TRADITION QUESTIONS: Kissing a Torah App

Mincha in the Red Room, White House Hannuka Party, 2014 (courtesy www.thefriedlandergroup.com)

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WHAT IS IT?

Many things happen when someone drops a smartphone. Among them are worry about broken screens and warranty protection. Yet, one thing does not happen. No one kisses such a device when picking it off the ground. If a smartphone replaces a siddur and serves as a means for regular Torah study, why don’t we kiss it when we lift it from the ground as we are accustomed to do with holy books? Does anyone behave differently when the Torah app is open as the device falls? Should they?

WHY DOES IT MATTER?

As in many areas of life, the substitution of technology for traditional religious articles creates ease of access. Our siddur is always in our pockets – along with our video camera, notepad, and email.

When a siddur or Humash falls, the common custom is to kiss it as a sign of respect and love. The kiss says something about the book; it also says something about ourselves. Rabbi Yechiel Michel Epstein codifies this practice: “If a holy book falls to the ground, one is obligated to immediately pick it up. Even in the midst of study, one must stop and pick up the book. The custom is to pick it up and kiss it” (Arukh HaShulhan Y.D. 282:11).

The exclusive dedication of a physical object to a holy purpose creates special associations. A siddur represents a doorway into the spiritual. It holds both the history and the potential of Divine connectedness. Yes, technology allows us to use our phones as siddurim; however, these devices are used for many other things. It would be odd to kiss the screen that we also use to check our e-mails, review the latest news update, or watch cats playing with string on YouTube. We designate our siddurim as sifrei kodesh – holy books; we don’t do the same for our devices, nor should we.

WHAT QUESTIONS REMAIN?

As devices take eyeball-hours away from classic texts will our connections to those texts change? Will our children possess beloved, worn pocket-siddurim that hold holy memories from long-forgotten family vacations and school trips?

The experience of davening in a corner at a secular event has changed. Whereas previous generations might have leaped Superman-style into a phone booth to daven inconspicuously, such subterfuge is no longer necessary. Today, it is normal to stare at a screen and talk to a blank wall. Does this make such davening more frequent? How does it change the quality and psychology of such prayer?

Images of people arrayed together standing and looking into small books had a certain sacred character. An outsider could sense that the group was engaged in prayer. When they are arrayed similarly with smartphones, how does an outsider see such a proceeding? Has it lost any of its sacred character?

Staying focused during hazarat ha-shatz is difficult even with a siddur in one’s hand. What happens during hazarat ha-shatz when it is so easy to switch apps and to quietly become absorbed in the mundane?

Chaim Strauchler, an associate editor of TRADITION, is rabbi of Cong. Rinat Yisrael in Teaneck.