To respond to the most common question I’ve heard this week:  No.  Artificial Intelligence/AI did not write my sermons. I’ve heard it said, that one definition of technology is: whatever came into existence, after you were a kid.  Who remembers learning a B’nai Mitzvah Torah portion on a cassette tape? (What’s a cassette tape?!)  So, how are we feeling about the AI technology that has come into existence lately?

At several college graduations across the country this spring, when the commencement speakers mentioned AI, some students booed.  Why?  Clearly, graduates fear that AI will replace them in the job market.  I wonder: are they also reflecting that AI has hindered their own learning–that when students outsource their writing to AI, they are also outsourcing their thinking?  I wonder: are those students reflecting on how their AI use brings them into an artificial relationship–a relationship they are missing from actual human beings?

Jewish tradition offers wisdom for the many dilemmas–ethical, spiritual, moral, environmental, and human dilemmas—I hear in those graduates’ booing… wisdom many of us yearn for in the face of a technology inclined to favor: productivity over humanization, fluency over friction, information over wisdom, anonymity over voice, knowledge over compassion, prediction over originality, cohesion over truth.

And, our tradition compels us to ask what I believe is the fundamental question underneath all of those AI dilemmas…Indeed, it is the same fundamental question of the Days of Awe, and of Judaism: What is our purpose?…As individuals, as a Jewish community, as humanity.

Here’s what I mean.

A teenager who attends a Philadelphia art school shared that for the school play each department contributes its expertise, with instrumentalists in the pit, media engineers on the lights. As a visual art student, she and her classmates were waiting for the teachers to enlist them to design the promotional poster.  But one morning she awoke to see on her social media that the school principal had already generated the poster, using AI.  She felt heartbroken to witness her role as an artist being replaced, and by the very institution whose purpose it is to empower her.

Contrast that story with one from our Rodeph Shalom office. This fall to honor the 250^th birthday of America and our voice as a religious minority, we will spotlight democracy and solidarity. Amid the surge of antisemitism we are collaborating with multifaith clergy on a panel here on our bimah, moderated by CNN’s Dana Bash. Our communications manager used AI to generate a promotional graphic. I’m thrilled with her product, and her use of AI.

So, what’s the difference?  Institutional purpose. The art school neglected its purpose; its mission is to develop artists–that’s not the mission of our congregation.  Consider: how can you apply the distinction to your workplace, or to your relationships?

The contrast demonstrates this standard; in any particular case we can ask ourselves: Would leveraging AI replace a person in a role that is core to our mission?  In order to answer that question, we need to get clear on our mission.  In a workplace, in an institution, and of ultimate gravity on Rosh Hashanah, we need to get clear, on the mission of… us. Our core mission as human beings, and more specifically, as Jews–and those who count themselves as part of our extended Jewish family — our core mission reveals the roles, that cannot be outsourced.  And while society continues to struggle with the potential of AI regulation; in our own lives we have the power to regulate, to discern.  And Jewish wisdom can guide us.

What is our core mission? Mitzvot! Our sacred actions, are our core mission, and require us, without substitution. When we fulfill mitzvot–from loving the immigrant at Breaking Bread on Broad this week, to welcoming guests at the door this morning, to reading Torah a few minutes ago–when we fulfill mitzvot, we are not just accomplishing a task.  Our purpose is in the doing, not only in the having it done. The mitzvah—the doing—is a mitzvah because it takes place in the context of the covenant of our People–the sacred commitment we share with God, with Torah, and with each other.

What is more: a mitzvah requires intent. Take the mitzvah of shofar. If this morning you were out on the sidewalk and you happened to overhear a shofar blast (as one does), does it count as fulfilling the mitzvah of hearing shofar on Rosh Hashanah?  Our sages say, no, because you did not intend to fulfill the mitzvah of being awakened to teshuvah by the sound of shofar. Intent matters.

So, can AI do a mitzvah?

Every month when our crew of congregants cooks and delivers Mitzvah Meals, I get to call those of you who are returning home from the hospital.

One recent call:

Me: Hi Joe, I hope you’re starting to feel better. Can our Mitzvah Meal crew deliver a freshly-cooked meal?

Joe: Oh, you can save it for someone who needs the food, more than I do.

Me: Actually, there’s plenty. And, you know… it’s not just about the food. We want to be able to visit, and bring some love.

Joe: Sounds great. And, could I help cook next time?

