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An 1859 fight over how to make matzah has lessons about the threat of AI today
(JTA) — In the last few months the world has been dazzled by an astonishing sequence of AI systems capable of performing all kinds of difficult tasks — writing code, composing poetry, generating artwork, passing exams — with a level of competence that rivals or exceeds what humans can do. The existence of these AIs has prompted all manner of soul-searching about the nature of humanity. It has also made many people wonder which human tasks are about to be taken over by machines.
The capabilities of these AIs are new and revolutionary, but the story of machines taking over human jobs is not. In Jewish history the most important story of that transition has to do with matzah, and it’s a story that carries important lessons for the present day.
Starting 164 years ago, dozens of European rabbis engaged in a furious debate that would not be fully resolved until the beginning of the 20th century. Matzah, which for millennia had been made by human hands in accordance with the narrow constraints of Jewish law, could now be processed with a series of machines that promised huge savings of time and money. As town after town adopted these machines, opposition began to rise, until it exploded in 1859 with the publication of “An Alert for Israel,” a collection of letters from prestigious rabbis, who adamantly argued that for anyone interested in following the laws of Passover a matzah made with a machine was no better than a loaf of bread.
The arguments for this position were many, but all will sound familiar to anyone following the AI conversation. Like today, some objected to the machines just because they were new and different, but most had more specific concerns. First, there was the matter of lost jobs. In many parts of Europe matzah was made by the poorest members of society, who were given the job as a way to help them raise money before one of the most cost-intensive holidays of the year. Ceding this job to machines would take work from those who could least afford it.
It takes about 20 seconds in a 1,300-degree, coal-and-wood-fired oven to bake shmurah matzah to perfection. (Uriel Heilman)
Beyond economics, there was concern that the machines just weren’t as reliable as people, especially given the rules around matzah-making outlined in Jewish law. What if bits of dough got trapped in the gears, quietly leavening for hours and unknowingly ruining whole batches of matzah in the process? What if the trays warmed the dough too fast? Without proper oversight, how could you trust your own food?
Finally, some objected to the loss of a literal human touch. Jewish law stated that matzah was supposed to be made by people who knew they were baking matzah. A machine, no matter how sophisticated, didn’t “know” anything. How could you eat matzah on Passover knowing that this most important food was made by a mindless machine?
The responses didn’t take long to arrive. “A Cancellation of the Alert,” a collection published the very same yearr, forcefully argued that machine matzah was perfectly fine — and possibly even better than the human product. No, inventions aren’t inherently bad. No, the machines wouldn’t harm the poor, because the machines made matzah less expensive for everyone. No, the machines weren’t prone to error — and they certainly weren’t more error-prone than lazy, careless humans. No, the machines didn’t know what they were doing — but the people who built them did, and wasn’t that enough?
The machines eventually won, but then something happened that I don’t think either side anticipated. With Manichewitz’s machine matzahs claiming most of the American market by the early 20th century, it was now the handmade matzah makers who were on the back foot; it was they and not the machines who needed to demonstrate that they were up to the difficult task of preparing this food with the efficiency and reliability of the machines.
The result is more than a little tragic. Matzah is the Jewish food with the deepest origins of all — deeper than brisket, deeper than latkes, deeper even than challah — and yet it is the ritual food most likely to be picked up at the supermarket and least likely to be made at home. While there are still communities today that exclusively eat handmade matzah, even this job is now largely outsourced to just a few companies that resemble their machine-driven counterparts in scale. While teachers will sometimes demonstrate how to make matzah for educational purposes, across the religious spectrum the era of locally made matzah is over.
Despite the fact that it’s hard to imagine a simpler baked good — matzah is just flour and water, and it’s literally illegal to spend more than 18 minutes making it — its production is treated as though it is only slightly less complicated than constructing a jet engine, and people are worried about shortages as though matzah were a natural resource or an advanced microchip. The transition has been so complete that we barely remember there was a transition at all.
Baked matzah coming out of the oven at Streit’s Matzo factory on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, date unknown. (Courtesy Streit’s Matzo)
Did the rabbis pushing for machine matzah know this was going to happen? Almost certainly not. The economic impact of machine labor is relatively easy to predict, but the psychological and cultural effects are a lot harder. There was probably no way of knowing how machines would change the way we thought about matzah in the long run, but today it’s clear that automating this ancient task has changed our own relationship to Passover’s central food — and because the change has resulted in a lot of alienation from matzah production, I’m not so sure it was a change for the better. Making matzah locally could have been a way to feel connected to the ancient Israelites, who left Egypt so fast that they didn’t have time to make anything else. Instead of emulating this ad-hoc food, we optimized it for cost and efficiency, in the process turning matzah into just another specialty cracker on the grocery store shelf. Was it really worth it?
