As Purim approaches, thousands of Israeli children and families grapple with poverty
It is not a broken battery, that much was certain.
The new battery did not connect to the charger, just like the old one didn’t…
By midnight on Wednesday, the new battery has run out of juice. I have run a marathon answering over a days worth of wastapps, texts and catching up on Instagram news. I am secretly pleased to see the amount of social media I have missed, but the pleased feeling disintegrates fast, almost as quickly as the new battery runs out. I am left pensive and thoughtful, even as we discuss giving the phone back to the magic maker the following day.
And when Thursday lifts its sleepy head and my baby wakes me up with her cooes and babbling, soon after the sun has made it’s hazy appearance in a pink tinged sky, I marvel at my unhurried morning cuddles with her, at my slow and pointed morning routine, at my casual saunter to the bathroom to wash up.
I am not rushing to check anything, to update myself, to see what I have “missed.” I am not reaching out blandly for a cold, hard object that “connects” me but leaves me with no real connection. I am focused and living for the now and the only thing I rush for is to get back to my bed where my baby is lying on her back and holding her feet to her mouth whilst singing in her baby voice, so that I can flop down on the bed next to her and watch her eyes light up and a joyful laugh rise from her belly….
I didn’t give my phone in that day.
I didn’t give it in the next day either.
Sunday night, my husband went round to the fixit man’s apartment and handed him my phone.
I spent another day getting hold of important people using Facebook or Facetime, which I have on my computer.
(The other people were obviously not important enough to get hold of).
Tonight, they say I will get my phone back. Its going to be funny having it again, hearing the “ding” of a new e-mail or the “whoosh” of a new message. I have this crazy, insane, almost shouldn’t-be-said-aloud thought that maybe, maybe, I don’t want my phone back after all…?
Well, I have about six hours left of freedom.
I hear my baby moving around in her crib and I have a husband to make dinner for.
Please excuse me while I go connect with the people I love.
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Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/teens-twenties/a-week-without-a-phone/2013/12/06/
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