Battling for sanity in an information war

Inspired by the theme of The Jewish Independent’s podcast Ashamed to Admit, I have a confession to make. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve been unable to put my phone down for the last eight months.

Propelled by October 7, my phone addiction has become severe and out of hand.

It wails for me like a newborn through the night. It follows me into the shower where I now wear wireless earphones while listening to podcasts. I’m trapped in an audio maelstrom of political debate, public opinion and seething outrage.

Physically I’m in Perth but mentally I’m thousands of kilometres away, drowning in a tsunami of distress. Permanently distracted. Deeply disturbed. My phone never leaves my side.

I’m writing this at 5:21am, wired and restless. For eight months I’ve woken at odd hours in a panic, reaching for my phone, desperate to know what fresh hell has been unleashed overnight. I think of tunnels, bombs and carnage, bodies charred, desecrated and buried under rubble. The obscene scale of destruction, depravity, destitution and desperation. Of too many lives cut short and forever changed.

Unread books gather dust by my bedside. I haven’t watched Netflix in months, have barely touched my novel manuscript. I’ve kept up with my work and family responsibilities, just. But I’ve been completely consumed by the nightmare that began on October 7, watching on in disbelief as a conflict raging far away ricochets into our homes, schools, universities, workplaces and parliaments. Spills out onto our streets, tearing everything that once held us together apart.

I’m attached to my phone for hours, deeply absorbed in newsfeeds, podcasts and longer form journalism. It’s become a compulsive and obsessive habit. Why? Because of my heritage, I’ve always considered Israel a home away from home, a safe haven if ever needed. And, because the longer the war in Gaza rages on, the closer the conflict comes to my actual home.

After it started last year, two students Nazi saluted my 13-year-old high schooler and one yelled out “Heil Hitler!” Another student refused to sit next to my son on the school bus because he supports Israel. And another screamed “Fuck the Jews!” at him during recess. My son’s experience is a big part of my why. Knowledge is all my children have to challenge the ignorance, bias and intolerance seeping into their lives. And I’m preparing them to face the world’s oldest hatred in its latest incarnation, hoping that knowledge can partially inoculate them from an incurable virus that mutates and multiplies.

How else can I attempt to answer their questions about racism and discrimination? About culture and identity, religion and faith, politics and history, conflict and peace? This is part of our reality now and I have to take it seriously.

My smartphone is both a tool and a weapon on the frontlines of a dark and disingenuous information war. Everything is forensically examined, magnified and manipulated in this battle zone. Lines blur between reality and fiction and the truth is a microscopic needle in a haystack. At times it feels like I’m living a double life; one inside a bubble on Australia’s west coast and the other in an online trench, facing an information onslaught. Trying to separate fiction from fact. Trying not to lose my mind in the swamps of social media. Trying to hold on to my humanity. Clinging to hope.

I’ve channelled my despair into the one thing I can control – building my knowledge and drawing on my corporate affairs background to critically analyse information from multiple sources. I’m only one person but I believe in the power of the ripple effect and that education can light the path to peace. I’ve pushed myself to dig deeper, to listen to those with different lived experiences, to understand the nuanced narratives layered into an intractable conflict that connects me to my culture.  

I’ve done this hoping my efforts might help others find common ground or consider new perspectives. But this drive for knowledge has come at a personal cost, consuming me to an unhealthy degree. I’ve tried to make sense of something that makes no sense at all, and never will. Now I must face the most uncomfortable truth – that this is an impossible task.

My phone has dragged me into a parallel universe where words, sounds and images have left a permanent scar on my soul. I need to extricate myself from this online abyss in order to restore balance in my life, to rediscover joy, to feel the breath in my body again. I need to do this if I want to retain my sanity, hope and faith in humanity. If I want the same for my children.

I have this option, this absolute privilege, and must take it. There’s no shame in that.