Chabad’s Lesson for the AI Age

As the 3rd of Tammuz approaches, marking the yahrzeit of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson z”l, I have been thinking not only about the Rebbe’s teachings, but about one of the defining features of the movement he built: Chabad-Lubavitch understood the power of technology long before most religious institutions did.

Long before “digital strategy” became a nonprofit buzzword, Chabad recognized that technology could be used to spread Torah, amplify Jewish pride and identity, and make Judaism feel accessible across geography and circumstance. The Rebbe did not instinctively fear emerging technologies. He saw them as tools that could be elevated toward holy purposes. Chabad became remarkably adept at using every available medium to expand its reach: satellite broadcasts, telephone networks, fax machines, professionally produced publications, websites, livestreams, podcasts, WhatsApp groups, and social media. Today, Chabad institutions are increasingly experimenting with artificial intelligence as well.

AI-powered Torah search tools now help users navigate the Rebbe’s teachings and vast libraries of Jewish texts. Automated systems answer common Jewish questions online around the clock. AI transcription and translation tools allow classes and “farbrengens” to become searchable, multilingual, and instantly shareable. AI-generated clips, graphics, captions, and educational materials now populate social media feeds with extraordinary speed and efficiency. Some rabbis and educators even use tools like OpenAI’s ChatGPT to brainstorm sermons, source sheets, and educational content.

And yet, what makes Chabad extraordinary has never actually been the technology itself. The real genius of Chabad is that every technological innovation ultimately points back to something profoundly human. And that commitment to people was not merely a strategy. It is theology.

The Rebbe taught that every individual possesses inherent dignity and an irreplaceable role in God’s creation. While Chabad’s outreach is focused on strengthening Jewish life and observance, the Rebbe’s vision was broader than the Jewish community alone. He spoke often about the responsibilities of all humanity and encouraged engagement with Jews and non-Jews alike. One did not have to be Jewish to be close to God or to live a life of spiritual significance. Every person, created in the Divine image, had a unique contribution to make to the betterment of the world.

That belief helps explain why Chabad invests so heavily in personal encounters. The goal is not simply to disseminate information. It is to reach a person. To help someone recognize that their life matters, that their actions matter, and that they have a role to play in a larger story. Technology may be the vehicle, but human beings are always the destination.

Today, there are Chabad houses in places many Jews never imagined they would find Jewish life: university campuses, rural communities, airports, ski towns, military bases, and remote corners of the world. A traveler can land almost anywhere and find a Friday night dinner, a warm meal, or simply another Jew saying, “Welcome.” That did not happen because of algorithms alone. It happened because Chabad mastered something much deeper than marketing: the creation of belonging.

And Chabad’s model of belonging has always been deeply physical and relational. It is the young Chabad rabbi standing on a street corner asking Jewish men if they would like to lay tefillin. It is women handing out Shabbat candles before sundown on Friday afternoons. It is giant public menorah lightings in town squares, outside courthouses, and in front of state capitols. It is Purim packages delivered door to door, holiday tables expanded to accommodate strangers, and college students welcomed into homes far from their own families.

Chabad uses technology and branding brilliantly, but always in service of embodied Jewish practice and interpersonal encounter. The “mitzvah tank” only matters because a person inside asks another person, “Are you Jewish?” The public menorah only matters because people gather around it. The livestream only matters if it eventually leads someone to a Shabbat table.

Those moments matter because they transform Judaism from an abstract identity into lived communal experience. They remind people that Judaism is not merely something you consume online. It is something embodied, shared, practiced, and experienced alongside other human beings.

At a moment when artificial intelligence is rapidly reshaping education, communication, and even religious life, that distinction matters enormously. AI can summarize a Torah portion in seconds. It can generate divrei Torah (sermons), answer halakhic questions, organize information, and produce polished writing with astonishing speed. These tools are powerful and, used wisely, can dramatically expand access to Jewish learning.

But AI cannot replace the thing that Chabad actually does best: human connection. An algorithm cannot notice that someone sitting alone at a Shabbat table looks homesick. It cannot instinctively add another chair because “someone else may show up.” It cannot dance with a nervous college freshman on Simchat Torah or remember which congregant recently lost a parent. AI can provide information. It cannot provide belonging.

That distinction feels particularly important right now. We are living through an era saturated with content but increasingly starved for community. People have unprecedented access to knowledge and unprecedented levels of loneliness. We can ask chatbots theological questions at two in the morning, but many people still do not know who they would call in a moment of crisis.

Chabad’s success was never merely technological sophistication. Its success came from understanding that technology should serve relationships, not replace them. Every livestream, website, WhatsApp group, and AI-generated caption is ultimately designed to bring actual people into actual relationships with one another.

The irony of the AI era may be that the more sophisticated technology becomes, the more valuable genuine human connection will become. The communities that thrive will not simply be the ones with the best tools. They will be the ones that use those tools to deepen relationships, create meaning, and help people feel seen.

The Rebbe understood something that remains true today: technology can extend our reach, but it cannot define our purpose. The purpose is people. Every individual carries a spark of the Divine and a unique role in the unfolding of God’s plan for the world. Chabad’s enduring achievement has been its ability to use the newest technologies in service of one of Judaism’s oldest truths: that every person matters.

That may be one of Chabad’s most enduring lessons, and perhaps one of the Rebbe’s most prescient ones as well.