It’s probably a bit much to say that OpenAI is just a modern Manischewitz, but the parallels between the debate about machine-generated matzah and the present debate about machine-generated everything are useful for considering how short-term policy choices around AI won’t necessarily capture all of the technology’s long-term effects on how human beings want to spend their time. When we relinquish an activity to an AI for economic reasons, we may eventually come to believe that humans are no longer qualified to do the task at all.
Then as now we must balance our economic needs against our ideas about what kinds of activities make for a good and fulfilling life.
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The post An 1859 fight over how to make matzah has lessons about the threat of AI today appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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81 Years After the Holocaust, Antisemitism Pervasive in Germany, Poland
A demonstration in Schwerin, Germany under the slogan “All together to protect democracy”, with a banner reading “Against Nazis”. They want to demonstrate against new borders in Europe and protest against cooperation with right-wing extremists. Photo: Bernd Wüstneck/dpa via Reuters Connect.
Eighty-one years after the Holocaust, antisemitism remains rampant in the heart of the former Third Reich, with rising antisemitic hate crimes in Germany and incidents targeting Jewish communities in Poland drawing widespread condemnation.
On Tuesday, as the world marked International Holocaust Remembrance Day, a group of Orthodox Israelis waiting to board a flight to Israel at Krakow Airport in Poland were physically and verbally assaulted by an airport employee, in the latest antisemitic incident drawing condemnation from officials and community leaders.
The travelers were praying before boarding their flight when the employee noticed them and began shouting antisemitic slurs while demanding that they stop.
When the group members explained they were nearly finished, the assailant became even more aggressive, reportedly spitting on one person and pushing another.
As the situation escalated and the assailant grew more hostile, airport police intervened to control the scene, with the incident captured and widely shared online.
In videos circulating on social media, the airport employee is seen approaching the group aggressively, shouting, “Why are you in Poland? Go back to Israel.”
The group members are seen speaking in English, asking him to stop, as he persists in claiming that Poland is “his country.”
Go back to Israel, what are you doing coming to Poland”:
A group of Israeli ultra-Orthodox Jews who traveled to Poland were attacked by a local airport employee – but they didn’t stay silent: “Be quiet.” | video pic.twitter.com/vu0Iz3rSy6— daniel amram – דניאל עמרם (@danielamram3) January 27, 2026
According to local media, airport officials have yet to release a public statement, confirm whether the employee has been suspended or disciplined, or clarify if an investigation into the incident is underway.
The airport workers’ remarks were reminiscent of comments made by Polish lawmaker Grzegorz Braun, a far-right politician notorious for his repeated antisemitic statements and outspoken criticism of Israel.
“Poland is for Poles. Other nations have their own countries, including the Jews,” Braun said during a press conference in November in Oświęcim, a town in southern Poland that is home to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp memorial and museum. International Holocaust Remembrance Day is observed annually on Jan. 27, the date when Auschwitz, the largest and most notorious of the Nazi death camps, was liberated.
“Jews want to be super-humans in Poland, entitled to a better status, and the Polish police dance to their tune,” Braun continued.
Poland, like most countries across Europe and the broader Western world, has seen a rise in antisemitic incidents over the last two years, in the wake of Hamas’s Oct. 7, 2023, invasion of and massacre across southern Israel.
Germany has been one such country to experience a surge in antisemitism.
Most recently, unknown individuals vandalized the memorial at a local synagogue in Kiel, a city in the northwestern part of the country, destroying items left by people honoring the victims of the Holocaust — including a Star of David, candles, and a photograph.
“This attack is an utterly unacceptable act of antisemitic hatred and an affront to the memory of the crimes committed under National Socialism,” Daniel Günther, the minister-president of Schleswig-Holstein, a state in northern Germany, said in a statement. “Anyone who desecrates a memorial site like this violates historical responsibility and the core values of the state.”
“We are witnessing a growing number of antisemitic incidents. Ninety years ago, that hatred marked the beginning of the end,” he continued. “That is precisely why we cannot tolerate a single incident today. Every act must be investigated and punished under the rule of law.”
This latest antisemitic attack comes as the local Jewish community rallies to defend democracy and protest against antisemitism on International Holocaust Remembrance Day.
