselves before going inside was to “turn your phone on silent,” which we did. We thought that that would be enough. Were we ever mistaken!
When we entered my aunt’s home, we were greeted warmly and happily by our relatives, who weren’t expecting us to come. I went to sit with my aunt, and listened as she poured out her grief and sorrow and shared with me the story of her brother’s final weeks.
And then, it started.
Other relatives began to arrive. I was still listening to my elderly aunt; I was holding her frail hand, but as I quickly looked over to the other side of the room, a rush of FOMO washed over me. FOMO is a terrible thing, and it’s the newest acronym going around, especially among young people. It means, fear of missing out. This FOMO moment was triggered by someone walking in wearing Google Glass – I had never seen it before except in news stories. Google Glass is straight out of science fiction: a pair of glasses that allows you to surf the internet while you wear them. It’s a tremendous curiosity, and I noticed it was being passed around as relatives were trying it on and excitedly chattering about it. I turned back to my aunt, trying to hear her – she spoke so softly – even as my mind was caught up in the melee around me. To be honest, I wanted to see this newfangled contraption myself, just for a minute! But I battled my FOMO, albeit with a shamefully heavy heart, and resisted that temptation. That was just Round 1.
Eventually, I relinquished my spot with my aunt as others came to sit with her, and I moved to sit with my cousins. An iPhone was being passed around with an image of my dear departed uncle at a very recent simcha. In the picture, he was beaming, seemingly in perfect health. It was a joy to behold. This prompted me to pop an innocent question, ‘Can you send it to me?’ Which led to Round 2.
I was handed the smart phone, with the photo app opened, and told, “Send yourself whatever you want.” So, with permission granted, I began scrolling through the images of that simcha, picking and choosing pictures that I liked, and messaging them to my phone – right smack in the middle of this hard-won shiva call! Round 2 proved the beginning of my undoing. At one point, I remember noting no less than three iPhones laying side by side on the couch, as if in their own little techno-huddle. Even the toddler was playing with her grandmother’s iPhone, busily calling Siri; (iPhone users know who that is).
The atmosphere in the room was at all times loving, respectful, and intimate. There was a palpable sadness hovering over all of us, as we all dearly loved our uncle, and I suppose we were trying to comfort one another by lightening the mood a bit. Relatives came and went. Babies were being passed around. Another camera phone was pulled out to take pictures of the babies. Emboldened, unthinkingly, I joined in. Round 3! Game over.
After an hour of sharing stories, good memories, and tears, it was time to leave. When I finally got home and ended this exhausting day, I pulled out an article I had started reading on Shabbos. Oy, why hadn’t I finished it before this shiva call? It was like a potch (slap) across the face: Rabbi Oelbaum of Khal Nachlas Yitzchak in Queens was quoted decrying the extreme lack of decorum in shiva houses. It was noted that the neshama (soul) of the deceased is present in the bais avel and is being consoled; hence, we say, “Hamakom yenachem eschem” in the plural.
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My mind flashed back immediately to our comportment in my aunt’s house just a few hours earlier, and my face burned with shame. Only five years ago, when I had sat shiva, technology was not quite as rampant and omnipresent as it is today. Then, a cell phone might have buzzed, but we didn’t carry the internet around in our pockets – or on our glasses! The entire week of my father, z”l’s shiva, I was able to focus on my amazing father. And only five years later, mourning his brother, we live in a very, very different world. We are living in a hugely dangerous, distracted time that is threatening to pull us Yidden away, insidiously, from age-old Torah values.
We are failing to recognize technology for the sheretz (abomination) that it is. It has its time and place – but not every time and every place! Who would have dared to bring a camera into a bais avel? A camera? But with smart phones, that is what we are doing.
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I awoke at 4:30 the next morning, too disturbed to sleep, still burning with shame. I had been matriach (inconvenienced) my son, a kollelman, to transport me to a bais avel five hours out of town. I dealt with car issues, financial issues, rearranged my schedule, deferred a Mother’s Day get-together with my other children, all so I could be menachem avel (comfort the mourning) and show the proper respect for one of the most amazing individuals I have ever known. And I failed!
The only way I know to make a tikkun (rectification) for being so nichshol (stumbling) in this mitzva is to issue a public statement, a viduy (confession) of sorts, to warn others about the dangers of bringing any form of technology into a shiva house. I’m taking on a kabala (resolution) for myself, l’iluy nishmas (in memory of) my uncle, to never, ever again (barring a true emergency) pull out a smart phone in a bais avel, and if possible, to leave it in the car. I also want to publicize the recent release of a set of lectures on four DVDs by the National Association of Chevra Kadisha and Chevra Lomdei Mishna, entitled, “To Comfort and Be Comforted,” that was cited in the article I had read the night before. Every single one of us should review this series and internalize its teachings before stepping into a bais avel, so that we can extend the proper kavod (honor) to the deceased and nechama (comfort) to the mourners, kedas Moshe veYisrael.
My uncle was an outstanding individual, always respectful, thoughtful, kind, and compassionate. A baal middos (a person of character) of the highest caliber. I feel I let him down. He deserved better. I hope he will be mochel (forgive) me after 120.
