Transcript
David Svi Kalman (0:00)
What if prayer doesn't work? This question strikes us as a distinctly modern one, an outgrowth of the slow disenchantment of the world. But in truth, the question is an old one and one given. Space to breathe.
Podcast Announcer (0:14)
Here from the Sholom Hartman Institute, Thoughts and Prayers is a new podcast that explores what Jewish prayer means and why it still matters. Join host Rabbi Jessica Fisher as she weaves together stories, classic texts and conversations with leading rabbis and thinkers like Yossi Klein.
Yehuda Kurtzer (0:30)
Halevi Judai is about the democratization of the spiritual of revelation.
Podcast Announcer (0:35)
Rabbi Lauren Holtzblatt.
David Svi Kalman (0:37)
I was representing the second gentleman Emhoff as his rabbi on that stage. What you had in that moment was.
Podcast Announcer (0:43)
The pluralism of America and Rabbi Josh Warshavsky.
David Svi Kalman (0:46)
Prayer helps me be the best version of myself. It helps me figure out what do I need in my spiritual backpack.
Podcast Announcer (0:52)
Thoughts and prayers inspiring new connections to Jewish prayer in a changing world. Listen now, wherever you get your podcasts.
Yehuda Kurtzer (1:06)
Hi everyone. Welcome to Identity Crisis show from the Shalom Harmon Institute, creating better conversations about the essential issues facing Jewish life today. I'm Yehuda Kurtzer. We're recording on Friday, October 3, 2025. So we're recording this episode the morning after Yom Kippur. I apologize in advance if both my guest and I are a little creaky today. I was thinking throughout Yom Kippur yesterday, at various times throughout the day, how in many ways it might be Judaism's most human holiday. Passover, Sukkot, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah. Most of those days are tied into the big narrative of the Jewish people. The exodus from Egypt, revelation at Sinai, Jewish people's memorial Day and or they're tethered to the land of Israel, marking the spring or fall harvests. Yom Kippur is connected to the temple, of course, to the particularistic story of the Jewish people. It evolved pretty quickly to become the day not just of collective purification, but of individual atonement, centering the story much more on the human individual. The rules of the day are strict and they're all embodied. No food and drink, no bathing, no sex, etc. All of which are rooted in sensory deprivation, which in turn fuels sensory awareness. If you're like me, you feel things physically more intensely on Yom Kippur, like weary feet after a lot of standing, feeling parched after all of the singing. The symbols of the day are all about death. We dress in white shrouds as though we're standing in our graves or because we're trying to break down the divide between us imperfect mortals and the angels on the other side, luxuriating in the Divine Presence without the encumberedness of physical bodies. The liturgy throughout the day is really human. We talk about our limitations, our failures, those we're going to try really hard to address, and those we'll never overcome. After all, you beg for forgiveness for most of the day, and you make all sorts of promises until you give up by the end of the day and simply ask for compassion instead. Even in the recitation of the temple service itself, which takes up a lot of the Musaf prayers in most synagogues, we start the story back at the creation of the world, the creation of humankind, as though we're trying to remind ourselves that underlying our people's particularistic relationship to history and to God, we're on the same footing as all other humans born naked and afraid. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. After Yom Kippur, I feel myself coming back to life and also, weirdly, less alive. Restoring physical equilibrium feels good, but it can make you less aware of your physicality, all of which is front and center on Yom Kippur. Reentering real life these days is not just eating a bagel and taking a shower. It's about rehooking into the technologies that define our lives. We rushed home last night to turn on the Yankees game and watch them knock out the Red Sox. That was great. Pinnacle human experience. And that felt harmless. But I spent the rest of the evening and then this morning, reacquainting myself with tech and social media and all of those parahuman, parasocial activities we close ourselves off from on Shabbat and especially on Yom Kippur. And doing so raises some deeper ambivalences. My son's high school went phone free this year in the building, joining a growing movement of private schools under the influence of the research and writing of Jonathan Haidt, all of whom are trying to mitigate all of the negative effects that phones, apps and phone culture have on young people, on their physical and mental health, and on their relationships. Actually, he is now co hosting the SAR podcast together with the head of school, and this was their first topic in the debut podcast. It was pretty great. A lot of nachos out of that. It's amazing to watch this phone experiment, and I wish it had happened years ago. Yet I find myself worrying about whether the ways we resist how technology challenges our very humanity simply can't keep pace with it. We're forced to, as I think religion has had to do with very long time to either try to opt out entirely from technological advances like the Amish do, or to engage in this cautious dance and embrace with all of this hardware and software that's actually rewiring us as we go along. And the biggest front in this fight, of course, is AI. We collectively are finally talking about the ethical, religious, and even anthropological ramifications of these growing sets of technologies that have already largely infiltrated our lives in more ways than we want. With admit, I confess my own failures on this front. I tend to be a skeptic about our capacity to resist the pace of change in technology. And I probably should have been more worried about AI much earlier. I know my guest feels that way about me and about us. We'll get to that. I also have the hubris of thinking that this work that I do is of course not replaceable by machines, even though this line of work is probably going to be the easiest for AI to make obsolete. But here we are. Human brilliance has managed to construct tools that aggregate human knowledge to produce more brilliance, while at the same time making humans redundant. In fact, taking the human out of the very construct of human knowledge. How in all of this are we meant to stay human? I guess today is not late to the AI party. He's been beating the drum, maybe I think it's the tea kettle, about the urgency of a religious and moral conversation about AI for a long time. And I'm grateful to see the way his work is being more widely recognized these days for the creativity of his approaches and the depth of his knowledge and wisdom. David Callman is a scholar, a thinker, a writer, an artist, a technology guru, podcaster, and more. It's actually hard to write that sentence because you leave things out. He works as a research fellow here at Hartman. He's also the owner of Printocraft Press. He's a program organizer for Sinai and Synapses. He is also the host of Belief in the Future, a podcast about technology and religion. You should check out the full complexity of what he brings to the world, captured online at his website davidsphi.com and on his blog, Jello Menorah. He was also the founding producer of this show, Identity Crisis, and I remain personally very grateful for his encouragement that I and we get into this podcasting business which has been so fruitful. David tsvi, thanks for coming on the show on that side.
