Parashat Hukat: The red heifer's lesson in an age of multitasking and fragmentation

We are no longer living in a sequential world. Computers, smartphones, and constant connectivity allow us to perform multiple tasks at once. We can work on documents, answer messages, and consume information simultaneously. This has undoubtedly increased efficiency, but it has also introduced fragmentation and constant interruption. The experience of focusing on a single task for an extended period of time feels increasingly distant from modern life.

Yet certain features of the red heifer illuminate important aspects of religious and personal life.

One distinctive feature of the red heifer concerns both the preparation of the ashes and the collection of the natural spring water that would later be mixed with them. Any unrelated activity, even a minor one, can invalidate the procedure. The entire undertaking must be carried out with undivided attention and without any competing activity.

The disqualifying activity need not be significant. Even small acts, such as filling a second container with water or handing a rope to another person, can invalidate the ritual. The ceremonies must be carried out with undivided attention and without any competing activity.

By insisting that red heifer be prepared with single-minded focus, the Torah teaches that a meaningful life is built through sustained attention. Deep relationships, serious study, and religious commitment all require the ability to focus on one thing at a time rather than constantly dividing our attention.

Our rapid and hectic world has drifted away from single-minded focus. The pace of modern life leaves little room for sustained attention. Our culture celebrates those who can juggle multiple tasks at once, and our phones have become the tools that make this possible. We convince ourselves that multitasking makes us more efficient because it allows us to accomplish more in less time.

But is that really true? Do we actually accomplish more? Sometimes more is less.

The deeper question is not whether multitasking makes us more efficient. The deeper question is what it does to our capacity for presence. Some activities require only our labor. Others require our full attention. It is in these areas that multitasking extracts its greatest cost.

Perhaps nowhere is this more evident than in communication, which lies at the heart of all relationships.

We all want to feel seen and heard. When we sense that we do not have the full attention of the person with whom we are speaking, we feel less important and sometimes even invisible in their eyes. No one wants to feel invisible. When we no longer feel valued by another person, the relationship begins to erode.

I have very few rules in my classroom. Students may come late if they are tired, and they are free to take a break whenever they need one. The only rule I consistently enforce is that they may not use WhatsApp during class. If a message is truly urgent, I am perfectly comfortable with their stepping outside to respond. What I cannot accept is ignoring the person in front of you while carrying on a conversation with someone else. That is disrespectful. Before I teach my students Torah, I want to teach them how to be fully present for another person.

When was the last time you thought about a single topic for more than 15 minutes? We live in a culture of scrolling and endless information consumption. Yet wisdom requires sustained thought and careful analysis, and our world rarely grants us that luxury. When we think while multitasking, we dilute our focus, and our thoughts inevitably become less deep, less nuanced, and less insightful.

Music has become ubiquitous. We study to it, write to it, and think to it. While it can soothe our nerves and make certain tasks more enjoyable, it unquestionably divides our mental resources and can diminish the depth of our thinking.

Thinking while performing routine chores does not necessarily impair analysis. In fact, physical activity sometimes helps the mind process ideas more clearly.

However, serious thought while simultaneously engaging with music, videos, or other emotionally engaging media almost certainly reduces the depth and quality of our reflection.

Perhaps the experience that suffers most in an age of busyness and multitasking is prayer. Prayer is a direct encounter with the Divine. It is communication and presence. More important than the actual words we recite is the ability to stand before God and maintain an awareness that we are standing before Him.

Even under ideal conditions, this is difficult. The human mind struggles to focus, especially upon a God whom we cannot see, describe, or reduce to imagery.

For this reason, Moses fashioned a copper serpent. Those who looked toward it were healed. Of course, the serpent itself possessed no healing power. As the Mishna explains, it merely directed people’s attention heavenward. In the barren desert landscape, the serpent served as a ladder for the imagination, helping people lift their thoughts toward Heaven.

In the modern world, this challenge has become even greater. Our minds are crowded with an endless stream of thoughts, images, and distractions. We long for the simplicity of a desert that would allow us the quiet and serenity to think about Heaven.

One practical step is to avoid multitasking during prayer. Keeping our phones visible, and certainly using them during davening, even during the pauses and breaks, makes it far more difficult to sustain that deep awareness of standing before God. Prayer is not merely about saying words. It is about being present.