Might an obscure ancient ritual that has not been practiced in millennia have relevance for contemporary technology such as artificial intelligence? Let’s consider a curious turn of phrase in Parashat Chukat, “this is the Torah (of) a person who dies” (זאת התורה אדם כי ימות).

Numbers 19 describes an unusual ritual to purify a living person after they have come in contact or indoor proximity to a deceased human, for example, in preparing them for burial or even attending their funeral. Following this exposure, they are considered to be tamei, or impure, in the highest degree. This most severe form of contamination may not be rectified by normal methods such as immersion in “living water” but requires the rarest of ingredients, ash left from the sacrifice of a red heifer. Only after such purification may the person access sacred precincts such as the tabernacle or later Temple, and only then may they consume sacred foods from sacrifices.

The ancient red heifer ritual has lapsed into ancient historical memory, yet it continues to influence other Jewish ritual practices. For example, kohanim to this day are expected to avoid entering rooms where a human corpse is being held prior to burial, unless the deceased person is an immediate family member.

This text also offers interpretative significance about the relationship between Torah, or sacred knowledge, and mortality. We begin with the verse, Numbers 19:14.

זֹ֚את הַתּוֹרָ֔ה אָדָ֖ם כִּֽי־יָמ֣וּת בְּאֹ֑הֶל כׇּל־הַבָּ֤א אֶל־הָאֹ֙הֶל֙ וְכׇל־אֲשֶׁ֣ר בָּאֹ֔הֶל יִטְמָ֖א שִׁבְעַ֥ת יָמִֽים׃

This is the ritual: When a person dies in a tent, whoever enters the tent and whoever is in the tent shall be impure seven days;

On the level of peshat, this verse is unremarkable, simply explaining the ritual implications of a person dying indoors, with the word haTorah here alluding back to chukat haTorah in 19:2. But there is a long history of rabbinic interpretation of this verse, most famously the words of Reish Lakish as cited in Bavli Brakhot 63b and Shabbat 83b:

דָּבָר אַחֵר: ״הַסְכֵּת וּשְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל״ — כַּתְּתוּ עַצְמְכֶם עַל דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה. כִּדְאָמַר רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ, דְּאָמַר רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ: מִנַּיִן שֶׁאֵין דִּבְרֵי תוֹרָה מִתְקַיְּימִין אֶלָּא בְּמִי שֶׁמֵּמִית עַצְמוֹ עָלֶיהָ — שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: ״זֹאת הַתּוֹרָה אָדָם כִּי יָמוּת בְּאֹהֶל״.

Another interpretation: "Be silent and listen, Israel" (Deut. 27:9). Break yourselves down for the words of Torah, as Reish Lakish said. For Reish Lakish said, "From where do we learn that the words of Torah are established only for a person who kills himself for them? For it says, 'this is the Torah--a man dies in a tent."

This interpretation aligns with a story told about Reish Lakish, who started life as a brigand, but gave it all up to study Torah, trading his physical might for spiritual majesty. It has played a significant role in the development of rabbinic culture these past two millennia, motivated generations of Jews to prioritize Torah study over all other pursuits.

As a matter of “drash” or rabbinic wordplay, Reish Lakish’s teaching relates to the unusual word in Deut. 27:9, הַסְכֵּת , dividing it into two words, be silent (הַסְ) and break down (כֵּת, see Isaiah 2:4 וכתתו חרבותם). Reish Lakish is quoted in the medieval codes of Rabbi Yaakov ben Asher (Tur YD 246) and Rabbi Yosef Karo (SA YD 246:21):

אין דברי התורה מתקיימים במי שמתרפה עצמו עליהם ולא בלומדים מתוך עידון ומתוך אכילה ושתייה אלא במי שממית עצמו עליה ומצער גופו תמיד ולא יתן שנה לעיניו ותנומה לעפעפיו:

Still, the sages warn the Jewish people not to neglect earning a living, and even say that a person who studies Torah without also working for wages desecrates the divine name, and will end up in disgrace, citing Psalms 128:2, יְגִ֣יעַ כַּ֭פֶּיךָ כִּ֣י תֹאכֵ֑ל אַ֝שְׁרֶ֗יךָ וְט֣וֹב לָֽךְ׃, “When you eat from the effort of your hands, then you shall be happy and prosper.” Rabbi Moshe Isserles builds on the words of the Tur, condemning adults who study Torah to the exclusion of earning a living.

Still, a connection has been established by Reish Lakish between the word “Torah,” in Numbers 19:14, and mortality. His point is that Torah study requires a weakening or even neglect of physical desire. However, a different approach to this phrase is found in the Chasidic source Tiferet Shlomo (S. Rabinowicz, Poland, 19C):

אך הנה צריך האדם להיות חרד ולהחיש לעסוק בד"ת בעודנו בחיים חיותו בעוה"ז ואל יאמר לכשאפנה אשנ' שמא לא תפנה לכן צריך להיות יקר בעיניו היום והשעה שהוא בעוה"ז עודנו בכחו לתקן הכל ללמוד תורה אבל אח"כ אם יתן כל חללי דעלמא בעד יום אחד לשוב לעוה"ז לתקן מה שעיוות אז לא יניחוהו.

But a person must be concerned to engage in Torah study while they are alive in this world, and not say, "when I have time I will study, since he may never have the time." Therefore each day and hour in this world should be precious in his eyes, since he still has the might to repair [his flaws] by studying Torah, but after [he dies] then not even if he tried to trade every delight to return to this world and repair what he had done wrong, he would not be allowed it.

