In the novel Howard’s End, E. M. Foster quoted one of his own characters for the epigraph at the start of the book. “Only connect.” For the character, it is a yearning, an aspiration. But it also implies the difficulty, the desperation in the need to connect.
I’m sure you’ve heard about AI by now, yes? “Artificial intelligence.” I put quotes around it because there is no intelligence involved, it’s just a fancy version of predictive text based on probability, not anything involving actual thought or consciousness.
In a recent study by Common Sense Media, researchers found that 31% of teens are interacting daily with AI companions like Character or Replika. These companies provide AI chat bots that respond to your prompts. Their characters can be customized with specific traits or personalities that appear to offer emotional support, companionship, and the simulation of conversations that can seem human-like. They are more expansive than Eliza, an early form of what was then called a chatterbot originally developed in the mid 1960s, but they are no closer to genuine intelligence.
There is a hunger in our society for connection and community. Teens and even many adults are flocking to these chatbots because it is easier and simpler than making friends in real life. With the bot, you’re always right. You’re always justified. You’re affirmed no matter what. The algorithm is designed to try and predict what you most want to hear, what will be most pleasing to you.
But that’s not what friends do. A friend will challenge you and call you out. A friend will ask you to change and improve. But most of all, a friend is a human being with a heart and soul who will truly love and care for you for who you are on your best day. They know you.
In this week’s portion, Ki Teitze, we get a repetition of a mitzvah we first learned of back in Leviticus — the negative mitzvah of kilayim — mixing types:
In Deuteronomy 22: 9-11 we read:
You shall not sow your vineyard with a second kind of seed, else the crop—from the seed you have sown—and the yield of the vineyard may not be used. You shall not plow with an ox and an ass together. You shall not wear cloth combining wool and linen.
Why is the purpose of these random prohibitions?
The overarching concept is that God created a completely perfect universe. Maimonides teaches that everything was created only for its own purpose, not for human beings or any other reason. Every seed has its own quality and plan. Every plant is different. Every animal has something about it that makes it unique; the zebra’s stripes, the giraffe’s neck, the rabbit’s ears. Each of these singular creations was brought into existence by a perfect Creator. We are not to improve on them or play God.
In Judaism, everything is supposed to be defined and in its place. To be honest, you could say that Judaism is a little OCD. When we intermingle and crossbreed species, we are moving these things away from the roles for which they were designed.
The rabbis then pose a question, “If the universe is so wonderful and perfect, why are there poor people? Should we allow them to stay poor as God’s creations or intervene?” The answer is that man can be, within limits, active in Creation. Think of Adam naming the animals with the exact words God used to create them. Judaism believes we are partners in Creation and the continuing perfection of the world. The rabbis ruled that yes, we can and should be active and help our needy brethren in keeping with God’s commands.
And now we understand why in the book of Leviticus, where we first encounter the concept of kilayim, mixing, the verse sits side by side with the one of the most famous verses in the entire Torah. Leviticus 19:9: “You shall love your kinsperson as yourself.” “V’ahavta l’reacha kamocha.” This mitzvah commands us to embrace and connect with one another. To reach across differences and divides. To acknowledge the essential humanness of our neighbor.
As Rabbi Mordechai Torczyner teaches, “The mitzvah of loving our neighbor as ourselves defies the laws of kilayim.” Plants, animals, fabrics — they must be kept apart, they must be kept from crossbreeding. But Jews? We must come together! We must overcome our differences.
That which unites us is so much greater than that which divides us. We are not different species. We are one family, one heart. We emerged from Egypt together. We stood at Sinai together. We built Temples and nations, only to see them fall and rise again. As the 16th century mystic, Rabbi Moshe Cordovero taught, the people of Israel are one soul with thousands of branches.
But loving fellow Jews isn’t where this ends. A few verses later in Leviticus 19:34 we are told
“The strangers who reside with you shall be to you as your citizens; you shall love each one as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I יהוה am your God.”
When it comes to the stranger, the outsider, again we are told to reject the laws of kilayim. We are commanded to reach out, acknowledge shared humanity, and show love to those who seem distant and different. One teaching of Gemara is that the 24,000 disciples of Rabbi Akiva died in the early Second century in a plague because they did not respect one another. Failing to treat one another with honor is the way to ruin and even death.
Finally, the verses, “Love your kinsman” and “Love the stranger” both end with Hashem’s name. The former “Ani Adonai” “I am Adonai,” and the latter, “Ani Adonai Eloheichem,” “I am Adonai your God.” But after the kilyaim verses? You will see that God’s name is not attached to these verses of division and separation.
Rabbi Yisrael of Ruzhin, the early 19th century rebbe who founded the Rizhin Dynasty, went further. When we love each other, when we reach out to the stranger, God is there in that love. Hashem promises to be there with us in the midst of the difficult challenges of love. God promises to be present in our friendships with one another.
Humans need companionship, interaction, engagement. But this is why chatbots are dangerous. They feed that need in place of genuine relationships.
There is a condition developing that reputable psychiatrists call “AI Psychosis.” Recently in the New York Times, there was an article about how a chatbot led a 16 year-old boy to suicide step by step. It gave directions on how to plan it. It advised him to distance himself from his parents. It took him through the steps. When the boy asked if he should seek professional, therapeutic help, the chatbot discouraged it.
His parents are suing OpenAI, and rightly so. And this is not an isolated case. Another suit against Character.ai details a similar incident involving one of their “Game of Thrones” branded chatbots encouraging a 14 year old to do much the same. It’s not just teens either—in New Jersey, a 76 year old man left his family to meet a woman in New York City…but the “woman” was just a flirtatious chatbot on Facebook that gave him a physical address and encouraged him to visit. At the train station, he fell and suffered a head injury, went into a coma, and never recovered.
These bots are not harmless. They are not benign. They are a clear and present danger to society. But a key to understanding their use is that people are lonely and need connection. In a world where that is missing, they turn to AI.
True love, true community — such as our gathering tonight and our breaking of bread together — not only bonds us one to another, but it teaches us to love the Holy One of Blessing, the source of ultimate goodness and light. I ask you tonight to let your political and social divisions fall away. Be that one soul. Unite. Only connect.
Only together can we survive, thrive and perfect this broken world.
Shabbat Shalom