Isolation in the Age of iPod
Last spring, I finally did it. I bought an iPod: A personal music player that allows me to digitally store the entire contents of my music collection and access any song at the touch of a button. It was astounding how my loud, squished, New York City subway commute suddenly changed. The time spent riding the train seemed to dissipate as the music took me to a different time and place all together. There was a soundtrack to my life that accompanied me on every subway train, every bus trip, and down every city block.
Yet a few weeks after my iPod purchase, I came to a realization: All of my attention was focused entirely upon the music. I had become so caught up in my own tunes, upon the sounds entering my ears, that everything else seemed to fade around me. Now that I had control of the soundtrack, I did not have to be bothered with the external sounds of the world. The din of New York City life was absent from my regularly scheduled program. I no longer heard the story of the homeless woman asking for money to feed her children as she passed through my subway car. I no longer heard the groaning of the man curled up in despair in front of the corner bakery. People stopped asking me for directions. Looking at me, they saw that I couldn’t be bothered… I was obviously in my own little world. Suddenly, I was aware of how unaware I had really become.
What a jarring realization. I had always considered myself to be a person cognizant of the world around me. Had technology caused me to draw into myself at the expense of others? Where else in my life had I allowed myself to become swallowed up by my own personal priorities and block out the world to which I belong?
For so many of us, the world of technology is exciting and wonderful. And for others, it is a place of unfamiliarity and all too frequent change. But for both the technogeeks and luddites among us, I believe that most will agree that technology contains an inherent danger of isolating our personal interactions. We email, we text message, we buy books and clothing – even grocery shop! – on the internet. Our interactions with our fellow human beings seem to decrease every day. How many of us have grumbled at the 24-hour help line inviting us to press “1” for our account balance, “2” for billing information, or “3” for any other inquiry that of course will not be answered by an actual human being? Andrew Sullivan, a columnist for London’s Sunday Times, captured it well when he wrote, “Now I have my iTunes for my iPod in my iWorld. It's narcissist heaven: we've finally put the "i" into Me.” Isolation has become an acceptable part of modern life, and yet… here we are, joined together on this Erev Rosh Hashanah, because we find meaning in gathering together to worship as a community. We seek community, but are all too often confronted with alienation and isolation.
How then are we to balance the reality of the inward facing spiral of modern life with our own understanding of what it means to be part of a community? Does the techno-isolationism affect our interpersonal interactions in our own lives, in our places of business, in our communities? Does it change the way we interact with our children, our parents, or our spouses? As we take an accounting of our own lives at this season, these are important questions to consider. Technology gives off the perception that we are connected to everything and everyone at the touch of a button, but in essence, we might be less connected than ever before.
During our Rosh Hashanah service tomorrow morning, we will listen to one of Judaism’s most powerful tools, reminding us to look past our own isolation. The technology is simple, its formula ancient, yet its effect continues to touch us every year. We hear the wail, the screech, the cry of the shofar, and we are called back to reflect on our actions and how we have treated others over the past year. The sound of the shofar reminds us to clear our ears of the noise that threatens to block out the rest of the world. In our world there are sounds that consistently compete for our attention, but the shofar rises above them. It’s blast produces a piercing sound that says to us, “awake!”
There is a Hassidic tale told of the Ba’al Shem Tov, the great 18th century founder of Hassidism in Eastern Europe:
The Baal Shem Tov informed one of his disciples, Rabbi Zev, that he wanted to teach him the secret meanings behind the shofar blasts, because Rabbi Zev was to be his caller on Rosh Hashanah. So Rabbi Zev learned the secret meanings, wrote them down on a slip of paper to look at during the service, and placed the slip of paper in his pocket. When the time came for the blowing of the shofar, he began to search everywhere for the slip of paper, but it was gone. He did not know on what meanings to concentrate and was greatly saddened. Broken hearted, he wept bitter tears as he called out the blasts of the shofar, without concentrating on the secret meanings behind them.
