Recently, whilst scrolling on my phone in the early hours of the morning, I came across a news article that lauded the emergence of digital detoxes: periodic breaks from engaging with one’s mobile phone for varied periods of time. According to recent scientific studies, these digital detoxes can reverse up to ten years of age-related cognitive decline resulting from consistent social media use.
The article began by describing the story of a young woman who won a pivotal lawsuit against Meta and YouTube. She claimed that she had lost control of her life to social media, becoming addicted to the habit of scrolling on their platforms, to the point that it consumed her life. Her testimony described an addiction that led to not only a decline in her quality of life, but also what scientists are discovering as a decline in her cognitive ability to function according to her age.
As an older millennial, I remember the time before: when cellphones could not fit in pockets, when smartphones were still met with cynicism, and when laptops (despite their comparatively smaller sizes to desktops) were still too heavy and too cumbersome to lug around. I admit that I am quick to idealize this past, mostly because I find it difficult to sever myself from the desire to hop on my phone whenever the moment allows, whenever it provides an easier choice than engaging with the world around me. That’s why I was intrigued by what I read in this article: digital detoxes as a mechanism for not just repair, but change.
In this context, a digital detox is the practice of not engaging with social media platforms. In the scientific studies referenced in the article, participants were permitted to use phones as communication devices with family and friends (i.e. using text message and phone functions) but prohibited from using the internet. After fourteen days of doing this, many reported improvements in their ability to focus for long periods of time, their mental health, and their overall wellbeing.
In the opening lines of parashat Behar-Bechukotai, we learn of the shmitah, the sabbatical year that the Israelites are commanded to give their land after six years of reaping from its soil.
Speak to the Israelite people and say to them: When you enter the land that I assign to you, the land shall observe a sabbath of GOD. Six years you may sow your field and six years you may prune your vineyard and gather in the yield. But in the seventh year the land shall have a sabbath of complete rest, a sabbath of GOD: you shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard. (Leviticus 25:1-4)
The rabbinic sages of our Talmud speak of these verses. Sanhedrin 39a:12-13 recounts a story in which:
“A certain student came before Rabbi Abbahu and said to him: What is the reason for the mitzvah of the Sabbatical Year? Rabbi Abbahu said to them: Now I will tell you something that is fit for the two of you. Rabbi Abbahu continued: The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to the Jewish people: Sow for six years, and withhold sowing during the seventh year, so that you will know that the land is Mine. But the Jewish people did not do so; rather, they sinned and were consequently exiled.”
Most of the modern commentary offered about this Talmudic interaction expounds upon the reason that Rabbi Abbahu offers his students, namely the phrase “…the land is Mine.” However, I am more intrigued by the sentence that comes immediately after: After not performing the mitzvah of shmitah, after not allowing the land to rest during a sabbatical year, the Jewish people were exiled.
How many times do we exile ourselves from the real world around us when we decide to engage in the fabricated worlds created by our phones? What is the cost of this chosen exile?
As the article highlights, scientific research suggests that the cost is higher rates of mental illness and less overall satisfaction in the social interactions that people do have in person, as they are distracted by their phones. But perhaps this exile we create through our inability to disconnect or give ourselves a periodic sabbatical is a less quantitative one: the ability to be present in a way that recognizes the holiness that surrounds us. As we become distracted by the allure of what lives on the screen, we lose the ability to sense the real holiness that surrounds us. A shmitah from our screens may be just what we need.