Passover
Nathan finished the meal. Eleven friends sat around him at his Seder table, completing the twelve tribes of Israel with him. Everyone was chatting. The Haggadah reading had gone smoothly, half in Hebrew, half in English. Dreidel, our dog, behaved well. The afikoman was under the toaster, being searched for by the kids. I took a moment to praise Nathan for the wonderful meal.
“It went OK, David. We should offer the next cup to Elijah.”
As Nathan turned to fill the cup in front of the empty chair, a young man sat there with a commanding presence, a lean, resilient build, deep-set, thoughtful eyes, and dark, wind-touched hair framing a face marked by both weariness and calm confidence. His movements as he took the cup from Nathan were gentle and deliberate, showing humility and quiet authority. Nathan was surprised, but everyone around the table kept talking, completely ignoring the figure who had just joined.
“I haven’t seen you there before,” said Nathan.
“I just arrived. Someone kept the door open for me.”
“Are you Julia’s friend from Moscow?”
“No, I am Elijah.”
Nathan thought the young man was appealing to his sense of humor. “Oh, you mean Elijah Wood.”
The man did not smile at all and answered confidently: “No, just Elijah.”
I was fascinated and wanted to see how far the experiment could go.
“Elijah… the world feels like it’s burning again, Israel, Iran, and now even war is guided by machines. What kind of future are we walking into?”
The young man looked straight into my eyes and answered without hesitation: “You are a people who have lived between fear and hope since Egypt. Strength has kept you alive, but it is not what will let you rest.”
I smiled, thinking he was naïve. While Nathan sent an air kiss to Julia, he let out another question:
“Then what should we do?”
“Do not let fear become your only language. Protect yourselves, yes, but hold on to compassion, to unity, to the memory of why you wanted peace in the first place. Wars end when people remember that the other side also sits at a table, telling stories of fear and hope. A nation survives not only by its defenses, but by its spirit.”
I could not believe the guy’s chutzpah, and Nathan was not drunk enough for a theological discussion.
Dreidel approached the young man and put his paws on his lap as if asking to be picked up.
The young man placed the dog gently in his lap.
“Careful, he is a bit nervous,” I said.
But no, for the first time, Dreidel sat calmly on someone’s lap.
“And what about AI, Elijah? These machines are starting to take over.”
Elijah patted Dreidel and answered me as if I was not even there:
“They do not think as you do, they reflect you—your wisdom, your blindness, your haste.”
Nathan chimed in. “So, you are saying they won’t save us?”
“No tool redeems a people, least of all one that cannot feel the cost of its decisions. If you hand over judgment to machines, do not be surprised when judgment returns without mercy. Remember, though the nations rage and their iron and fire seek to consume you, let not your hearts be led astray by the cunning of your own making, for wisdom and mercy endure when all else crumbles.”
I poured more wine into Nathan’s silver cup.
“We got ourselves a philosopher here.”
Nathan smiled.
“No more wine for him.”
When we turned to the young man, only Dreidel sat in Elijah’s chair.
“Did you guys see Elijah? He was sitting here.”
“No, that’s our dog, his name is Dreidel, not Elijah,” said Lena.
Since then, I stopped eating “chilli con carne” after seven and forbade Dreidel from reading philosophy books.
