If you're skeptical about filters, read this article. It might change your mind!
Reprinted from Mishpacha Magazine, Jan 16, 2013.
by C. Shaphir
It was a long and frustrating Motzaei Shabbos. My wife Shiffy was out at some Melaveh Malkah fundraiser, and I was babsitting. I never enjoyed getting five kids to bed, but this particular night, my four-year-old daughter Miri had given me a really hard time, coming ouf of bed every two minutes and then crying her head off for an hour after I warned her that she'd better not come out of bed again.
I had been planning to learn the next day's daf so I'd be prepared for my shiur the next evening, but after finally settling everyone down, I did not have the head to open my Gemara. Instead, I decided to check my e-mail.
I own a landscaping and snow removal business, and although I do maintain a small Web site, most of my work comes through the old-fashioned way, through word of mouth recommendations and advertisements in the Yellow Pages and local circulars. Some of my customers communicate with me by e-mail, but it's rare that an urgent e-mail will come in over Shabbos. If there's an emergency - "Mr. Balter! The squirrels dug up my tulip bulbs!" - I'll usually get a call on my cell phone.
The only client e-mail that Motzaei Shabbos was from Mrs. Milner, an old customer who wanted to know how often to water her new hydrangeas. There was one other e-mail, from Phil Schwartz, a shul buddy of mine. The subject line said "Hilarious!!!! Must See!!!!!!!" and the mail contained a link to some YouTube video. I clicked on the link, just so that I could respond to Phil with an LOL (or maybe LOL!!!!!!!!!!).
I don't know how it happened, but after I viewed the short slapstick clip, I must have accidentally clicked on a nearby link to a different video. The moment I clicked on the link, I knew that this was not something I wanted to see. But my curiosity was uncontrollable. Just one quick peek....
One quick peek, and I spent the next hour in front of some of the worst images the yetzer hara has to offer. My heart was pounding with horror and revulsion, but as much as I willed myself to click on the little x in the corner of the screen, I could not do it. Only when I heard Shiffy's key turning in the door did I quickly hit "close all tabs" on the Internet browser and then frantically delete the browsers history.
I was terrified that Shiify would notice that my hands were shaking badly, or spot the guilt written all over my face. But she came in all happy and excited, telling me that she had won a new coffeemaker at the Chinese auction and going on and on about how little space on the counter the new machine takes up.
I felt sick. Sick that I had allowed myself to sink so low, and sick that I had gone behind Shiffy's back and done something that would hurt her terribly, if she only knew.
I walked around the next day, and the rest of the week, with a heavy burden of shame and disgrace hanging over me. Shiffy - who's a pretty astute person - remained blissfully oblivious to the awful secret I was carrying, and the more she carried on with life as usual, the worse I felt about myself.
When Shabbos came, I could no longer bear it. After Shiffy lit candles and wished me a Gut Shabbos, I blurted out to her what I had done.
Her eyes widened. "Danny, how could you?" she whispered. "I can't believe it." And then she started to cry.
I found her tears strangely comforting. All Week, I had been living in dread of this reaction, and now that it was over, I felt weak with relief.
Still, it was one of the saddest Shabbosim of our married life. The lowest point was when Shiffy reminded me of what I myself had said when she had asked that we install a filter on our home computer.
At the time, I had scoffed at the idea. "A Jew needs a filter on his neshamah, not on his computer," I had declared. "A guy who needs a filter to stop him from looking at bad stuff is going to find ways around the filter anyway, and a person who has yiras Shamayim doesn't need K9 or Net Nanny to babysit him."
