Walking back to my desk after a meeting this week, I noticed that my computer screen was blue and displaying the message: “Working on updates — 90% complete. Don't turn off your PC. This will take a while.”
It was a little unexpected, but not alarming. I took a picture and sent it to our tech person just to make sure, and he quickly sent back a reassuring text: “Looks normal, probably just a system update.”
Fair enough.
I sat down to wait.
Then I noticed something highly alarming! The cursor was very clearly moving across the screen on its own.
My stomach dropped.
I grabbed my phone, recorded a video, and sent it off. Within seconds, my tech guy called me, his tone completely changed. “Something is very wrong! I’m logging in to your computer right now.”
He connected remotely, watched for a few moments, and then shouted: “Someone is inside your computer!”
This was not a virus or trojan. Somewhere in the world, a human hacker was sitting behind a keyboard, navigating my computer in real time while I sat just a few feet away.
My tech person was able to see everything the hacker was doing. He was opening files, accessing accounts, and then he began initiating a wire transfer for tens of thousands of dollars.
“Turn off the computer! Now!” he yelled.
I tried, but nothing happened. The hacker had locked me out of my own machine.
“Pull the plug!”
So I literally yanked the power cord out of the wall.
But it was too late.
In those final seconds before the screen went dark, the transfer had already gone through.
Within minutes I was on the phone with the bank, reporting wire fraud and praying the funds could be recovered.
What followed was a whirlwind of phone calls, emergency meetings, and paperwork.
As Belev Echad has grown, we've become a larger target, and so we brought in cybersecurity professionals to completely rebuild and secure our network.
Later that day, a technician arrived and began investigating.
What he discovered was chilling.
The hacker had installed a hidden screen-sharing program that gave him complete access to my computer. Not only could he see everything, he could control everything.
Even more disturbing, he’d preemptively logged into my email account and blocked all emails, alerts, and notifications from my bank.
So, as money moved out of accounts, I was oblivious.
Then came the realization that sent a chill down my spine: For who knows how long, he had been watching me through my own camera. A stranger had a front-row seat to my office, my work, and my daily life!
As I came to terms with that, I realized that there’s a powerful lesson here. We all act differently when we know someone is watching, but really, the camera is always on. Hashem watches everything we do and say - every decision we make and every conversation we have. Because we don’t see him, it’s easy to forget he’s watching. But we should be going through our day and living our lives as if we’re always on display.
The hacker taught me another lesson, too. He was patient and methodical. Instead of immediately stealing money, he took the time to set things up properly, silencing alerts, and slowly chipping away at our safeguards.
The same thing can happen spiritually. Hashem constantly sends us alerts. An invitation to a minyan, a reminder to put on tefillin, an inspiring Torah class, an opportunity to help another Jew.
But life is noisy. Distractions, excuses, and habits can filter out those alerts before we even notice them.
So be careful before you get into the habit of brushing off minyan or tefillin or the opportunity to do tzedakah. Those alerts are there for a reason - don’t miss out because you weren’t paying attention.