Kvetch like a Mench Parshas B’ha’alos’cha
Everyone seems to be weighing in on AI these days. The Pope shared his view two weeks ago, l’havdil, the Satmar Rebbe spoke about AI this past week. It is most definitely an important topic but one that I do not yet feel qualified to share any thoughts on in a meaningful fashion. Today, I want to focus on one very limited element of AI and that is modality of speech; the way we talk to AI and the way AI can help us speak.
A little while ago, someone posted the following to X: “I wonder how much money OpenAI has lost in electricity costs from people saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to their models.” Every word we use adds to the cost of processing replies and this X-user was highlighting the potential waste of money to AI companies caused by our politeness.
The next day, Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI responded: “Tens of millions of dollars.” And then he added, “It’s tens of millions of dollars that are well spent.”
In Jewish tradition, our ability to speak is seen as the defining feature of humankind. When the Torah describes the soul blown into the nostrils of Adam, Targum Onkelos translates the word Neshama as ruach m’ma’l’lah, a speaking spirit. The ability to communicate is something we share with the animal kingdom, but refined speech, saying please, saying thank you, that is something that sets us apart. Tens of millions of dollars that are well spent.
I recently learned that AI is helping many people refine their language. I don’t mean the many rabbis who are using AI to write their sermons. I am referring to a number of divorcees I have heard from who tell me that when they need to communicate a message to their ex, they run their message through AI, instructing AI to write their message in a polite fashion and not passive-aggressively. They put in: “Are you kidding me?! What are you thinking?!” And AI rewrites that to: “That’s so interesting. I wonder if there is another way to think about this?”
That’s a good usage of AI.
It got me thinking and I realized that there may be a market for a chatbot called, KvetchAI. It would be used by virtually ever Jew:
You would say, “Rabbi, that sermon was way too long,” and KvetchAI would say, “You gave us a lot to think about this week.”
You would say, “Where is the guy davening Mussaf running to?” and KvetchAI would say, “Wow, he sure has a lot of energy.”
You would say, “My children only call when they need money,” and KvetchAI would say, “Thank G-d, my children remember my number.”
It would kill the comedy scene. Imagine Jackie Mason or Jerry Seinfeld would have nothing to kvetch about. That would be a disaster.
There is an entire episode of Seinfeld dedicated to a made-up-holiday called, Festivus (Festivus for the rest of us!). The main ceremony of Festivus is an opportunity to kvetch – to go around the table and air your grievances about others who are sitting with you.
If you were ever looking for a Biblical precedent for Festivus it would be this week’s Torah portion. It is by far the kvetchiest parsha of all. The Jews complain, Miriam and Aharon complain, and even Moshe complains. But there is a strange inconsistency in how G-d responds to kvetching. When the Jews complain, G-d punishes them, when Moshe complains, G-d listens and solves his problem. Why is that?
The answer, it would seem, is that kvetching is not all that bad. It depends on how you do it. There is constructive kvetching and destructive kvetching. Some people complain because they like to complain; they’re not looking for a solution, they’re looking to get things off their chest, they’re using a cheap tool to make conversation, they’re trying to be witty. There are others who complain because they’re looking to change a bad situation.
When Moshe kvetches about his inability to lead the people on his own, he cares deeply about the Jewish People and he wants to see them succeed. In response, Hashem provides him with 70 helpers, an entire staff of qualified managers who can help him lead. When the Jewish People kvetch they do so because they like to kvetch. The Kotzker points out that the Torah describes the Jewish People’s kvetch in a telling fashion: Vayehi ha’am k’mis’onenim, literally, the nation acted like complainers. It doesn’t say they complained; complaining was their identity.
The litmus test of a good kvetch vs a bad one is whether you are willing to do something about it. Every shul leader knows the best way to respond to a kvetch is to acknowledge and offer the complainer the opportunity to fix it. What happens next is the ultimate tell; if they roll up their sleeves to help, they are a mench. If they stare at you blankly, they’re just a kvetch.
But there’s a level beyond kvetching like a mench and that brings us to the Bates family.
I don’t know if the Bates family uses ChatGPT, but if they did, they would probably cost the company millions of dollars on their own with all their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous.’ I have never met a more refined, polite, and kind group of people.
On Thursday, I sat down with Abby, who is celebrating her Bat Mitzvah today and I learned about all of her skills; she is athletic, energetic, and in the words of her parents, “will do anything for anyone.” I am looking forward to all of you hearing her beautiful D’var Torah and learning about the very special chesed project she did for her Bat Mitzvah.
What really struck me though is when I asked Abby about school. Some kids love school, some kids don’t. When I asked Abby about school, it became clear that she was probably in that second camp. But instead of telling me what she doesn’t like about school, she kind of smiled.
When you say something to AI, it says something back. Every time. It doesn’t know how not to respond. But the greatest, most refined, most G-dly mode of speech, is having what to say and saying nothing at all. In the words of Rumi, the Sufi mystic, “Silence is G-d’s first language. Everything else is bad translation.”
The Alshich writes that Moshe was present when Aharon and Miriam spoke about him. This is why the Torah tells us that ‘Moshe was the most humble of all.’ When he heard his brother and sister disparage him, he had the best possible defense available to him – he knew his level of prophecy was radically different than theirs. And yet, he chose to bite his tongue. Abby, you exemplify the highest form of human speech.
I want to share with you a story I recently heard from my friend, Rabbi Avi Goldstein: There was once a yeshiva student who came to take a farher, an admission test, at the Philadelphia Yeshiva. Philadelphia Yeshiva is very hard to get into and the person delivering the exam was a great Sage and torah scholar, Rav Elya Svei zt”l.
The exam typically focuses on what the student studied the year before. This boy just had learned Meseches Chulin in his school, a difficult tractate that deals with ritual slaughter amongst other things.
Rav Elya asked him which chapter in Chullin did you learn this past year? The boys father was there and he replied, “My son learned the chapter of HaKol Shochtin.” The father left the room and the exam began.
Question after question and the boy did not do well. He couldn’t answer anything. After twenty minutes, Rav Elya Svei called the boy’s father in and informed him that his son would not be accepted into the school.
The drive home was tense, as you can imagine. At one point the father turned to his son and asked him: “I’m just confused. You did so well last year in school. What happened at the exam?”
And the son explained to his father that last year in school he learned the chapter called HaShochet, not HaKol Shochtin. His father turned pale. “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I told Rav Svei the wrong chapter. But why didn’t you speak up? Why didn’t you tell him that you learned a different chapter? Why didn’t you correct me?!”
And the son sheepishly replied, “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of such a great Torah scholar.”
The father pulled over to the side of the road, called Rav Svei and told him what happened. Rav Svei was so impressed with this boy’s middos that he accepted him on the spot.
Kvetching is not all that bad, but we cannot allow it to become our identity. If you need to kvetch, kvetch like a mench; kvetch with kind words and kvetch constructively, be ready to not only identify the problem but solve it. But most refined of all is the golden silence of this young boy, of Moshe Rabbeinu, and of Abby Bates.
Abby, may you continue to walk in the beautiful path of your parents and may you continue to use your many talents to make the world a little brighter and kinder. May you always have the wisdom to know when to complain – and how, and in a world filled with noise, the strength to remain silent when silence is the noblest response. Mazel Tov.