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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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Mahmoud Abbas Gave Direct Orders to Name Hall After Palestinian Hitler Ally
The Grand Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Husseini, meets with Adolf Hitler in 1941. Photo: German Federal Archives via Wikimedia Commons.
During World War II, Grand Mufti of Jerusalem Haj Amin Al-Husseini was a Nazi ally and an associate of Hitler, living in Germany from 1941 until the war’s end — and receiving funding from the Nazi government.
The Mufti also led the lethal 1936-1939 Arab Revolt, in which at least 400 Jews were murdered.
Now the Palestinian Authority (PA) has built and named a public hall after Al-Husseini — and none other than PA leader Mahmoud Abbas himself instructed PA officials about the naming, thereby making a public statement about which historical values the PA chooses to uphold.
When laying the building’s cornerstone, PA officials stressed that the naming of the hall is “out of loyalty to the great figures of our people”:
Text on sign: “Under the auspices of His Honor President
Mahmoud Abbas, may Allah protect him
President of the State of Palestine
His Honor Jericho and Jordan Valley District Governor Dr. Hussein Hamayel
And His Honor Jericho Mayor Mr. Abd Al-Karim Sidr
laid the cornerstone for the Mufti Haj Amin Al-Husseini Hall”
Under the auspices of [PA] President Mahmoud Abbas, yesterday, Sunday, [Feb. 15, 2026,] Jericho and Jordan Valley District Governor Hussein Hamayel and Jericho Mayor Abd Al-Karim Sidr laid the cornerstone for the Mufti Haj Amin Al-Husseini Multi-Purpose Hall …District Governor Hamayel emphasized that the laying of the cornerstone was done out of loyalty to the great figures of our people, and according to direct instructions from President [Abbas] regarding the need to commemorate the memory of the leaders and fighters. [emphasis added]
[Official PA daily Al-Hayat Al-Jadida, Feb. 16, 2026]
Deciding to put a specific person’s name on a public building is a deliberate statement of values. By elevating an individual like Nazi ally Al-Husseini, Abbas and the PA aren’t just labeling a hall — they are officially endorsing Al-Husseini as a hero for the entire community.
Haj Amin Al-Husseini was also featured at a PA event held under the auspices of PA Prime Minister Muhammad Mustafa, with numerous PA and Fatah officials in attendance, during the marking of the 150th anniversary of the private, coeducational Catholic school Collège des Frères in Jerusalem.
On a huge screen, organizers displayed an image of Al-Husseini. Al-Husseini was on Yugoslavia’s list of wanted war criminals, and was responsible for a Muslim SS division that murdered thousands of Serbs and Croats. When the Nazis offered to free some Jewish children, Al-Husseini fought against their release, and as a result, 5,000 children were sent to the gas chambers.
The author is a contributor to Palestinian Media Watch, where a version of this story first appeared.
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I First Experienced Antisemitism at Six Years Old; But We Must Never Let Hate Win
An Oxford student is seen chanting hateful slogans at Jews, during a pro-Palestinian march in central London, an incident captured on viral video that has drawn widespread condemnation. Photo: Screenshot
When I was six years old, my father founded Carmel College, and moved the family into the English countryside west of London. My father’s school initially only took pupils of a certain age. So, I was sent to a local Church of England village school with one teacher, located just outside the Carmel estate.
For the first time, I became aware of Christian antagonism when I was surrounded by other pupils, bullied, and told that I had killed Jesus. Even at six-years old, I had a mind of my own, and told off the other children. The teacher was furious, got in touch with my father, and insisted that he remove me from the school. Instead, he arranged for home schooling until I was able to join Carmel College.
Several years later, during school holidays, I would walk the three miles from the school to Wallingford, the nearest town, with enough pocket money to buy a ticket to the local cinema. When I got there, the manager told me that the price had gone up, and I didn’t have enough money to get in. I replied that I thought this was unfair and that as I had walked all this way, perhaps he could make an exception. But he replied that since I was a Jew, I should know all about money, because that’s all that mattered to Jews. It was another incident that reinforced my awareness that we were different and not very popular.
A few years later, when I was old enough to play on the school soccer team, we often went to play against non-Jewish schools. In almost every case, either our opponents or the local spectators would abuse us for being Jewish and often played rough either to test us or to express their antagonism. When I mentioned this to my father his response, surprisingly, was simply to tell us to repay them in kind.
