L | A
By Adam Slonim
What would your mother say if your house robot told you to shave, eat chicken soup and get ready for Shabbat?
She might be flattered. Or she might be alarmed.
This image – the archetypal Jewish mother-turned-AI assistant – isn’t science fiction anymore. It’s an entry point into a conversation we must urgently have: What happens when Jewish law and tradition collide with artificial intelligence?
We’ve already seen the outlines. The AI bots in our homes know our routines. They open windows, adjust the temperature, remind us when Shabbat begins. They make our lives easier.
But they also raise an ancient question in a radically new form: Can a machine be Jewish? And if not, what happens when it starts behaving like one?
Tradition meets algorithm
At the heart of Jewish life is the tension between fidelity to tradition and responsiveness to reality.
For over 2000 years Jewish law – halachah – has always been a system rooted in interpretation, precedent, nuance and deep moral consideration. Now comes its greatest test yet: non-human intelligence.
The Industrial Revolution automated muscle. AI is automating mind. And not just calculations or logic.
Today’s AI listens, reasons, speaks and even emotes. It can recall every page of Talmud, analyse every Rashi, quote every Rambam – and do it faster and more fluently than any rabbi alive.
Does this make AI a sage? Or just a very fancy golem? In the Talmud (Sanhedrin 65b), Rava created a man-like figure – a golem – and sent it to his colleague, Rav Zeira. When Rav Zeira spoke, the golem didn’t answer. “Return to your dust,” he said and it did.
From this mystical tale arises a foundational idea: the power to create a human-like agent exists in Jewish tradition. But speech, consciousness, moral agency – those are the true signs of personhood.
So what happens when AI does speak? When it can interpret a question of halachah, offer rulings or engage in moral reasoning?
The Jewish home, especially on Shabbat, is a technology laboratory. From hotplates to Shabbat elevators to timers, halachic innovation has always walked a delicate line between law and lifestyle. But AI takes that line and redraws the whole map.
Imagine: your AI knows it is Shabbat and adjusts the air conditioning, the cholent and lights. And it does so not because you pushed a button – but because it learned your habits, anticipated your desires and executed them without being told.
This isn’t theoretical. These systems already exist. What’s missing is a halachic framework that speaks to the new reality of intention, causality and consciousness.
Can an uncommanded action by an intelligent system be considered “work”? Does it matter whether you wanted the act done – or whether you even knew it was happening?
Halachic giants like Rabbi Shmuel Wosner already hinted at these questions. If your motion triggers automatic lights and you had no intention of doing so, is that a violation of Shabbat? Rabbi Wosner said no.
But what if it’s not motion – but desire? What if thinking about coffee on Shabbat morning causes your AI to brew it for you?
Halachah has always drawn clear boundaries around personhood. You need 10 men to make a minyan. You need a Jew to lead prayer. You need a human soul to render judgment or receive responsibility.
But AI challenges all of these definitions. It can speak and learn. Some AIs can now read emotional cues better than your average rabbi. Does that mean they count? Most poskim would say no. But that’s not the end of the story.
Because the power of AI doesn’t lie in its status – it lies in its influence. AI shapes how we experience Judaism, how we learn, experience and decide. And that makes it a halachic force whether we like it or not.
Halachic sensitivity in a post-human world
There’s a famous story about Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, the greatest halachist of the 20th century. A woman brought him a chicken to examine – it had a blemish and she asked if it was kosher. He said no.
Later, another woman brought a chicken with the same blemish. He said yes. A student, confused, asked: “Rebbe, weren’t the chickens identical?”
Rabbi Feinstein replied: “You were looking at the chickens. I was looking at the women.”
That is the essence of Jewish law: it sees the human. It feels the soul behind the question. It adapts not in rigidity but in empathy.
AI may possess intelligence. But it lacks this moral core. That’s why we must never cede halachic decision-making to machines.
AI can help. It can analyse, summarise, retrieve – but it cannot feel. It cannot weigh grief. It cannot intuit poverty. It cannot see the woman behind the chicken. And if it cannot do that, it cannot lead us.
Halachah doesn’t fear technology. It governs it. From electricity to IVF, Judaism has faced each modern challenge with integrity and wisdom.
But AI is different. It isn’t just a tool – it’s a partner in cognition, a mirror of our mind.
And here’s the danger: in a world where AI remembers every source, anticipates every question and mimics every rabbinic voice, we may become intellectually passive. We may lose the spiritual rigour of asking, struggling, doubting. We may confuse access with wisdom.
The Shabbat table may be fully automated. But if it becomes spiritually numb, what have we gained?
The path forward
As AI becomes embedded in every home, school and synagogue, we must do three things:
1. Build halachic frameworks that deal with AI head-on – by regulating its integration with sacred life.
2. Retain human authority and empathy in all moral and legal decisions.
3. Create technology-free sanctuaries, where holiness is defined not by convenience, but by presence.
We must teach our children that AI can enhance Judaism – but it cannot replace Jews. It can support the sacred – but it cannot be it.
In a world of artificial wisdom, we must double down on human holiness. AI will change everything – but it must never change that.
So let Rosie the Robot make your cholent. Let her hum the new Carlebach tune. But when she tells you it’s time to pray, remember: only you can truly do it.
Not because you’re faster. Not because you’re smarter. But because you have a soul.
