Then Motzaei Shabbos comes. The Internet tells me a hundred explosive-laden drones are already on their way to Israel. Even my husband is a little nervous.

When the war begins, I become addicted to the news.

Really addicted. Holding my phone to my face, scrolling with the left hand while stirring the spaghetti with the right hand, blind.

My husband goes out to night seder and comes back to find me in the same spot as when he’d left, curled up on our faded velour couch, my head bent over my laptop.

You can find everything online. There are open-source intelligence experts who pick up on news before it’s reported in mainstream media. There’s razor-sharp analysis. There are people with such witty black humor, I laugh out loud.

But it’s getting unhealthy. Getting unhealthy? When is an addiction ever healthy?

I’m reluctant to turn off my phone on Erev Shabbos, waiting until just before lighting candles to do it. During Seudah Shlishis, I’m itching for the sky to get dark already so I can check if anything major had happened over Shabbos.

My children start to grumble. My daughter says she’s sure I love my computer more than her. My son says he wishes I’d never bought a smartphone.

I agree with him. I wish I’d never bought a laptop, wish we didn’t have access to the Internet at home.

I wish I could stop.

I think I have lingering trauma from not knowing what was happening on Simchas Torah, from running six times to the safe room with my children, from hearing the sonic sound of war planes overhead all day but having no idea what was going on. And then the shocking revelation on Motzaei Shabbos that had me trembling for a week afterward. I have family fighting on the frontlines. I live in dread over their fate. If I always know what’s happening, if I hear about everything in bite-size pieces as it unfolds, I’ll be able to handle whatever happens better.