Half Time Torah

YU's halftime show, with Charlie Harary and others.  

Hold on a Minute, G-d; I’ve got a Call on the Other Line

It was 7:30pm last Thursday evening, and the weather was cold and rainy.  As I crossed the plaza leading to the Kotel I breathed a sigh of relief.  Although the rain had stopped momentarily, it was still too wet for there to be more than about 10 women davening in the ezrat nashim.  I was pleased, because when I had been there for mincha a week earlier, the weather was beautiful and the Kotel was crowded, and I found it too distracting.  I had been disappointed, because after not having been at the Kotel for a year I had expected to find it more meaningful, but I was unable to focus on my davening because of the noise and the talking around me.  Which was one of the reasons I returned a week later, on a cold, rainy evening; I figured it might be the perfect time to find a quiet moment.

And indeed I was correct.  The Kotel was silent.  Most of the men were in the covered area at the left side of the Kotel, and the only sounds to be heard were the quiet pitter-patter of the raindrops that fell sporadically from the sky, and a gentle rustling as women turned pages in their siddurim nearby.  The darkness added to the feeling of privacy, and I felt very moved, standing there at the Kotel.  I don’t normally daven maariv, but that night I did, and it was a tefilla filled with kavana. 

I was in the middle of shemoneh esrei, aware that this davening was more meaningful than any I had said in a while, when my concentration was interrupted by the shrill ring of the cellphone of a woman a few feet from me.  Whether she didn’t want to interrupt her own davening, or whether it was just that she had difficulty extracting her phone from her pocket, the ringing went on for quite a few seconds before she silenced it.  And then her voice rang out loudly and clearly, “Hallo?  Ma nishma?...”  She stood there, one hand resting on the wet stones of the Kotel and one hand holding her phone to her ear, and had a conversation with the person on the other end.  Not bothering to whisper, seemingly unaware that her conversation was disturbing to everyone else. 

My concentration broken, all I could think was, “Really?  At the Kotel?  The closest place in the world to the Shechina, and she is talking on her cellphone?  Has she no decorum?  No sense of what is appropriate and what isn’t?”  Her conversation was not as brief as I expected for someone who was interrupted while talking to G-d, but then again, I expected that everyone silences their phone before they even enter that holy space, and she apparently did not share that same code of conduct.

Even after she finished talking and resumed her davening I was unable to regain my kavana.  I tried to focus on the words, but I was too disturbed by what I had just witnessed, and I ended up mumbling the rest quickly and just leaving. 

Later, still thinking about the incident I realized that what bothered me was twofold.  First, I was very disturbed by the fact that someone could desecrate the holiness of the place and of the experience of davening by talking on her phone.  But the second thing that bothered me was the disregard that she showed for everyone else.  Just because I am a teacher does not mean that davening comes easily for me.  I struggle with it like many people do.  Some days are easier, some days are harder; some days better, some days worse.  But when I’m trying to concentrate, it is really disturbing when someone nearby doesn’t let me.  Often times we only think of ourselves; if we are finished davening, or aren’t really interested in davening, we think nothing of turning to our friend and starting up a whispered conversation.  After all, we’re done, and we might as well pass the rest of the time in an enjoyable way.  But we don’t stop to think how many other people we might be disturbing.  We don’t stop to wonder whether the person next to us is having a particularly meaningful davening which our talking might disrupt, or whether they are struggling to focus, and will be further distracted by our noise.  That night at the Kotel I was immersed in my davening, and when this woman ruined my kavana by talking on her phone, I felt as if that special moment had been stolen from me.

It made me realize that we all have to be more aware of the people around us.  We are very aware of our own needs and wants, but we have to be more aware of how our actions will affect others.  Even if our davening is not at its best, when we talk to our friends in the middle we are not only interrupting our own conversation with G-d, but we are interrupting the conversations that everyone around us is having with Him as well.  And in cellphone terms, that equals a lot of dropped calls.