Tiferet Shlomo’s point is not that one should kill oneself learning Torah, but rather that one’s sense of mortality should add urgency to the task of studying Torah.

A modern commentary by Rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg further expands on this mortality-minded approach to Torah study:

This life, here and now, is supremely precious precisely because of its brevity; the hour is always urgent. This is the essential Torah of ‘man who dies.’
We are subject to death yet endowed with a consciousness open to marvel and mystery. We are a fragment of the divine, sent down into this world to recognise what is sacred and to do what it is right before we die and our spirit rejoins the undying spirit of all being.

Rabbi Jonathan Wittenberg, Listening for God in Torah and Creation, pp.280-281

With Rabbi Wittenberg’s words in mind, I would like to extend it just a step further and segue into the discussion of AI. It could be that our mortality is the essence of our personhood. Yes, Rambam is with Aristotle in seeing embodiment primarily as limitation, but for me, embodiment is the essential context of learning–these flawed, failing bodies, with their pleasures and pain, with the flush of emotions from joy to shame, with their experiences across time, with their relationships to people, places–all of this is part of our Torah. And this very embodiment is what makes the chasm between us and the two extremes of God–with no embodiment–and with AI, which is all mechanical, so strange. We are biological systems, and while we benefit from our interactions with both mechanical systems and the divine realm, we are in the end distinct.

Discussions of AI quickly become discussions of us–what exactly are humans, and which of our qualities constitute our personhood? Every interaction involves some bridging of the divide–what psychologists call a theory of mind, and neurologists connect to our mirror neurons–we unconsciously interpret clues to construct a smooth narrative, but there is plenty of mystery involved. 

In the first chapter of my book, Torah and Technology: Circuits, Cells, and the Sacred Path (Izzun Books, 2024) I approach the subject of AI from several angles. The central one is the concept of shlichut, or agency. Interestingly, one of the newer areas of AI is called agentic AI, meaning that the technology is not only responsive to inquiry, as with the LLMs, but is also empowered to use tools to act in the world, for example, in making appointments, purchasing plane tickets, and also more momentous decisions in health care, policing, and warfare.

But what is an agent? Generally, we say ששלוחו של אדם כמותו (M. Brakhot 5:5) that agents are full representatives, acting in place of whoever sent them, and taking on their power as it were. In fact, Moshe made this point last week in Shlach Lekha, Num. 16:28-29:

וַיֹּ֘אמֶר֮ מֹשֶׁה֒ בְּזֹאת֙ תֵּֽדְע֔וּן כִּֽי־ה׳ שְׁלָחַ֔נִי לַעֲשׂ֕וֹת אֵ֥ת כׇּל־הַֽמַּעֲשִׂ֖ים הָאֵ֑לֶּה כִּי־לֹ֖א מִלִּבִּֽי׃

אִם־כְּמ֤וֹת כׇּל־הָֽאָדָם֙ יְמֻת֣וּן אֵ֔לֶּה וּפְקֻדַּת֙ כׇּל־הָ֣אָדָ֔ם יִפָּקֵ֖ד עֲלֵיהֶ֑ם לֹ֥א ה׳ שְׁלָחָֽנִי

And Moses said, “By this you shall know that it was the Lord who sent me to do all these things; that they are not of my own devising: If these people’s death is that of all humankind, if their lot is humankind’s common fate, it was not the Lord who sent me.

In other words, the proof of Moshe’s shlichut is him demonstrating a divine power that is not his own. In fact, Jacob Milgrom believes that this was the real problem of Moshe striking the rock–it is not that he struck it, but that he spoke as he did so, making it seem like his own action, not God’s. 

In a sense, Moshe leads us to one of the primary limitations on agency, אין שליח לדבר עבירה, there is no valid agency for crime, as we learn in B. Kiddushin 42b:

וְהָא דִּתְנַן: הַשּׁוֹלֵחַ אֶת הַבְּעֵירָה בְּיַד חֵרֵשׁ שׁוֹטֶה וְקָטָן – פָּטוּר מִדִּינֵי אָדָם, וְחַיָּיב בְּדִינֵי שָׁמַיִם. שִׁילַּח בְּיַד פִּיקֵּחַ – פִּיקֵּחַ חַיָּיב. וְאַמַּאי? נֵימָא: שְׁלוּחוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם כְּמוֹתוֹ! שָׁאנֵי הָתָם דְּאֵין שָׁלִיחַ לִדְבַר עֲבֵירָה. דְּאָמְרִינַן: דִּבְרֵי הָרַב וְדִבְרֵי תַּלְמִיד – דִּבְרֵי מִי שׁוֹמְעִים?

The agent must maintain responsibility for their actions, and here is where we get into real trouble using a machine as our agent. What is the responsibility of the AI? What consequences can it suffer? Shame? Fines? Corporal punishment? Execution?

And so, we have many motivations to empower and employ AI systems, and these will only grow more compelling. But if the machines act without effective oversight, and if they themselves cannot be held responsible, then they best not be given autonomous power to act in the world. Or, as Arthur Weasley said to Ginny in the Chamber of Secrets, “Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can’t see where it keeps its brain.” 

Only a person who can become impure has the capacity to be pure, and only an embodied individual can make moral decisions with due responsibility.