Afterward, the Baal Shem Tov said to him: “There is a king who dwells in a palace with many rooms and apartments, and there are different keys for every lock; but the master key of all is the ax, with which it is possible to open all the locks on all the gates. So it is with the shofar, the secret meanings are the keys; every gate has another meaning, but the master key is the open heart. When a man truthfully opens his heart before God, he can enter into all the gates of the apartments of the King above all kings, the Holy One, blessed be God.” [Or Yesharim]
So too for us, when our hearts are open, the piercing wail of the shofar can bring us into a realm of consciousness far beyond the everyday static of our lives. We must allow our hearts to be open at all times, by opening ourselves up to others, in order to hear its persistant call. Yet, we cannot rely on our attention to the shofar’s annual blasts during the High Holy Days to keep us awake. How will we listen for its calling during the rest of the year? If we are plugged into our iPods and other personal devices, will we hear the cry of the shofar, calling us to reconnect with our fellow humanity? Will we make room in our busy lives to let other people in? The call of the shofar is not simply a personal wake up call, hearkening us to reflect inwards. The shofar calls us to reconnect to our fellow human beings. Teshuva is not only a process of turning in, but of turning out.
We know that despite the concentration on the individual in our society, despite the isolation in our world, it is our duty to look beyond our own needs and into the needs of the community. The “Temple Isaiah Organizing Project” is a great example of how we, as a community, are pledging ourselves to do just that. Last spring, hundreds of Temple members met in living rooms and in individual one-on-one meetings to discuss issues of social justice that directly affect our lives and give us a sense of passion. Temple Isaiah has embarked on a serious community organizing project to look at root causes of injustice and ways to make a difference. We are presented with ways to look beyond ourselves and embrace, interact, connect back into the society that can so often feel isolating. Three areas of focus have been chosen and Temple Isaiah members will work on action teams to create change in the arenas of Health care, Economic pressures on Massachusetts families, and Interfaith issues. These are all examples of looking beyond our own needs, beyond our own selves, and focusing our energy on the greater issues of the community.
The “Temple Isaiah Organizing Project” assembly that took place on September 11th of this year was truly an inspiration, precisely because of the multitudes of people present who were there to make a stand. The individuals involved in the assembly were looking beyond their own needs and into the needs of the community.
I encourage everyone here to get involved in this extraordinary venture. It is an opportunity to connect to something bigger than our own needs as individuals, that will improve our society for the good of us all. It is what we mean when we say that we have to look past our own needs in an age when all society wants us to do is think of ourselves. Judaism does not allow us to remain so isolated that we can ignore the sights and sounds of injustice in our world.
The perception of technology is that it connects us to everybody and everything, as if we are at the center of the world, but when the illusion wears down, it is apparent that we are often connecting to nothing at all. Such alienation, while a concern that alarms our general society, affects us greatly in our Jewish world. Consider another story of an iPod – this time of a Jewish man riding on a subway train during morning rush hour in Manhattan. Looking up from his newspaper, he notices the young man sitting across from him wearing a kippah, listening intently to his ipod, his eyes closed, his lips moving ever so gently. The young man opens his eyes and the subway rider takes the opportunity to approach him. He asks, “What are you learning?” The young man responds, “I’m not learning, I’m actually davening shacharit. You see, I got nine of my friends together to make a recording of ourselves praying the service. Now I have a minyan of voices in my ears. I can always carry them with me wherever I go.”
A minyan? In those tiny little ear buds? Surely, this seems antithetical to the very concept of a minyan. The required structure of a minyan itself, of a quorum of 10 adults, shows us how much Judaism emphasizes the role of community. It is not because we need the 10 voices to literally conjure up the prayers, but because we need the support of at least 10 people to establish the community that Judaism requires of us. We cannot flourish as Jews in isolation. No, our tradition makes sure that even in an experience as personal as prayer, we are coming in contact with other people so that we may always feel a sense of community and communal obligation. The Rabbis laid down a great notion: “Communal prayer has a special value and whenever ten pray in the synagogue the Shekhinah, the Divine indwelling, is present.”
Yehudah Halevi's “Kuzari,” a 12th century defense of Judaism, is in the form of an imaginary dialogue between the king of the Khazars and a Jewish sage. The king asks, why all this emphasis on communal prayer? Would it not be better if everyone recited his prayers for himself where, on the contrary, there is greater concentration and purity of thought without distraction? The sage replies that an individual may make mistakes when mouthing the words of the prayers, whereas when people pray together they make up for one another's shortcomings.
