By Ilanit Zakowski
LOS ANGELES — It started out as just another trip to the lake. It was my third time going this summer. Camp had started and although I like to join the campers’ trips to the lake to give them rides on the jet ski, it is rare to find those opportunities. My days consist of kids to attend to, parents to speak to and meetings to attend.
However, when I do sense a free block of time, I grasp those opportunities and head to the lake. The tranquility begins on the mountainous drive there, where I’m then greeted by the fresh breeze, the crisp water, and the scenic mountains in the background as I ride the waves.
It was a perfect lake day. I was done on the jet-ski. I had docked and was now tying it up. I removed my phone from the dry compartment I keep it in, placed it down on the dock where I’d grab it and head back to my car. But Hashem had other plans. As I was stepping onto the dock from the jet ski, my foot accidentally kicked my phone, sending it sinking into the water. I watched helplessly as it disappeared beneath the surface. Just like that, it was gone.
No, I’m not jumping in to get it, I told myself. The water at the dock is filled with rocks, weeds, is dirty and murky. Anyway, it’s just an item, a thing, I told myself. I’m better than that, and I watched it go. I recited the Tefillah of Rabbi Meir Ba’al Hanes for lost objects, all the while knowing that maybe Hashem didn’t want me to have it back. Maybe this happened to teach me a lesson.
My six- and seven-year olds certainly believed this. They said “Ima, Hashem probably made your phone fall in the lake to show you that you use it too much.” I responded that I agree. Sometimes Hashem needs to get our attention to remind us of something more important we are missing in life.
I took a deep breath and calmly asked the other staff members around me whether anyone wanted to take a shot at looking for it. Two very kind and brave people volunteered, but even with goggles and a bunch of attempts at searching below, they couldn’t find it. Ok, I thought. There’s my answer- I did my hishtadlut (free will) and Hashem didn’t want me to have it back. I walked away and began my drive back to camp.
I didn’t quite realize how little I’d be able to do in the absence of my phone, but almost every detail of our lives have come to depend on these devices: a text to Gan at camp telling them I was running late, a simple phone call to my husband and kids, using Waze to get me places on the mountain roads, e-mails I needed to answer, etc.. After borrowing a number of friends’ phones and appreciating the camp landline phone like no one ever has, I was able to notify my husband that I wouldn’t really be in contact with him or our kids until this was all sorted.
In the following days, the quiet hit me hard. No constant texts, no notifications, no way to check what’s going on in Israel. No way to respond to nervous parents checking in on their children’s sleepaway experience. No communication with the people I work with on a daily basis. No daily schedule of the events taking place in camp, knowing where I can locate campers I needed to check up on. The people I work with now knew that if they needed me, they’d have to come to my room and knock on my door. And I was completely removed from anyone outside camp. I felt lost and alone.
But then the unexpected happened. Without my phone, I began to feel more present. I paid more attention to conversations, appreciated the people and things around me. I even felt a bit more grounded. I found myself thinking and davening (praying) more, without distractions.
Days later, when my husband came to visit with a new phone in his hands, I was hesitant to accept it. Did I want to go back to these distractions? Life may have been quiet and lonely without it, but it was peaceful and helped me connect to what’s important, like living in the moment and appreciating it.
With Tisha B’Av approaching, this temporary ‘loss’ I experienced for just a few days really put things into perspective: I realized how thankful I am for the four summers I spent enjoying countless jet ski rides on the lake. No mishaps, no phones falling overboard with all those rides. This incident was a huge shock and inconvenience, but it was temporary. It’s just an item that can be replaced.
The loss of the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) was a tragic life-altering event for every one of us, affecting us to this day. Our central place of connection with Hashem, national unity, and spiritual clarity is no longer. That loss has shaped Jewish history and our identity. The Beit HaMikdash, “Hashem’s chosen place” provided something great and deep for every Jew; it was our purpose in life.
We get so lost and caught up in the day-to-day events and physical comfort we have that we have become numb to something far deeper we are missing in our lives. The start of the three weeks and the culmination of Tisha B’av remind us of the loss we must never let ourselves forget. As Tisha B’Av approaches, may we feel the depth of what was lost and use that pain to reconnect with what truly matters: yearning to return to Yerushalayim upon the building of the third Beit Hamikdash. May it come speedily in our days- “Hashiveinu Hashem Eylecha Venashuva, Chadesh Yameinu Kekedem.” (Restore us, O Lord, to Yourself, and we shall be restored; renew our days as of old.)
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Ilanit Zakowski is a Jewish educator, teaching and touching the lives of children of various ages in the greater LA area. She is also an English as a second language teacher and taught English to Israeli children during the decade she lived in Israel.