My Phone Won’t Let Me Atone

It was 10:08 AM on Rosh Hashanah morning, and I was settling into my seat near the rear of the social hall, a good 50 feet beyond the rarely-opened room dividers at the back of the sanctuary. I donned my tallit, miraculously turned right to the second aliyah in the mahzor (you can’t help but feel like a superhero when you pull that one off), and took a deep breath, taking in the weight of the day.

Then it happened: buzz.

I ignored it, knowing that I had silenced my phone before services. I’m a rule follower, after all. A role model to my 15-year-old son, whom I certainly couldn’t tell not to be on his phone if I was on mine.

Although I was buried deeply enough in the crowd that the clergy certainly wouldn’t notice me peering down at my lap for a brief moment, I wasn’t going to let my phone get the best of me. But then, just as I was getting into the rhythm of the special Rosh Hashanah Torah reading again, buzz buzz. Was this some kind of test? If so, I was failing miserably.

Now, it wasn’t just one buzz. My phone seemed to have synchronized with the Torah reading. With every Sof Pasuk… buzz. A new Instagram post. Buzz. A post-season Dodgers pitching update. Buzz buzz. An email I absolutely didn’t need to read right then. Buzz. I thought I had been smart by silencing it, but no—vibrations know no bounds.  And don’t get me started on my smart watch notifications…

Here’s the thing: even though I knew the right move was to ignore it, the urge to pull the phone out and check was stronger than I’d like to admit. And before I could stop myself, there it was, in my hand, screen aglow, offering me information I didn’t need. “Reply ‘c’ to confirm your Smile Dentist appointment on Thursday at 8 AM.” Really?

And that’s when it hit me: What am I doing? Here I am, on one of the holiest days of the year, a day meant for reflection, and instead, I’m getting caught up in mundane notifications about my modern life. Rosh Hashanah is supposed to be a time to set the tone for the new year, and here I was, establishing that the year ahead would be one of being easily distracted by tech.

I put the phone back in my pocket, vowing not to check it again. But after that, every buzz felt like a challenge—a reminder of how easily I get pulled away from what really matters. As the service went on, I started thinking more about it. I could ignore the buzz, sure, but maybe there was something bigger to take away here.

What if, instead of treating my phone as a distraction, I used it as a reminder? What if every buzz during that four-hour Rosh Hashanah service wasn’t trying to get me to check a text, but trying to get me to check in with myself?

I started to experiment. Every time my phone buzzed, instead of letting it pull me away, I’d take a deep breath, refocus on the Torah reading, the rabbi’s dulcet tones, or the Hineni (if there ever was a time to refocus, a prayer entitled “Here I Am” was it!), and remind myself of why I was there. Maybe that buzz could be a trigger—not to look at my phone—but to look inward. I could think about the ways I’d been distracted in life, the times I’d let small things pull me away from what’s truly important: family, community, and my brilliant internal monologue.

By the end of the service, I had a plan. I decided that Yom Kippur would be different. On Yom Kippur, I’d make sure to silence my phone properly—no vibrations, no subtle buzzes to interrupt my day. But more than that, I’d turn the lesson from Rosh Hashanah into action. Instead of allowing myself to be distracted, I’d focus even more on being present. I wouldn’t just ignore the phone; I’d take the extra step to actively tune in to what I was supposed to be doing: reflecting, repenting, and growing. Furthermore, with each ungodly, unprovoked urge to check my completely silent phone, I would double down on my presence in the moment.

Yom Kippur is the ultimate day of introspection, the time when we’re supposed to really look at ourselves and think about where we’ve gone astray. My phone buzzing on Rosh Hashanah had shown me one of my own personal struggles—how easily I can be pulled away from the moment. So on Yom Kippur, I vow to be all in, fully present, using the lessons from that incessant buzzing to refocus on what matters most.

Of course, I know it won’t be easy. Even on Yom Kippur, the outside world is always just a pocket away, tempting me with its endless stream of updates. But this year, I’m determined to turn the urge to check my phone into a chance to check myself. If I feel the itch to reach for my phone, I’ll take it as a reminder to pause and refocus on why I’m there: to reflect, to grow, and to reconnect with what really matters in my life.

This Yom Kippur, I’m aiming for more than just silencing distractions—I want to use the quiet to find something deeper. Instead of letting technology pull me away, I’ll lean into the stillness and the opportunity it brings. Who knows, maybe by tuning out the buzz, I’ll hear something far more important.