We had eight students at home who needed to call into conferences simultaneously

T his house needs many more parents and many more phones. Way back, we began Bais Sefer Ohel Corona woefully ill-equipped for what was to come. We had two parents, one house phone, one cell phone for each parent, a cheapo talk-only family cell that was usually dead in the kitchen drawer, and a phone for our oldest.

Problem numero uno was that every child in the house needed his or her own phone to “attend” school via conference call. Numero dos was that neither cell held a call in our neighborhood. In order for a call to go through, we needed to drive down the main drag in town and turn off near an empty ballfield and then hold the phone up at a tilted angle hiiiigh above our heads, all while murmuring pesukim from kapitlach vav, reish, yud, zayin, and nun of Tehillim.

When I called the phone’s service provider, the agent said accusingly, “Well, that’s a very popu-layy-ted area! What do you expect?” Well… how about ensuring my phone has service without my having to move to rural Maine?

On the very first day of lockdown, we realized we had a problem. There were eight students at home who needed to call into conferences simultaneously. The seminary girl smugly turned to her parents: “Seeeeee??? I really do need my own phone!” Touché. She would now get her own phone. One down. The pre-1A child would get the house phone, as it was clearest. Two down. One child’s rebbi had everything prerecorded, so he could call when a different child finished. Three down.

The sixth grader was locking herself in her room to listen, so she could take the family phone that drained battery faster than it charged; it would stay plugged in on her desk. Spotty service wasn’t a problem in her case, as more often than not her conference call was “experiencing technical difficulties” and shut down anyway. Four down.

Next, we discovered that Tatty’s cell worked outside on the back porch facing north at a very precise angle. If no one touched the phone, it might hold on to the call. It was worth a shot, so the third grader bundled up in a coat and scarf (yes, it was May, but it was 47 degrees outside, thanks to global warming), gathered his various booklets and seforim, and set up shop in the corner of the porch. That made five. The 20-year-old was requested to please relinquish her phone for an hour and a half for the mesivta bochur, and Tatty ran out to buy two more cell phones.

We had this. Piece o’ cake.

Til it wasn’t.