The first debate I participated in at Cambridge University in the Union was on the biased subject of whether the Jews had any right to “take” the state of “Palestine” from the Arabs. I argued our case strongly and we won the vote. In those days, the voices of those who supported Israel’s right to exist were strong enough to win the argument.
I was always aware of anti-Jewish sentiment. But it was mainly low key, and I could hardly say that I suffered. Anyway, I had sufficient confidence in my Jewish identity not to let it get to me.
Later I became a rabbi in London and I accepted Chief Rabbi Jakobovitz’s invitation to become responsible in his cabinet for interfaith relations. For a few years I devoted myself to establishing good relations with the various Christian denominations and with Muslims, who at that stage were still relatively new to England and were grateful for the support and encouragement we gave them.
I enjoyed these interactions and conferences and the friendships, some of which I have to this day. But I soon became aware that the interfaith world comprised a small layer of intelligent, sensitive good men and women of all faiths. Although they got on well with each other, they seemed to have little impact on the vast majority of the members of their different religions who were still mired in prejudice and so I withdrew.
I mentioned all these little things because I am conscious of the fact that these small little things affected my sense of alienation, although I was also aware of how wonderful and rewarding the small acts of friendship and warmth were.
Many of our children will experience much more alienation than we had to. We have to fight more prejudice and one-sided information today, and indeed, there are many Jews who prefer joining our enemies. Despite everything, we must encourage good relations with other human beings — many of whom also fight against prejudice and discrimination. Little things can have a huge impact, both ways.
The author is a writer and rabbi based in New York.
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What Is the BBC Telling Children About Iran’s Nuclear Program?
A satellite image shows un‑buried tunnel entrances at Isfahan nuclear complex, in Isfahan, Iran, Nov. 11, 2024. Photo: Vantor/Handout via REUTERS
On February 28, the BBC published an uncredited report headlined “US and Israel launch attacks on Iran” on its CBBC (Children’s BBC) website’s Newsround page.
Newsround is described as “the home of trusted news for kids and young people,” and is aimed at children between the ages of six and 12.
That report opens as follows: [emphasis added]
The US and Israel have launched attacks on Iran, which is a country in the Middle East.
US President Donald Trump said in a video that the American military has begun “major combat operations” in Iran.
In a statement, Israel’s Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu said that his country was working with the US to remove what he called a threat to both countries.
It comes after US talks with Iran to try and stop them from developing a nuclear weapon, something that Iran denies it is doing.
In a later section sub-headed “What are nuclear weapons,” the BBC’s young audiences are told that:
Iran has been long suspected of trying to build a nuclear bomb, which it has always denied.
It says its nuclear research is for peaceful purposes, like making electricity. For many years a United Nations body (called the IAEA) has said that Iran has not been following rules on sharing information about its nuclear programme.
While this is by no means the first time that the BBC has amplified Iran’s denials concerning its nuclear program, it is particularly disappointing to see the younger generation being fed that disinformation, especially given that the BBC has itself reported in the past that:
Nuclear power stations typically need about 3-5% of this enriched uranium to generate a controlled nuclear reaction that releases energy.
But when the aim is to make a nuclear weapon, a much higher proportion of uranium-235 is needed – about 90%.
The BBC knows full well that Iran’s levels of enrichment of uranium-235 have reached at least 60% — a level which has no civilian use and is far higher than needed to “make electricity.”
It also knows that Iran has actively (and in violation of international agreement) prevented the IAEA from inspecting its nuclear facilities, including the storage site for some of its highly enriched uranium.
The BBC is no doubt familiar with the long history of the Iranian regime’s nuclear aspirations, as well as its more recent developments.
The BBC also ought to be able to inform its younger audiences about that regime’s history of using proxies and ballistic missiles to attack Israel — and of its repeated threats to destroy the country. However, this “trusted news” article airbrushes all such important context and instead tells readers that:
Israel and Iran have been enemies for many years, but in recent times the tension between the countries has resulted in military attacks on each other.
If, for reasons best known to itself, the BBC thinks that it is ticking the impartiality box by uncritically amplifying the Iranian regime’s redundant denials concerning its nuclear program, it should at least also provide the background information that would enable its audiences — whether adults or children — to put those denials into their appropriate context.
The failure to do so means that Britain’s national broadcaster simply continues to promote the disinformation put out by a repressive, theocratic regime.
Hadar Sela is the co-editor of CAMERA UK – an affiliate of the Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting and Analysis (CAMERA), where a version of this article first appeared.