The old childhood refrain of, “Did someone turn off the light in the fridge?” echoes in all our collective memories of the Erev Shabbos rush. In our house, protocol was to remove the little lightbulb in the refrigerator as soon as it was delivered.

Today’s sophisticated appliances have myriad electronic features. Messages about the temperature and the filter might sound, along with a helpful, incessant buzzing if the door of the fridge or freezer is left ajar. Very useful and impressive technology. Basically, impossible to disconnect.

But my new GE fridge would have this incredible perk: All I’d have to do was program in my geographical location, and I was set for the next 30 years. (The refrigerator should only last that long!) It seemed almost too good to be true.

I went all out — water, crushed ice, and ice dispenser (I am an iced coffee addict). Yes, our local appliance store had heard of the innovation. Yes, there was an extra fee. But it would be well worth it for one less Erev Shabbos stress.

The fridge arrived on Friday. Fortunately, I had a tech specialist over for Shabbos — a teenage grandson. He took the device that came with the fridge, followed the instructions, programmed it for our zip code, and we were ready to go. Erev Shabbos was already less stressful.

The lights on the door, where the ice dispenser is, went off as the sun set and we lit the Shabbos candles. We were in business!

Since I had children visiting, it wasn’t long before someone needed a drink. My daughter opened the Shabbos-compliant refrigerator door and gasped, “The light went on!”

What? It was supposed to be on Shabbos mode. What went wrong? Another dream turned into a nightmare!

“Where’s your phone?” my logically minded tech specialist asked determinedly. (We had lit the candles, but it wasn’t yet shkiah.)

“Who are you calling?” The rav? The appliance store? The minds behind GE?

I had no idea what he was doing, but he shone with the confidence of a tech-savvy teenager. “I’m putting it on video in the fridge.”

Thirty seconds later, he opened the fridge door. The light was on. And when my grandson pushed playback, we were able to see that the light also stayed on when the door was closed. This refrigerator really knew all the halachos!

The One Above — and, l’havdil, the General Electric company — had heard my tefillos.

A few months later I’m happy to report calm Erev Shabbosim. I might add that our fridge is very machmir. All the lights and bells and buzzers disengage at plag haMinchah and do not go back on until 90 minutes after shkiah.

Now, as we watch the sun go down and sadly usher Shabbos to its end, I don’t look skyward or to the shul bulletin. I glance at my fridge door.

Yup, three little lights are shining: Water, Ice, and Crushed Ice. Gut voch! 

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 957)