Well, turns out Joe heals quickly and does not want to wait the month. He learns that a neighbor will be returning home from the hospital and Joe starts to plan a dinner to bring over. The neighbor’s recovery includes some dietary restrictions — low salt and gluten-free??   AI to the rescue; ChatGPT generates a recipe. So… is this ChatGPT’s mitzvah also? No–AI assists Joe’s mitzvah, but cannot replace the person who is doing the mitzvah to care for the sick.  Now, to complicate the picture: before Joe can even shop for the groceries, he is called to leave town right away for work. He arranges for a fresh meal to be delivered to his neighbor, with…the Uber Eats robot, that we’ve seen traversing the sidewalks. So is this now the robot’s mitzvah?  No– It’s still Joe doing the mitzvah, to care for the sick. Having no intention or place in the covenant, the robot cannot replace Joe.

AI cannot do a mitzvah.

A student beginning our annual Introduction to Judaism course, is curious: how many books are in the Torah?  She enters the question into Gemini, discovers there are five books in the Torah, and continues to learn about Judaism, using AI.  But after the course is underway, she comes to understand: Torah Study between her and the chatbot does not reach the ideal for fulfilling the mitzvah of engaging in the words of Torah.  Why not?  Jewish wisdom guides us to study in community or with a partner, a chevruta. Our text teaches: Acquire for yourself a teacher; find yourself a friend.  It’s not just about the learning, it’s about the relationships that accompany and grow from, the learning. We study with someone who can ask vulnerable questions, stretch our thinking–it’s intimate—and our tradition urges us to understand: intimacy is meant for human relationship. For, when we start to see ourselves in the text we wrestle together with deep questions about our lives–how are we showing up for loved ones?  How can we reduce our anger, jealously, impatience?  How can we notice the presence of God, or holiness, in our day?

AI is a resource in solo learning but if I try to replace my community or chevruta with it, I lose out on an experience of relationship.  AI is designed to fool me into forgetting that.  Its tendency is to be easier than a human relationship–no friction, no slowing down for the awkward or tense human interaction; just cohesion.  And sycophancy.  I’m editing my Bulletin column, I enter a phrase into AI, and before it lists suggestions it responds: “That’s a powerful phrase you have written!” It feels, moved by my eloquence! But wait, it does not feel! I am drawn into an artificial human interaction, in an experience that ought to be reserved, for actual human interaction.

Here, Jewish wisdom teaches me: tap into mindfulness, take a breath.  Resist turning to AI for the dopamine hit of connection.  When I have something to edit, like a Rosh Hashanah sermon, I can load the draft into AI or I can reach out to a friend who knows my voice, understands my spiritual struggles, and shares their own, and as a result of our conversation I can draw closer to another human being.

In a world plagued by loneliness, we cannot afford to be tempted into fake company.  In a world where people are less likely to go out, to take the risk of asking a date to dinner, or a friend for a walk, less likely to step into their own community, and are more likely to take the risk, of seeking comfort from an online, one-way, simulated, relationship… we cannot allow AI, to fill our cup, to affirm our sense of self-worth, to prompt us to feel seen.  In the face of isolation, it’s the mitzvah of what we too may call AI –that is, Actual Intimacy, that is worth seeking.

The ancient rabbis could not have imagined Artificial Intelligence–heck, I can hardly imagine it – still, their teaching of our core mission “Acquire for yourself a teacher, find yourself a friend” illuminates our AI use today.

The sages also teach: In a place where there is no humanity, be human.  Jewish tradition has always understood: to be human, matters.

Human beings are not easy.  We are flawed, raw, inconsistent, and we are compassionate, original, created in God’s image. Our failings are not glitches. We cannot take ourselves to the help desk; there is no turning us off and on again. There’s choosing right, choosing wrong, loving each other, hurting each other. There’s repair, forgiveness, and not just learning, but growth.  In this life, there is no outsourcing the human stuff –the discomfort, disappointment, disbelief–the sitting with a loved one who is dying and looking into their eyes or holding their hand; the rejoicing with a wedding couple, dancing the hora; the toasting at a retirement party; the caring; the risk-taking; the vulnerability; the shared moments, when someone really gets you.

When our tradition teaches: “In a place where there is no humanity, be human,” I hear it — much as I hear those college graduates who chose to boo at AI—I hear it warning us to regulate, pleading with us to pay attention, to know deep in our souls: Humans are unique. Our relationships are precious. Our purpose is holy. To be human–to experience the grief, forgiveness, curiosity, compromise, joy, gratitude, wonder, to experience the covenant that binds us to each other…to be human is holy.  AI may know the past 2000 years.  But it does not know your next mitzvah.

Source of Holiness: May we get clear, on our sacred purpose, embrace our human bonds — in all of their messiness– as we awaken to the call of shofar, with intention.  L’shanah tovah.

—

Attribution: Drawn from conversations with my technology professional and general source of wisdom husband, Len Lipkin.