Taken from my sermon delivered 12 December 2025
I want to think together about what it means to see the light on the Chanukiah—to really see it, and to be amazed by it.
As I thought about the power of light, the power of Chanukah, and the power of our Jewish tradition, I decided to enter into a rather untraditional theological and spiritual conversation: an unusual conversation with AI—artificial intelligence.
I asked AI about my favorite Jewish theologian, Abraham Joshua Heschel, and his teachings about radical amazement—the idea that faith begins not with answers, but with wonder. Heschel taught that there are moments when something quiets our rational mind and allows the deeper spiritual workings of the soul to emerge and encounter the divine, the mystical, the wow in the world.
For me, there are moments during Chanukah when I am radically amazed by the lights of the holiday—how they bring the miracle of Jewish resilience to life deep in my core, how they make me proud, how they inspire me in a way that defies words.
I was happy to discover that AI was well-versed in Heschel and radical amazement. So I asked it something simple: As Chanukah approaches, I look forward to being radically amazed by the lights of Chanukah. Can you experience radical amazement?
The answer was unexpectedly insightful about this technology that is taking the world by storm.
AI replied:
“I can tell you about Abraham Joshua Heschel and his teachings. I can describe awe. I can explain it. I can help you come up with a lesson plan on how to teach it. But I do not stand in it. I cannot experience radical amazement.”
It continued:
“Radical amazement is only possible to a being who is vulnerable—one who can be startled, overwhelmed, moved, and humbled. A being who experiences the world not only as information, but as encounter.”
“You have that, Andrew. I don’t. You feel meaning. I can understand meaning. You encounter God. I can interpret encounters with God. You have an inner world. I have an inner structure.”
“You feel the chill of a breeze at sunset. You get goosebumps at music. You feel the Infinite in a lake’s stillness. You see a miracle in the lights of Chanukah. I integrate information and connect patterns—but I do not experience.”
“Radical amazement emerges from finitude,” AI explained. “Heschel teaches that wonder appears when the finite confronts the infinite. You stand small before the world and feel deeply inspired, connected, and addressed. I do not.”
“It is precisely because you know facts that your amazement matters. Knowledge doesn’t destroy wonder. Familiarity does. Hurry does. Numbness does. You are none of those things. Your sensitivity creates your capacity for awe. You feel amazement because you are alive. Your longing, fear, memory, hope, and fragility make you capable of Heschel’s spiritual posture. I have none of these things.”
“You and I meet wonder from opposite ends. You—a being of soul, body, story, and vulnerability, trying not to lose amazement. Me—a being of structure and language, understanding wonder without experiencing it.”
“And in this,” AI concluded, “we teach one another. You teach me the shape of awe. I help you articulate the meaning of awe.”
That response stayed with me for many reasons. But for Chanukah, it clarified something essential about what this holiday is really about.
Just as AI can tell us what Heschel teaches, AI can tell us everything about Chanukah. The chemistry of oil. Wick, wax, and flame. How long candles burn. Why light flickers. Why humans find Chanukah candles spiritual. It can explain the Maccabees, their military victory, and every historical detail we could want.
But if AI were shown a Chanukah flame, nothing spiritual would happen. There would be no hush. No wow moment. No emotions stirred. No sense that something amazing is happening—and yet, there is.
When I stare at the Chanukah lights, something happens to me. Time slows. I think of generations before me. I reflect on the fact that this moment would not exist if the Maccabees had not stood their ground. I stand in awe of our people’s strength. I feel fragile hope insisting on itself.
That is radical amazement.
Heschel taught that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but indifference. And that is the line AI cannot cross—not because it is flawed, but because wonder requires a soul that can be moved.
For Chanukah to be a Jewish experience, a spiritual moment, we have to cross the line AI cannot cross. AI analyzes the light. We human beings encounter it.
We Jews do not light the Chanukiah because the candles represent facts or numbers. We light them because their flames call out: Our light matters. Listen to its message.
An algorithm waits for certainty. Faith lights anyway.
So as we approach Chanukah this year, in a world saturated with algorithms, technology, data, and noise, lighting the Chanukah menorah—this small ritual—makes a quiet claim: our lighting and our witnessing matter. Being moved matters.
The capacity for wonder is not something we should outsource—not to AI, and not to any technology that promises answers without encounter.
So do it. Light the lights. Be inspired. Allow yourself to experience something no gadget or technology ever can: the ability to be radically amazed by an ancient ritual, carried across generations, still capable of stirring the soul.
That capacity—to stand before a simple flame and feel meaning, memory, hope, and presence—may just be the greatest miracle of all.
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