WhatsApp greetings: welcome connection or irritating interruption?

Every Friday, they arrive. A colourful bouquet. A sunset over Jerusalem. A Shabbat table glowing with candles. 

During Elul, the Hebrew month preceding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, there’s a daily stream of images encouraging reflection, repentance, prayer, and spiritual preparation, along with videos of shofar blowing. 

For some, these messages are a small but meaningful reminder of Jewish connection. For others, they are digital clutter that gets deleted, muted, or ignored. The difference isn’t so much about whether people value Jewish connection. It’s about what connection looks like in an age of WhatsApp. 

Miriam*, a retired primary school teacher living in Sea Point, Cape Town, welcomes the messages. “Every Friday morning, my WhatsApp lights up with bright floral images wishing me Shabbat Shalom, and during Elul, it’s beautiful reminders to reflect,” she says. “Why wouldn’t someone want that blessing in their day?” 

For Miriam, the messages represent a modern form of something that existed long before smartphones. “People complain about clutter on their phones, but to me, it replaces the old printed newsletters and paper holiday cards we used to post,” she says. “It’s just modern chesed [kindness].” 

She believes these small digital gestures can be particularly significant for people who may otherwise feel disconnected. “For older people who live alone or whose children have emigrated, getting a colourful picture with a prayer or an Elul message makes us feel remembered and connected to the community.” 

Elul has a particular significance in this context. It is a time for spiritual preparation before the high holy days. The month is associated with teshuvah, commonly understood as repentance or returning to the right path. People are encouraged to examine themselves and their relationships. 

For Miriam, a daily message can provide a practical prompt to do this. “When Elul begins, life moves so fast that having a daily image pop up forces me to take a breath, pause, and put my mind into a state of teshuvah,” she says. 

But the messages that bring Miriam comfort are a source of frustration for Dean*, a 28-year-old tech entrepreneur and graphic designer in Rosebank, Johannesburg. “It’s digital junk food,” he says. “Impersonal graphics, increasingly AI-generated, forwarded to 50 broadcast lists at once without a single thoughtful word tailored to the person receiving it.” 

Dean says the problem becomes particularly noticeable at this time of year. “During Elul, my phone literally vibrates non-stop with low-resolution JPEG images of shofars and sunrise quotes, to the point where actual urgent personal messages get completely buried,” he says. 

For him, the issue isn’t the sentiment behind a Shabbat Shalom or Elul greeting. It’s the method used to communicate it. “If you want to wish me a meaningful Shabbat Shalom or check in on me during the month of Elul, send me a voice note or call me,” he says. “Don’t just tap ‘forward’ on a recycled chain image.” 

He sees a contradiction between the purpose of Elul and the way some of its messages are delivered. “There’s a real irony in using automated digital spam to remind people about deep, introspective spiritual preparation for the high holy days.” 

Dean has responded by muting family groups and changing his WhatsApp settings to reduce the amount of content reaching his phone. He’s noticed that since the proliferation of ChatGPT and similar AI platforms, his family members have taken to creating their own Elul messages, which, he says, “I can’t stand to look at.” 

A Cape Town rabbi sees merit in both perspectives. “We have to distinguish between the delivery mechanism and the heart behind it,” he says. “The desire to wish a fellow Jew Shabbat Shalom or encourage spiritual awareness in Elul is fundamentally noble.” 

At the same time, he says, there is a danger. “The challenge is that sacred concepts require mindfulness, and when holy ideas are turned into daily digital mass production, they risk losing their gravitas. 

“I see both sides daily in the congregation,” the rabbi says. “Elderly members who feel embraced by these graphics, and young professionals who feel suffocated by notification fatigue.” 

The tension is particularly relevant during Elul. “During Elul, introspection requires quiet and focus, but our smartphones create constant noise,” he says. “Sometimes a daily visual notification helps spark reflection, and other times it just adds to the noise.” 

Batya*, a mother of three and communal volunteer in Cape Town, experiences the divide from the middle. She finds herself navigating the expectations of older relatives while dealing with children who have little patience for WhatsApp overload. 

“I’m in the middle generation, where my mother forwards me six Elul graphics a morning and my teenage kids are constantly begging me to leave the extended family chat because of the spam,” she says. 

Yet she struggles to reject the messages outright. “I don’t have the heart to tell my aunt that her daily Shabbat Shalom glitter image goes straight to my archived chats because I know she sends it out of genuine love,” she says. 

For Batya, the difference reflects changing ideas about what it means to maintain relationships. “There is definitely a generational divide in how we define connection,” she says. “Older relatives see sending an image as an active touchpoint, while younger people view it as thoughtless broadcast spam.” 

That divide can have consequences for the very messages intended to encourage spiritual awareness. “By the third week of Elul, the volume becomes so intense that people start ignoring the messages altogether,” Batya says. “Which defeats the entire purpose of the spiritual wake-up call.” 

Her solution is diplomatic rather than confrontational. “I’ve learned to just send a quick heart emoji reply to keep the peace,” she says. “But internally, I’m constantly clearing storage space off my phone.” 

The rabbi believes neither response should be dismissed. “Ultimately, technology is a tool,” he says. “While chain-forwarding graphics isn’t deep Torah study, if it brings a moment of Jewish connection to someone who is isolated, we shouldn’t dismiss it entirely.” 

That may be the heart of the Shabbat Shalom debate. The same image can be experienced as kindness by one person and clutter by another. A daily reminder can prompt reflection for one recipient while becoming another notification to swipe away. 

As Jewish communities increasingly communicate through screens, even an ancient greeting is taking on a new meaning. For some, a Shabbat Shalom image is a simple blessing. For others, it is a reminder that the most meaningful connection may sometimes be the one that arrives without a picture attached. 

*Interviewees have requested anonymity for privacy reasons.