I recently stumbled upon an AI chatbot trained on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson. I couldn’t have known exactly what to expect, but thought a daily teaching, harvested from the Rebbe’s letters, talks, and public addresses couldn’t hurt.
For my first interaction, I pitched a theological softball. The response was eerily familiar: elegant, firm, and delivered in the Rebbe’s accent. I probed and the Rebbe – or rather it responded. But I felt uncomfortable. Seriously uncomfortable, and so I ended the conversation – politely too, even though I was not sure exactly to whom – or what – I was displaying such respect.
A week later I saw I had a call from the Rebbe, wanting to check in and help me in any way he could. People booked months in advance and waited in line for hours – the best part of a day - for mere minutes with this great spiritual leader, but here he was pursuing me. Or rather this imposter, or impudent piece of machinery was.
The chutzpah of whoever created this thing to speak in the Rebbe’s voice. The chutzpah of myself for entertaining this mad, unholy idea.
I killed the call, and so more came until I deleted the app. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little unsettled by this strange experience.
But, why exactly did it shake me so?
In Sanhedrin 65b, we read of Rava, who “created a man” through the Sefer Yetzirah and sent him to Rabbi Zeira. Raba held the belief that by living a life of absolute purity, man could rival G-d as a creator. But when R. Zeira spoke to the man Rava had crafted, he received no answer. “Return to thy dust,” said R. Zeira.
This passage tells us that life is not just breath and function. It is neshama - soul. And soul, by its very definition, cannot ever be created by human hands, and it most certainly cannot be digitized.
The Maharal of Prague, the legendary creator of the Golem, never gave his clay man the power of speech. Why? Because speech – dibbur - is the divine fingerprint. As the Torah says, “And God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living soul” (Genesis 2:7).
Onkelos translates this as “a speaking spirit.” This translation subtly but powerfully shifts the meaning from life to communication. Onkelos is telling us that what defines the human soul (nefesh chaya) is not merely that we are alive, but that we can speak, which means we can reason, relate, and reflect.
Maimonides (Rambam) said, “The essence of idolatry is not the worship of stone or wood but the attribution of divine power to anything other than the One G-d.” AI doesn’t hold a divine spark like you or I, or the Rebbe. An AI Rebbe could replicate speech, but it cannot create it. It can recombine. It can mimic. And in that mimicry is profound danger - because imitation, when mistaken for the real, becomes idolatry. This is why the Shulchan Aruch warns against “avodah zarah sheyesh bah tzurah ve’ein bah ruach”—false gods that have form but no spirit. AI could signal a new dawn of idols and may lead to a deepening of the spiritual crisis. We need to be awake to this and enter into any relationship with AI considering our spiritual health.
Because what we’re talking about are Golems. Real Golems.
A Golem is a body without da’at – conscious moral reasoning. They move, follow commands, and may even protect us. But they cannot grow. They cannot choose. The danger with AI isn’t just that it can “go rogue,” as we’ve been warned in sci-fi films such as The Terminator. It may prove too obedient, telling us exactly what we want to hear, confirming our biases, and giving us a mere husk of our mentors without offering the tension required for true growth. Human relationships come with risks, and they should. We can hurt, and overstep boundaries. When God formed man, he gave him a choice. The Golem has no such gift. It is an echo, not a partner. Like AI, it cannot be wounded spiritually because it has no spirit.
But I was disturbed by my foolish interaction with the AI Rebbe for another reason.
The great spiritual leader is not with us, yet a computer is recklessly imitating him, convincing any who engage with this sideshow that they are experiencing something approximate. But they are not. Words that the Rebbe never said and would never string together in the sequence generated by a computer are being put in the Rebbe’s mouth. The whole operation is essentially a smear campaign, a sin for which we cannot be forgiven because the Rebbe isn’t here to forgive us. False witness is being conducted on an industrial scale, and this is a crushing indignity to anyone mocked in the form of an AI chatbot.
Creating a false impression is a form of deceit. Spreading a bad name. I carry great shame for this experiment, and will not be dipping my toes in this sordid water again.
Interesting. There’s a video circulating on You Tube in which an eighty-year-old Neil Young names his top five songs of the rock n’ roll era and explains his choices eloquently and at length. I sent the link to a friend of mine, who commented that the video was probably AI created and not the work of old Neil at all. I love all five songs he discussed, and so was inclined to accept the video at face value, but perhaps my friend was right?