Every year, the Passover seder invites participants into an act of collective memory. Around the table, we are not encouraged to simply recount a distant historical episode, but rather to relive it. “In every generation,” the Haggadah teaches, “each person must see themselves as if they personally went out from Egypt.” Passover is not only about liberation from ancient bondage, but about recognizing the recurring patterns of power, oppression, and moral choice that shape every era.

Today, as humanity stands at the threshold of the AI age, the story of Passover feels newly urgent. Artificial intelligence promises extraordinary capabilities: productivity gains, medical breakthroughs, expanded knowledge, and even the reshaping of human identity itself. Yet beneath the promise lies a familiar tension, the same one embedded in the Exodus narrative – the relationship between power and responsibility, between freedom and control, and between creation and consequence.

Passover does not offer a blueprint for managing artificial intelligence. But it does offer a moral framework. Its symbols, rituals, and lessons illuminate the dangers we must recognize and the cautions we must heed as we enter a world increasingly shaped by machines that learn, decide, and act

Egypt as a System, Not Just a Place

In the Passover story, Egypt is more than a geographical location, it is a system. It is a structure of power that reduces human beings to units of labor, strips them of dignity, and prioritizes efficiency over humanity. Pharaoh is not merely a tyrant; he is the embodiment of a system that normalizes exploitation.

This distinction matters deeply when we think about AI. The risks of AI are often framed in terms of individual misuse, bad actors, rogue developers, or malicious governments. But the greater danger may lie in the systems themselves, that subtly reshape incentives and behaviors at scale. Algorithms that optimize for engagement may erode attention and truth. Decision systems that prioritize efficiency may entrench bias or dehumanize individuals. Automation may displace workers not through malice, but through a systemic logic that values output over livelihood.

Like Egypt, these systems may not announce themselves as oppressive. They may feel efficient, inevitable, even beneficial, until their cumulative effects become undeniable.

The lesson of Passover is that we must learn to recognize Egypt not only in overt cruelty, but in the quiet normalization of systems that diminish human dignity. In the AI age, this means questioning not only what our technologies can do, but what they are optimizing for and at whose expense.

The Seduction of Power: Pharaoh’s Hardened Heart

One of the most striking elements of the Exodus narrative is Pharaoh’s repeated refusal to change course. Even after witnessing devastation, he persists. His heart is described as “hardened”, a phrase that has sparked centuries of interpretation.

At one level, Pharaoh’s hardness reflects stubbornness. But at another, it reveals the way power distorts perception. When systems of power benefit us, we become less able, or less willing, to see their harm.

In the AI era, this lesson is especially relevant. Those who build and control powerful technologies may be incentivized to downplay risks. Organizations may prioritize growth over caution. Entire industries may develop a kind of collective hardening, where warning signs are rationalized or ignored because the momentum of innovation feels unstoppable.

We are already seeing early signs of this dynamic in the rapid deployment of AI systems despite unresolved concerns about bias, misinformation, job displacement, and concentration of power. Pharaoh’s story warns us that power, once accumulated, resists self-correction. It requires external pressure – ethical, social, and sometimes even catastrophic – to force change.

The caution here is clear: we cannot rely on those who benefit most from AI to regulate themselves. A healthy AI ecosystem requires transparency, accountability, and broad participation in decision-making. Not just technical expertise, but moral scrutiny.

The Plagues as Consequences of Imbalance

The plagues of Egypt are often read as divine punishment. But they can also be understood as cascading consequences, a breakdown of natural and social order in response to injustice. Water turns to blood. Ecosystems are disrupted. Disease spreads. Darkness falls. The progression feels less like isolated events and more like systemic unraveling.

In the context of AI, we might think of plagues not as literal catastrophes, but as unintended consequences that emerge when systems become misaligned with human values. We are not without early warning signs. In today’s online ecosystem information structures are being destabilized by AI-generated content, blurring truth and fiction. Economic disruption is emerging as automation reshapes labor markets faster than societies can adapt. Bias amplification is widespread due to historical inequalities being encoded into algorithmic decision-making. Loss of agency is mounting as individuals increasingly rely on incomprehensible systems to make choices. None of these are single, isolated failures. They are systemic effects, interconnected, compounding, and difficult to reverse once fully unleashed.

The plagues remind us that when systems are built on injustice or imbalance, the consequences do not remain contained. They ripple outward, affecting everyone, including those who initially benefit. The AI lesson is that we must anticipate second and third order effects, not just immediate gains. Ethical foresight is not optional. It is essential to preventing systemic harm.

The Mixed Multitude: Inclusion in Transformation

When the Israelites leave Egypt, the text notes that a “mixed multitude” goes with them. Liberation is not limited to a single group. It becomes a broader movement. This detail is often overlooked, but it carries the powerful message that transformative change is rarely isolated. It draws in diverse participants, each with their own motivations and perspectives.