We can look to the liturgy of this season of repentance and notice that there too, as in much of Jewish prayer, community, the collective notion of responsibility, is of greatest importance. Our liturgy is offered in the first person plural. Why? Because we know that our lives and the choices we make are tied up to the people around us. Perhaps the best example of this is the vidui prayer that we read at this season. “Ashamnu, Bagadnu, Gazalnu… We are guilty, We have been deceitful, We have stolen…” “Al Chet SheChatanu L’fanecha… For the sin we have committed against You.” Even if I have been deceitful and my neighbor has not, my neighbor takes responsibility because my actions affect the community as a whole, and likewise, the actions of others in the community affect me. These are not general sins that each of us has necessarily committed, but we take responsibility for the individual transgressions of our neighbors because we know that we are held accountable for keeping one another on the right track.
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The balance that we seek between our notion of self as individuals and as members of a community might appear difficult to achieve in our daily lives. The focus on the individual is only exaggerated by our new technologies directed at the inward focus of personalized living. Our modern innovations, like iPods and Tivo, allow us to pick what we want, when we want it, and how we want it. But does this really suit our own religious lifestyles? As Reform Jews this is not an easy, black and white question to answer. For it is particularly with our strong notions of informed decision making about mitzvot and tradition that we allow ourselves to be flexible in our own understandings of commandedness. Yet something shakes us the wrong way when we think about a Judaism in which we allow ourselves to think of community as an optional element. We cannot stand for the idea that we can do all of it on our own and rearrange the details of our observance and interactions to suit our schedules, comfort, and personal preferences. Shabbat Services cannot take place on Tuesday afternoons nor Sukkot in the spring. We cannot try to fit Judaism in around our personal schedules, make room when it is convenient. We are increasingly drawn into our own private notions of what Judaism can do for me… but what are we doing for the Jewish people? And how can we expand the ways in which we invite the Jewish people and our community to become a part of us?
A recent study was commissioned by an organization called “Reboot,” about changes in identity, community, and meaning from a Jewish perspective. Their findings were collected in a report titled: “How Generation Y is Redefining Faith in the iPod Era.” The “Reboot” study concluded that Generation Y, a generation made up of those born in the 1980’s and 90’s, does seek community and meaningful involvements, though often in informal and non-traditional ways.
The findings of this survey should be a focal point for all of us, not just those who interact closely with young Jews. For Jews of all generations are looking for meaningful involvement, we just sometimes don’t know where to look. Religion must speak to us as individuals, yet motivate us to act on behalf of and for the sake of the community. What kinds of things do we as a Jewish community need to be doing to ensure Jewish continuity in an age of individualized notions of religious experience?
The best way that we can encourage others to seek connections is through example. As we lead our own lives, opening our hearts to those who surround us day by day, we too will exemplify a way of living that offers meaning and connection. As we live our lives as Jews, connecting to our synagogue, greater Boston, and global Jewish community, we will exemplify the notion of communal responsibility, mandated by our tradition. And as we make our way through this increasingly isolating world, we will help to make it feel more and more connected as we create relationships and alliances with our neighbors, as we are doing with the “Temple Isaiah Organizing Project.”
Technology is a real part of our society and one to which we will have to adapt. Let us not forget, technology can be a wonderful thing, and has the potential to bring us closer to one another. Think of how quickly we were able to make donations for hurricane relief efforts at the click of a mouse button or how we can keep in touch with friends and family who might live thousands of miles away. Keeping in mind all the good that technology can bring to our lives, we cannot afford to allow ourselves to become so personally programmed that we leave out the possibility for others to enter our lives. We must be in a constant state of awareness of our potential isolation and recommit ourselves every day to being a part of the community.
With our iPods and other gadgets, the world is, quite literally, at our fingertips. This Rosh Hashanah, each of us as individuals must determine how we will maintain contact with the community that surrounds us in our increasingly personalized world. It is up to each of us to decide what sounds we will include in our own soundtracks so that we might affirm our connections with others. The soundtrack to our lives might include the voices of our neighbors, the pleas of the people calling out to us from the street, the laughs of our friends, the secret whispers of our lovers, the great cacophony of our interactions. What will you include in your playlist?
Hashiveinu Adonai Eilecha v’Nashuva. Chadesh Yameinu K’kedem.
Turn us around, O God, and bring us back toward You.
Revive our lives, as at the beginning.
And turn us towards each other, God,
For in isolation there is no life.