“The soul is healed by being with children.”
— Fyodor Dostoevsky
In those old prison movies, there’s always a scene where guards strap a convicted murderer into the electric chair and he screams, “I’m telling you — I didn’t do it!” Standing next to him is a priest (never a rabbi, unless it’s the convicted spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, then it’s Rabbi Irving Koslowe). Then there’s a shot of a wall clock ticking. Next, a shot of a silent phone. The convicted murderer asks if the governor has called to stay the execution. That’s an important phone call.
Nowadays, many people act as if every tweet and text is of a similar magnitude. In old horror movies, normal-looking people walked around like zombies being controlled by outside forces. Like a woodworm beetle, the mobile phone has bored a hole into our brains. We now await moment-to-moment commands from the digital galaxy. Our prayer is that one day our tweets go viral.
Once in a while, I’ll ask rude people to put away their phones despite warnings from my family that one day I’ll be shot. I was once at a doctor’s office waiting to get an important blood test result. I was nervous. Across from me was this chatterbox gabbing away at the same volume Pavarotti used when trying to reach the rafters at Lincoln Center. I politely asked her to please take the call outside and then pointed to a “No Cellphone Calls Permitted” sign. She gave me a look of hatred and continued her call. I asked her again. She then said into her phone, “Some man is being very, very rude to me.”
Even at funerals, shivah houses and weddings, it’s not uncommon to hear phones ring and to see people hunched over them talking.
Have you ever taken a phone away from your child? They go berserk. Once, when I left my phone at home, I immediately felt like I’d left the house without pants. I know that feeling, because I once did leave without my pants. I was at a Passover program with my family. I went out to get them some drinks. Standing by the elevator, I looked in a mirror and saw that I had nothing on but my boxers. Fifteen years later, my family still mocks me.
Have you ever taken a phone away from your child? They go berserk.
What I’m most concerned about is the new generation of babies. When I was a kid and went out with my parents, they would talk to me, point things out, scream at me and of course, threaten me. But at least they were paying attention to me. Seemingly that’s happening less and less. I don’t know about their home life, but in public, fewer adults seem to be paying attention to their little ones. Many times, I’ll see people talking or texting while pushing strollers across almost freeway-busy streets while the lonesome kid is told to be quiet.
On Shabbat, what’s better than talking with your child while walking to shul? But I’ll see parents who are running late rushing the kids to walk faster while they have their faces buried in their siddur. All they’ve done is replace the phone with the siddur. Instead of talking to the kids, they are talking to God. Again, the kids are asked to be quiet.
“Shema beni mussar avicha v’al titosh Torat imecha” means “Hear my child the discipline of your father and do not forsake the teaching of your mother.” What’s more important to you: Praying for your children or answering their question, “Are there bugs on clouds?” Talk to them now or they might not want to talk to you later. Remember, they won’t be young forever.
Granted, paying attention isn’t easy. Multitasking has cut all of our attention spans. Paying attention takes practice. It means getting out of yourself and really finding out about someone else. And there is a price for that. That’s why they call it “paying attention.” You are paying for it with your attention. Like they say in the Army, “Ten-hut!”
Mark Schiff is a comedian, actor and writer.