In the AI age, this speaks to the importance of inclusion. If the development and governance of AI are concentrated among a narrow group – whether technologists, corporations, or specific nations – then the resulting systems will reflect a limited set of values and experiences. This risks creating technologies that serve some while marginalizing others. The “mixed multitude” reminds us that meaningful transformation requires broad participation. The voices shaping AI must include not only engineers, but ethicists, policymakers, workers, educators, and communities most affected by technological change. Without this diversity, we risk recreating a new form of Egypt, not through overt oppression, but through structural exclusion.

The Wilderness: Freedom as a Process, Not an Event

The Exodus does not end with liberation. It leads into the wilderness and a prolonged, uncertain journey where the Israelites must learn how to live as a free people. This transition is messy. There is fear, confusion, and even longing for the familiarity of Egypt. Freedom, they came to understand, is not simply the absence of oppression but also the acceptance of responsibility.

The AI transition mirrors this dynamic. Even if AI brings unprecedented capabilities, it does not automatically produce a better society. We must learn how to integrate these tools into our lives in ways that enhance, rather than diminish, human flourishing.

This involves a willingness to address difficult questions: How do we redefine work in an age of automation? How do we preserve human creativity and agency when machines can replicate or surpass them? How do we maintain trust and truth in a world of synthetic media? How do we ensure that technological progress aligns with ethical progress? Like the wilderness of Sinai, this is not a problem to be solved once, but an ongoing process of adaptation.

The caution here is against technological determinism or the belief that innovation will inevitably lead to improvement. Passover reminds us that freedom requires active cultivation.

The Golden Calf: Idolatry in a Technological Age

Perhaps the most striking cautionary episode in the broader Exodus narrative is the creation of the Golden Calf. In a moment of uncertainty, the people turn to something tangible, immediate, and controllable. They create an object of worship, a representation of power that they can see and understand. This is not merely a story about ancient idolatry. It is a warning about the human tendency to elevate our own creations to a divine status.

In the AI age, this temptation is profound. As AI systems become more capable, there is a risk that we begin to treat them as oracles and sources of authority. We may defer to algorithmic decisions, assume their objectivity, or even attribute to them a kind of intelligence or wisdom that exceeds their design.

This is a modern form of idolatry: placing faith in systems that we created, without fully understanding the risks behind their limitations and biases. The Golden Calf warns us that this path leads to distortion, not only of our values, but of our sense of responsibility. When we outsource judgment to machines, we risk eroding our own moral agency.

Remembering the Stranger: Ethics of Empathy

One of the most repeated commandments in the Torah is to care for the stranger, “for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” This is the ethical core of Passover: memory as a foundation for empathy.

In the context of AI, this principle has profound implications. Technological systems often abstract away individual experiences. Decisions are made based on data points, probabilities, and patterns. While this can increase efficiency, it can also obscure the human impact of those decisions.

Remembering the stranger means actively considering those who are most vulnerable to the unintended consequences of AI. It means designing systems that are not only efficient, but just.

This requires a commitment to empathy and a willingness to see beyond data in order to recognize the lived experiences behind it.

The Role of Narrative: Why Stories Matter

 Passover is built around storytelling. The Haggadah is not a legal document or a technical manual, but a narrative. It engages questions, invites participation, and emphasizes interpretation. This is not incidental. Stories shape how we understand the world, and how we act within it.

As we navigate the AI age, the narratives we construct will play a critical role. Are we telling a story of inevitable progress, where technology solves all problems? Or are we telling a more nuanced story, one that acknowledges both potential and risk? Simplistic narratives can be dangerous. They can obscure complexity, minimize caution, and create a false sense of certainty.

Passover teaches us to embrace complexity. Similarly, our understanding of AI must remain dynamic. We must continually revisit our assumptions, question our frameworks, and adapt our narratives as the technology evolves.

Freedom and Responsibility in the AI Age

Ultimately, Passover is a story about freedom, but not freedom in isolation. It is freedom coupled with responsibility, guided by ethical principles, and sustained through collective memory.

The AI age presents a similar duality. With AI we are gaining unprecedented power in our newfound ability to analyze vast amounts of data, automate complex tasks, and even simulate aspects of human cognition. But with this power comes the responsibility to ensure that these capabilities are always used in ways that enhance, rather than undermine, human dignity.

This responsibility cannot be outsourced. It belongs to all of us, the developers, policymakers, users, and citizens. The cautions of Passover are not warnings against progress. They are reminders of what progress must serve.

Conclusion: Seeing Ourselves in the Story

We are told to see ourselves as personally coming out from Egypt. In the AI age, perhaps we are called to a similar exercise – to see ourselves not only as beneficiaries of technological progress, but as participants in shaping its direction. We are not passive observers. We are builders, users, and stewards of the systems we create.

Passover reminds us that systems of power can both liberate and oppress. That freedom requires vigilance and that memory must inform action. It reminds us that the choices we make, collectively and individually, will determine whether the technologies we build lead us toward a more just and humane world, or toward a new kind of Egypt.

The question is not whether AI will transform our world. It already is. The question is whether we will apply the lessons of Passover as it does.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)