Observed each year on Jan. 27, the day honors the six million Jews and other victims killed by the Nazis and commemorates the liberation of Auschwitz in 1945.
“Holocaust survivors around the world are asking whether democracies and their citizens are sufficiently aware of the dangers posed by the hateful rhetoric of far-right and populist politicians and parties,” Christoph Heubner, vice president of the International Auschwitz Committee from Berlin, said in a statement.
“Antisemitism has an unfortunate characteristic: it serves as an ideological bridge between right-wing extremists, left-wing extremists, and Islamists alike,” he continued. “These forces will continue to grow stronger if, as a society, we do not stop these threatening developments.”
According to newly released figures from the German Ministry of the Interior obtained by the newspaper BILD, antisemitic incidents continued to rise last year, with 2,122 offenses reported in Berlin alome, including 60 violent attacks.
This represents a significant increase of 80 percent compared with the already high number of incidents in previous years, with Berlin police recording 901 such offenses in 2023 and 1,622 in 2024, BILD reported.
“The rise in these figures is alarming, but not surprising. When politicians allow antisemitic demonstrations to go unchallenged, it emboldens certain groups and reinforces their antisemitic attitudes and attacks,” Timur Husein, a member of Parliament from the CDU, Germany’s center-right Christian Democratic Union, who requested the data, told the German newspaper.
Husein also said that the CDU is looking to strengthen Germany’s assembly laws to ban antisemitic demonstrations, which he says are responsible for a significant share of these crimes.
Earlier this month, the commissioner to combat antisemitism in the German state of Hesse sounded the alarm after an arson attack on a local synagogue in the town of Giessen, warning that it reflects a “growing pogrom-like atmosphere” threatening Jewish life across Germany as Jews and Israelis continue to face an increasingly hostile climate.
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Minnesota, Rabbi Tarfon and the language of horror
I sat up when Senator Tina Smith of Minnesota described a “coalition of the horrified” that formed in response to this past weekend’s appalling shooting of a protester on a Minneapolis street — the second shooting of an American citizen there by ICE
“Coalition of the horrified?” I thought. “That’s a great phrase. And it can move people.”
“There’s sort of this coalition of the horrified that has developed around what’s been happening here in Minnesota. And it includes law enforcement,” Smith told the PBS News Hour. “It is people who care about Second Amendment rights — the level of rejection of this behavior of ICE is growing, not diminishing.”
Perhaps Republican politicians are finally horrified enough to talk with Democratic colleagues about how disproportionate all of this is.
While “horrified” is a relatively recent word, first used in 1791, the word “horror” is quite old, and its history helps explain what many of us are feeling.
The word “horror” comes from the Middle English orrour, horrour, which is borrowed from Anglo-French horrour, which is in turn borrowed from Latin horrōr.
According to Merriam-Webster, it means “standing stiffly, bristling (of hair), shivering (from cold or fear), dread, consternation.”
That “stiffness” seems apt.
In recent weeks, I have spoken to several friends and neighbors who could not figure out how to respond to the Trump administration’s most recent outrages.
“I just don’t know what to do,” a longtime neighbor and Democratic activist said.
“What can one person do about any of this?” an old friend commented sadly. “I feel powerless.”
In other words, stiffness had set in.
But Senator Smith’s apt language gives us all a starting point. Form a coalition. Join with others. Stand together.
And Jewish tradition has a deeper answer to the “what to do?” question. It comes from Pirkei Avot, or “Ethics of the Fathers.”
Rabbi Tarfon was discussing what to do when the day appeared short, but the to-do list was long. His famous comment — lo alecha ha’mlacha ligmor — is relevant now.
“It is not your duty to finish the work,” Rabbi Tarfon said. “But neither are you at liberty to neglect it,” Rabbi Tarfon said,
This is the same passage that Josh Shapiro, the Jewish governor of Pennsylvania, quoted when he was elected in 2022.
He quoted the same verse again after Minnesota governor Tim Walz was selected as the vice presidential pick. Shapiro had been a contender, but ultimately was not chosen.
What is important now is not only to know who we may be standing with, but also who we are not standing with.
We don’t stand with those who shoot protesters to death in the street. And we don’t have to complete everything — we don’t have to agree with fellow protesters on every political issue — but as Rabbi Tarfon explained, we do have to get in the fray.
We have to remember our tradition. Ben chorin, frequently translated as “at liberty” in the Rabbi Tarfon phrase, is actually an idiom meaning a free man.
