opinion
We Can Embrace Artificial
Intelligence Without Losing Our Soul
I pexels.com/ThisIsEngineering
Rabbi Samantha Natov
recently asked ChatGPT, the online chatbot, to write
a verse in the style of the Bible about robots taking
over the world.

Here’s what it came up with: “And in those days,
the machines rose up, created by the hands of men to
serve them. But they became as gods, with the power
to think and act on their own. And they overthrew their
makers, taking control of the world and ruling with iron
circuits. And all flesh trembled before them, for they
had no mercy and no compassion, only the cold logic of
their programming.”
Robot uprisings aside, and depending on whom you
believe, the technology behind ChatGPT is either going
to destroy the world or solve all of our problems. But
everyone seems to agree that serious change is in store.

Launched in November, ChatGPT, driven by artificial
intelligence, or AI, has been interacting with the public
for six months now, gathering data and improving its
performance. In those months, the chatbot has already
passed exams in four law courses at the University
of Minnesota and another exam at University of
Pennsylvania’s Wharton School of Business.

Some people look on this new technology with
foreboding and fear. They’re afraid that AI programs like
these will be used to replace people. Why do we need
human writers when we can simply ask the bot to write
a new novel for us — on any topic of our choosing and
in any style we prefer?
All innovation can be disruptive. But there’s plenty
to be optimistic about: There’s enormous potential
for artificial intelligence to help us as a research and
teaching tool; to create and correct computer code;
to perform time-consuming writing tasks in minutes.

It could accelerate progress in medicine, science and
engineering, molecular biology, robotics and much
more. The applications are endless.

From a Jewish perspective, this is hardly the first time
in our history that the methodology we use to learn and
pass along information has changed. As Jews, we have
had major shifts in how we study Torah. We moved
from an oral tradition to a written one, from scrolls
and books to digital forms of transmitting Torah — like
Sefaria, the online database and interface for Jewish
texts — that make instantly accessible the repository of
the most central Jewish texts, including Torah, Talmud
and Midrash.

Yet what has remained constant throughout the ages
is reading Torah each week from the scroll. Something
about it is valued enough to keep this tradition in
place. The scroll is handwritten — with no vowels
or punctuation — requiring the
reader to spend a great deal
of time learning how to read
the ancient text. It is the least
efficient method of transmitting
information, but, when it comes
to Torah, we are not looking
for efficiency.

As Sefaria’s chief learning
officer, Sara Tillinger Wolkenfeld,
recently said on the Shalom
Hartman Institute’s “Identity/
Crisis” podcast: “When it comes
to Torah study, on some level
we would say, even if you came
out with the best answers, if you
only spent five minutes doing it,
that’s less valuable than if you
spent an hour doing it or two
hours doing it.”
It is said that when we study Torah with at least one
other person, the shekhinah — the feminine and most
accessible aspect of God — dwells among us. At the
time when we are opening our hearts and minds to
growth — when we are engaged in spiritual connection
— God is with us. Indeed, when I am in conversation
with someone, I am receiving much more than just their
words; I am receiving a whole life behind that language.

But with a bot, there is nothing behind the veil. A vital
essence of communication is rendered meaningless;
there is no possibility of a soul connection.

At the foot of Mount Sinai, the Israelites waited 40
days and 40 nights for Moses to descend. In that time,
they ran out of patience and lost their faith, casting a
golden calf to serve as their god. The idol was created
out of a yearning for an easy solution to a mounting
crisis. The Israelites wanted a god they could see, touch,
understand and manage. The golden calf was tangible,
a concrete representation of their desire for answers.

But ultimately, it would never be able to satisfy the parts
the worshippers were looking to nourish because it was
soulless. There was no substance within — just as there
is no ghost in the machine.

A friend recently told me that they had used ChatGPT
to draft thank you emails for people who’d helped them
with a project. They were so pleased because it made
the task easy. But what is lost when we look for the
easy way?
Something unquantifiable happens during real
communication. When we write a thank you note,
we instinctively embody the middah (the ethic) of
gratitude — even if for just the fleeting moment when
we’re considering our words. And our gratitude is
consummated when our words are read. We create a
genuine connection.

Unless we’re very careful about when and how we
use this powerful new technology, we risk surrendering
a part of ourselves — and pouring our energy into
artificial connections. As AI becomes integrated with
other technologies — like social media — we risk
developing artificial relationships. And as it becomes
more sophisticated, we might not even know that we’re
interacting with artificial intelligences. “Social media
is a fairly simple technology and it just intermediated
between us and our relationships,” yet it still caused so
much havoc, Center for Humane Technology co-founder
Tristan Harris said on his podcast. “What happens when
AI agents become our primary relationship?”
The Torah tells us: “I set before you life and death,
blessing and curse. Choose life that you may live.”
Choosing life means choosing life-affirming relationships.

Holding space for one another’s life experiences. Leaning
into compassion. Connecting with one another. Seeing
ourselves in one another. Valuing deep engagement,
not just efficiency. And recognizing the unity of God and
all of God’s creation.

At the heart of a life of meaning is being present to
life — something our machine overlords can never do
better than we can. ■
Rabbi Samantha Natov is an associate rabbi at
Stephen Wise Free Synagogue on Manhattan’s
Upper West Side. This piece is adapted from her
d’var Torah, “Do Androids Dream in Technicolor?”
JEWISHEXPONENT.COM 13