By Adam Slonim
What would your mother say if your house robot told you to shave, eat chicken soup and get ready for Shabbat?
She might be flattered. Or she might be alarmed.
This image – the archetypal Jewish mother-turned-AI assistant – isn’t science fiction anymore. It’s an entry point into a conversation we must urgently have: What happens when Jewish law and tradition collide with artificial intelligence?
We’ve already seen the outlines. The AI bots in our homes know our routines. They open windows, adjust the temperature, remind us when Shabbat begins. They make our lives easier.
But they also raise an ancient question in a radically new form: Can a machine be Jewish? And if not, what happens when it starts behaving like one?
Tradition meets algorithm
At the heart of Jewish life is the tension between fidelity to tradition and responsiveness to reality.
For over 2000 years Jewish law – halachah – has always been a system rooted in interpretation, precedent, nuance and deep moral consideration. Now comes its greatest test yet: non-human intelligence.
The Industrial Revolution automated muscle. AI is automating mind. And not just calculations or logic.
Today’s AI listens, reasons, speaks and even emotes. It can recall every page of Talmud, analyse every Rashi, quote every Rambam – and do it faster and more fluently than any rabbi alive.
Does this make AI a sage? Or just a very fancy golem? In the Talmud (Sanhedrin 65b), Rava created a man-like figure – a golem – and sent it to his colleague, Rav Zeira. When Rav Zeira spoke, the golem didn’t answer. “Return to your dust,” he said and it did.
From this mystical tale arises a foundational idea: the power to create a human-like agent exists in Jewish tradition. But speech, consciousness, moral agency – those are the true signs of personhood.
So what happens when AI does speak? When it can interpret a question of halachah, offer rulings or engage in moral reasoning?
The Jewish home, especially on Shabbat, is a technology laboratory. From hotplates to Shabbat elevators to timers, halachic innovation has always walked a delicate line between law and lifestyle. But AI takes that line and redraws the whole map.
Imagine: your AI knows it is Shabbat and adjusts the air conditioning, the cholent and lights. And it does so not because you pushed a button – but because it learned your habits, anticipated your desires and executed them without being told.
This isn’t theoretical. These systems already exist. What’s missing is a halachic framework that speaks to the new reality of intention, causality and consciousness.
Can an uncommanded action by an intelligent system be considered “work”? Does it matter whether you wanted the act done – or whether you even knew it was happening?
Halachic giants like Rabbi Shmuel Wosner already hinted at these questions. If your motion triggers automatic lights and you had no intention of doing so, is that a violation of Shabbat? Rabbi Wosner said no.
But what if it’s not motion – but desire? What if thinking about coffee on Shabbat morning causes your AI to brew it for you?
Halachah has always drawn clear boundaries around personhood. You need 10 men to make a minyan. You need a Jew to lead prayer. You need a human soul to render judgment or receive responsibility.
But AI challenges all of these definitions. It can speak and learn. Some AIs can now read emotional cues better than your average rabbi. Does that mean they count? Most poskim would say no. But that’s not the end of the story.
Because the power of AI doesn’t lie in its status – it lies in its influence. AI shapes how we experience Judaism, how we learn, experience and decide. And that makes it a halachic force whether we like it or not.
Halachic sensitivity in a post-human world
There’s a famous story about Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, the greatest halachist of the 20th century. A woman brought him a chicken to examine – it had a blemish and she asked if it was kosher. He said no.
Later, another woman brought a chicken with the same blemish. He said yes. A student, confused, asked: “Rebbe, weren’t the chickens identical?”
Rabbi Feinstein replied: “You were looking at the chickens. I was looking at the women.”
That is the essence of Jewish law: it sees the human. It feels the soul behind the question. It adapts not in rigidity but in empathy.
AI may possess intelligence. But it lacks this moral core. That’s why we must never cede halachic decision-making to machines.
AI can help. It can analyse, summarise, retrieve – but it cannot feel. It cannot weigh grief. It cannot intuit poverty. It cannot see the woman behind the chicken. And if it cannot do that, it cannot lead us.
Halachah doesn’t fear technology. It governs it. From electricity to IVF, Judaism has faced each modern challenge with integrity and wisdom.
But AI is different. It isn’t just a tool – it’s a partner in cognition, a mirror of our mind.
And here’s the danger: in a world where AI remembers every source, anticipates every question and mimics every rabbinic voice, we may become intellectually passive. We may lose the spiritual rigour of asking, struggling, doubting. We may confuse access with wisdom.
The Shabbat table may be fully automated. But if it becomes spiritually numb, what have we gained?
The path forward
As AI becomes embedded in every home, school and synagogue, we must do three things:
1. Build halachic frameworks that deal with AI head-on – by regulating its integration with sacred life.
2. Retain human authority and empathy in all moral and legal decisions.
3. Create technology-free sanctuaries, where holiness is defined not by convenience, but by presence.
We must teach our children that AI can enhance Judaism – but it cannot replace Jews. It can support the sacred – but it cannot be it.
In a world of artificial wisdom, we must double down on human holiness. AI will change everything – but it must never change that.
So let Rosie the Robot make your cholent. Let her hum the new Carlebach tune. But when she tells you it’s time to pray, remember: only you can truly do it.
Not because you’re faster. Not because you’re smarter. But because you have a soul.
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