Karle Flanagan and Wade Fagen-Ulmschneider had caught their students cheating. The two professors at the University of Illinois, who teach data science to a class of 1,200 students, realized that multiple students had skipped class and manipulated an electronic ticker that monitored class attendance to cover it up.
The professors warned the class about its behavior; in response, the students sent the professors apology emails. But there was something off about them.
Professor Flanagan told a newspaper: “The first person was very apologetic. They said, ‘Dear Professor Flanagan, I want to sincerely apologize.’ And I was like, thank you, they’re owning up to it. They’re apologizing. And then I got a second one, and a third. And then everybody started ‘sincerely apologizing’ and suddenly it became a little less sincere.”
In the next class, the professors posted a slide of dozens of the nearly identical apologies. The students had used ChatGPT to compose their emails.
Their apologies were deceptive and insincere. And they were also boring.
AI raises multiple large social and ethical concerns. But we must pay attention to the smaller issues as well. Among them is that AI is accelerating our decline into a monoculture, where everything sounds the same, a culture that is dull and unoriginal.
Even the most personal of tasks are now being handled by AI. People are using ChatGPT to write breakup texts. They pass them along to their partners without even bothering to remove the telltale em dashes that are the signature of an AI written text. Journalists, rabbis and politicians publish soulless written pieces, empty of both effort and insight.
And like these student apology letters, everything sounds alike.
It’s not just AI that is causing the problem. Ed Koch used to say, “If you agree with me on nine out of 12 issues, vote for me. If you agree with me on 12 out of 12 issues, see a psychiatrist.”
Today, everyone agrees on 12 out of 12 issues. It is in large part due to social media. First, the algorithms incentivize the building of bubbles, where audiences doomscroll their way to total agreement. Influencers rise to prominence by venting their rage on anyone who disagrees. And once that happens, leadership disappears; anyone prominent who doesn’t fall in line will be relentlessly attacked on social media and treated as traitors to the cause.
Social media bubbles have undermined our open-mindedness; AI threatens to undermine our creativity. In the process, individuality will be lost.
Parshat Nasso includes a puzzling section describing the sacrifices of the nesiim, the heads of the 12 tribes, at the dedication of the mishkan, the sanctuary.
This is their offering:
“The offering he brought was one silver plate weighing a hundred and thirty shekels and one silver sprinkling bowl weighing seventy shekels, both according to the sanctuary shekel, each filled with the finest flour mixed with olive oil as a grain offering; one gold dish weighing ten shekels, filled with incense; one young bull, one ram and one male lamb a year old for a burnt offering; one male goat for a sin offering; and two oxen, five rams, five male goats and five male lambs a year old to be sacrificed as a fellowship offering.”
Each of them brought identical offerings, but they were told to bring them on separate days. And the Torah then repeats the full description of these sacrifices 12 times.
Why would the Torah do this? In order to emphasize individuality.
The Midrash offers the following possibility: each of the nesiim had a different intention, even if their sacrifices were identical. Even if they looked the same on the outside, each one of the nesiim brought a unique sacrifice.
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch expands this idea and writes:
“God commanded that each tribal prince bring his offering on the day designated specifically for him. For each tribe embodies a unique combination of social characteristics which…would give that tribe the capacity to contribute its own distinctive share to the mission entrusted to the nation as a whole.”
The repetition of the sacrifices is a call for us to look beyond the superficial. The Torah compels the reader to consider what is unseen and recognize the inner intentions that make each sacrifice different.
The lesson’s placement is notable as well. It comes right after the Israelites are organized into camps, standing unified, side by side. Yet even within a section that emphasizes creating a cohesive community, even when the entire nation is marching in lockstep, the Torah insists on including a lesson about individuality.
Because individuality is too precious to neglect.
Judaism is profoundly community-minded. But it never overlooks the importance of the individual. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks quotes the historian Paul Johnson as explaining that Judaism had “managed the delicate balance between both—giving equal weight to individual and collective responsibility.”
Judaism is profoundly community-minded. But it never overlooks the importance of the individual.
The Torah begins with lessons about individuality. The first human, Adam, is created in the image of God; and every individual since carries that infinite potential. He is also created alone, emphasizing how each person is an entire world unto themselves.
Adam is endowed with extraordinary capacities. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik explains that man mirrors God; just as God is a creator, so too is man. And as a creator, Adam is meant to be God’s partner.
This creative ability will lead each of Adam’s descendants in a different direction. But that is precisely the point: we each have a distinctive contribution to make. The Torah challenges us to find our own calling.
We each have our own letter in the Torah to write.
In Kabbalistic literature, every person comprises a letter in the Torah, with a unique insight to offer. If a community squelches individuals and prevents them from flourishing, the entire Torah suffers.
The importance of the individual is why debate is valued in the Talmud. It preserves multiple opinions and spends endless pages discussing the back-and-forth between each side. The Talmud cherishes both sides of every debate; each has a unique perspective, and both are the “words of the living God.”
It is a mistake to assume that this appreciation for individuality undermines the community. On the contrary, it makes it more vibrant.
Dan Senor and Saul Singer point out in “Start-Up Nation” that the Talmudic emphasis on fiercely independent creativity has built an Israeli society that produces world-changing innovation.
The magic of the start-up nation is that everyone has an idea on how to make things better. On the street you will get quick advice on how to carry your groceries and how to raise your children. But Israelis also have better ideas for something other than unruly children, which is why Israel consistently ranks near the very top in international patent filings per capita.
Individuality can lead to creativity, and that creativity can transform the world.
America in 2026 is a profoundly individualistic society. People are far more self-absorbed; they socialize less with others and think of themselves a lot more.
Yet there is little individuality. On the contrary, people simply follow the mob. And there is little creativity. Instead, superficiality carries the day.
Like the students at the University of Illinois, the best most people can produce are the banal platitudes of ChatGPT.
They might be individuals, but they have no individuality.
And they are boring, very boring indeed.
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.