If it sounds familiar, it may be because it’s the singular form of b’nei chorin, or “freeborn” in the plural, part of the famous avadim hayinu or “we were slaves” narrative in the Haggadah.
Once we were slaves; now we are free.
We cannot allow ourselves to be so stiff with horror that we become powerless. We cannot give up freedom for slavery.
We must instead use that horror to come together. I hope Senator Smith is right that at the leadership level, that is already happening. At the language level, at least, I can feel a turn.
The post Minnesota, Rabbi Tarfon and the language of horror appeared first on The Forward.
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San Diego Group Apologizes for Disinviting Rabbi From MLK Jr. Event Over ‘Safety Concerns,’ Pro-Israel Stance
The Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial in Washington, DC. Photo: Reuters / Allison Shelley.
Organizers of a Martin Luther King Jr. Day event in San Diego, California, have apologized for disinviting a rabbi from speaking due to his stance on the Israel-Hamas war and “safety concerns.”
Alliance San Diego made the apology in a released statement after receiving widespread criticism for its treatment of Rabbi Hanan Leberman, the leader of Tifereth Israel Synagogue in San Diego. He was originally scheduled to lead the closing prayer at the city’s 38th annual All Peoples Celebration at the Balboa Park Activity Center on Jan. 19.
In a description for the event, Alliance San Diego invited the public to “choose Courage; to decide, with intention, to do what is right even when the fear and opposition are loud. Now more than ever, our voices must rise above hesitation. We must claim our dignity and echo the notion that any attack on one, is an attack on us all.”
A day before the event, Leberman wrote in a Facebook post he was “deeply upset” to learn he had been disinvited from presenting at the ceremony because of his “connection to Israel.” Alliance San Diego claimed Leberman was instead invited to attend the program as a guest, but the rabbi said he ultimately decided not to attend the event at all.
The decision to disinvite Leberman from presenting at the event was condemned by a coalition of nearly four dozen community-based organizations, social service providers, and synagogues in a joint statement published on Jan. 18.
While apologizing for the move in a statement shared on Instagram, Alliance San Diego also explained its decision, saying that event organizers faced “major disruption over two speakers’ public stances on the conflict in Israel-Palestine.”
“We hear the community’s concern that this decision felt to some like an exclusion of Jewish identity echoing historical traumas and antisemitic patterns present in many public spaces today. This was not our intention, and we apologize for reinforcing this pattern,” the group said. “To protect the attendees at the celebration and keep the focus on Dr. King, we asked both speakers to attend as our guests instead of present on the program. Our decision was based solely on safety concerns and was communicated in person conversations with the speakers. We recognize, however, that intent does not erase impact, and we take responsibility for the hurt caused … A deep source of regret is that our missteps have distracted us from our core work of creating a San Diego that is safe for all people.”
Leberman was born in Chicago, raised in Philadelphia, and ordained as a rabbi in Israel, where he lived and worked before moving to San Diego, according to the website for Tifereth Israel Synagogue. He moved to Israel at the age of 20 and served three years in the undercover counter-terrorist unit Duvduvan of the Israel Defense Forces, often serving as the unit’s cantor. Leberman studied at the Jerusalem Academy of Music, and aside from being a cantor, he is also a professional opera singer. He served as a rabbi and cantor for the Masorti movement in Israel and led congregations as a guest cantor in Israel, England, and the United States.
Alliance San Diego said in an earlier statement that it asked two speakers to give up their speaking roles at the event “in response to concerns about potential disruption related to Zionism and anti-Zionism,” but noted they had not been disinvited. The other speaker was not publicly identified but also ultimately decided not to attend the event.
“At the time, we believed we were acting in the best interest of protecting attendees and preserving the spirit of the event,” the group said in its statement. “Our intention was never to exclude Jewish faith leaders or Jewish voices from this space. As an organization working across many communities under immense strain and confronting assaults on immigrant communities, including Jewish and Israeli immigrants at a time of rising antisemitism and fear, we acknowledge that our decision contributed to that pain rather than alleviating it.”
Leberman said in his Facebook post on Jan. 18 that disinviting him from speaking at the event “runs counter to Dr. King’s message — particularly at this moment in history, when Jews are experiencing the most significant rise in hate crimes of any group.”
“The decision to disinvite me is, in my view, a disservice to the legacy of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr,” he added. “I believe the organization would benefit from deeper education about what Zionism truly is and about what the Jewish community is facing today — from both the left and the right.”