I wrote this two years ago, during the Aseret Yemei Teshuva while I was in seminary. Not much has changed… besides for my phone, which is why I’m publishing this now. Mom, the phone survived for two more years.

It fell in slow motion. One of those moments where I knew it would happen, but just kind of assumed it wouldn’t. My phone bounced off the rim, glided through the air, and fell in the toilet.

A gasp slid down my throat to the pit of my stomach.

It bobbed there for a second before I jabbed my hand in and grabbed it out. Automatically, I cleansed the phone, patted it down, and cushioned it in a bed of therapeutic rice. Once I took a breath and acknowledged my phone was on its way to recovery, I sat down at my kitchen table and played back what had just happened.

I grabbed that phone in a split second.

Don’t think I would’ve reacted that quickly for human life. Hehe.

But wait. Epiphany #1. Would I?

I chuckle, hope the water will seep out, and pray my nervousness won’t seep through.

A couple of hours later, I took out the phone. The only problem seemed to be that any time I turned it off, it would restart instead. The next logical step, I called my brother, the tech wizard.

“You… the phone you’re using now?”

“Uh huh,” I nod over the phone. “So what do I do next?”

“Turn it off. Now. Get off the phone and turn it off and put it back in rice. Do you understand?”

“But I—”

“Now. Call me after 24 hours.” He hung up before I could explain the implausibility of his plan. For one, my phone couldn’t turn off. Second, I wouldn’t be able to separate from my phone for 24 hours if it isn’t Shabbat or a holiday.

Epiphany #2. I can survive without food for up to 25 hours, but I can’t give up my phone for 24.

Something is seriously wrong.

The addiction will only restart. All I can do is leave it in the rice to recuperate. For the phone to recuperate. I think.

 

I was right, and I was physically unable to separate from my phone for 24 hours. After about 16 hours, I took it out. I turned it off, squeezed my eyes shut, and sucked in my breath. When I peeked one eye open and saw the Apple sign hadn’t reappeared, I let out a full breath and almost collapsed. It was going to be okay, and I kind of sort of repented for my addiction.

 

Emphasis on the kind of sort of. This all happened a few weeks ago, right before Yom Kippur. A couple of days ago, my phone refused to turn off again, and it won’t fix itself. The cause according to the Internet? Water damage.

I’m going to have to find some way to turn this off. Wish me luck.