Through Different Eyes
Unsophisticated, yet powerful
By: Rabbi Shishler
“The shofar stirs us to compose a terse, heartfelt message to our supernal father.”
How do you send a distress signal? Native Americans used clouds of smoke and WWII soldiers Morse Code. Shaina uses WhatsApp. She always has a trick up her sleeve. A few weeks ago she proved that, despite her verbal limitations, she is a communications whizz. We are fortunate to take our granddaughter to school in the mornings with Shaina. They both insist we play the same kiddie songs on the way, and Shaina gets her niece laughing in the car every morning. When we arrive at school, things get tricky. Shaina impatiently tugs at her seatbelt while we unbuckle our granddaughter from her car seat. Naomi wasn’t quick enough for Shaina’s liking that Wednesday, so she sent an SOS to her backstop, Tali.
Tali was Shaina’s incredible school facilitator. Shaina would rush to hug her every morning as she walked into class. Her eyes light up if we tell her Tali is coming to visit. When Naomi took too long to unbuckle our granddaughter that day, Shaina phoned Tali. Unfortunately, Tali didn’t see her call. Undeterred, Shaina sent a voice note: “Hi Tali. Come!” Tali initially assumed that Shaina was letting her know she was on her way to school. She only realised later that it was a cry for help. Mom was delaying her at the car, and Shaina wanted Tali to rescue her.
Shaina’s message is cute, a little bossy, and brilliant. We shoot off WhatsApp messages without thinking. The process is trickier for Shaina. She cannot read, so sending a WhatsApp message requires serious planning. First, she needs to bypass the security passcode on Naomi’s phone. Then, she locates the WhatsApp icon – easy for us, impressive for a neurologically challenged kid. In the app, she scrolls through the messages until she sees Tali’s face. She double-verifies that she has the right contact by listening to voice notes in the chat. Satisfied she has the right recipient, she selects “Record” and composes her message.
Shaina’s distress signal was a complex operation.
Shaina aces the WhatsApp process, always verifying contacts before messaging or calling. Our children overseas often wake up to missed video calls, accompanied by half a dozen terse messages along the lines of, “Hi. Miss you. Love you.” Sometimes, her messages include notes of a song or one of her quirky facial expressions. One of her favourite tricks is to locate my contact on WhatsApp and video call me from the next room (or the couch in the same room), yelling “Call!” if I don’t answer quickly enough. Halfway through the chat (where you only see her eyebrows), she unexpectedly hangs up. A moment later, she calls back, laughing.
They say that the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but incomplete. Society boxes kids into categories like typical and atypical, abled and disabled. Shaina consistently proves that people are nuanced, and atypical does not mean unskilled. Shaina’s phone escapades remind me of the shofar. Unsophisticated, yet powerful, it stirs us to compose a terse, heartfelt message to our supernal father: “I miss you. I love you.”
Tali eventually came to help Shaina from the car. No doubt, Avinu Malkeinu will respond to our call for His help, even if we feel our prayers are less cogent than they should be.
