Tag: futurism

  • Episode 4: Shabbat Against The Machine

    Episode 4: Shabbat Against The Machine

    The Jewish futurism Lab
    The Jewish futurism Lab
    Episode 4: Shabbat Against The Machine
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    What happens when flow has no boundaries? In Episode 4 of The Jewish Futurism Lab, I explore how creativity without limits turns into exhaustion, addiction, or production without reflection. This episode introduces Shabbat not just as religious practice, but as a design principle: a refusal built into time that prevents work from consuming the people inside it.

    Drawing connections between Mussar ethics, inclusive design, and systems thinking, I examine how Jewish tradition offers practical frameworks for sustainable creativity. From classroom constraints that sharpen student focus to the Golem story’s “erase key,” this episode asks: Where is your pause? Where do you step back before momentum takes over?

    Join me as I unpack why limits aren’t the enemy of creativity. They’re what make creativity sustainable and accountable.

  • The Jewish futurism Glossary of Terms

    The Jewish futurism Glossary of Terms

    Core Concepts

    Jewish futurism: A creative and philosophical framework suggesting that Jewish civilization is closer to its beginning than its end, using Jewish ideas, symbols, stories, and values to imagine and design ethical futures. It resists nostalgia that freezes the past while rejecting futures that erase identity or ethics.​

    Judeofuturism: An alternative term emphasizing the honoring of infinite bounds of Jewishness while imagining desired Jewish futures. Often used interchangeably with Jewish futurism in artistic and cultural contexts.

    Metamodernism: A cultural discourse and paradigm that emerged after postmodernism, characterized by oscillation between modernist sincerity and postmodernalist irony, hope and melancholy, naivety and knowingness. It integrates aspects of both modernism and postmodernism, accepting progress, spirituality, and grand narratives while maintaining critical self-awareness. [Inference] This framework aligns with Jewish futurism’s simultaneous engagement with tradition and radical future-building.

    Areyvut (mutual responsibility): A foundational middah (ethical quality) in Jewish futurism, emphasizing that future-building is a collective project rather than an individual quest. This principle grounds innovation in communal accountability.

    Avodah (sacred service): The practice of treating innovation and creative work as sacred service. In Jewish futurism, this reframes technological and artistic creation as spiritual practice.

    Creative middot: [Inference] Ethical qualities or character traits applied to creative and design practice within Jewish futurism. This extends the traditional concept of middot (virtues) into the realm of innovation and making.

    Hiddur olam: [Inference] A term combining hiddur (beautification, enhancement) with olam (world), suggesting the beautification or enhancement of the world. [Inference] In Jewish futurism, this concept may relate to world-building and the ethical imperative to make beautiful, livable futures.

    Liminal space: From the Latin limen (threshold), the quality of ambiguity or disorientation that occurs in the middle stage of a rite of passage, when participants no longer hold their pre-ritual status but have not yet begun the transition to their new status. Liminal spaces are characterized by ambiguity, potentiality for transformation, and often create a sense of communitas (deep togetherness). In Judaism, the mikvah (ritual bath) serves as a quintessential liminal space, marking transitions from unmarried to married, non-Jew to Jew, and symbolizing moments of profound transformation and renewal. The mezuzah on doorposts also marks liminal space, acknowledging thresholds as sacred transition points between outside and inside, public and private.

    Temporal Concepts

    Short-termism: The practice of prioritizing immediate results and quick rewards over long-term consequences and far-seeing action. Jewish futurism explicitly resists short-termism by emphasizing multi-generational responsibility and ethical planning that extends beyond a single lifetime.

    Backcasting: A planning method that begins by defining a desirable future and then works backward to identify the steps needed to achieve it. Unlike forecasting (which projects from the present forward), backcasting starts with a vision and maps pathways from that future goal back to current actions.

    Forestalgia: A yearning for an idealized future, as opposed to nostalgia’s longing for the past. [Inference] This concept resonates with Jewish futurism’s forward-looking orientation while maintaining connection to tradition.

    Forward-looking responsibility: The ethical obligation rooted in ancient texts and lived memory to ask “What kind of world are we building next?”. This reflects Judaism’s historical orientation toward future generations.​

    Long-term thinking: An exercise that Jewish futurism frames not as escapism or frivolity but as a core calling.​

    Creative and Methodological Framework

    Flow state: A psychological state of complete absorption in an activity where nothing else seems to matter, described by psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi as optimal experience. In flow, skills seamlessly meet challenges, self-consciousness disappears, and action and awareness merge. [Inference] Flow states are central to creative practice in Jewish futurism.

    Experiential learning: A learning approach that emphasizes hands-on activities, concrete experience, and reflective observation. [Inference] This method supports the embodied, practice-based nature of Jewish futurist work.

    Divergent thinking: A mental process that generates multiple creative solutions to a single problem by exploring various possibilities, brainstorming, and taking unconventional paths. It encourages thinking outside conventional boundaries and considering different perspectives without immediately worrying about feasibility.

    Systems thinking: An approach that analyzes problems by understanding the broader context and examining relationships and interactions between components. Rather than focusing on isolated elements, systems thinking reveals how all parts connect and influence one another, helping designers anticipate unintended consequences and solve root causes.

    Design thinking: [Inference] A human-centered problem-solving methodology that emphasizes empathy, ideation, prototyping, and iteration. [Inference] In Jewish futurism, this approach is integrated with Jewish ethical frameworks and values.

    UX Design (User Experience Design): An approach that focuses on optimizing user interactions with products and services. When combined with systems thinking, UX design considers how all parts of a product, user, and environment connect rather than isolated touchpoints.

    Ethical and Creative Framework

    Creation as systems design: One of two foundational coordinates of Jewish futurism, derived from the Zohar’s vision of divine networks. This approach views creative work through the lens of interconnected systems.

    Ethics as boundary of holiness: The second coordinate defining Jewish futurist practice, informed by warnings about unintegrated revelation and the Golem narrative’s lessons about ethical creation.

    Ritual innovation: The practice of adapting and transforming Jewish rituals for contemporary contexts. This includes AI-integrated rituals and speculative narratives exploring modern Jewish spirituality.

    Hitpashtut ha-gashmiyyut (stripping of corporeality): A Hasidic concept meaning liberation from the material to make room for the spiritual. In Jewish futurism, this can inform approaches to technology and embodiment.

    Artistic and Design Terms

    Neon-infused aesthetics: Contemporary visual language in Jewish Futurist art that uses bright, technological imagery to explore Jewish themes. This aesthetic bridges traditional symbolism with speculative design.

    Speculative chronology: The use of speculative fiction, alternate histories, and future narratives to explore Jewish identity and possibilities. This encompasses literature, art, design, architecture, music, and technology.​

    Tel Atid (Hill of the Future): A symbolic concept in Jewish futurism representing future-building sites. The term combines archaeological connotations with forward orientation.

  • The Jewish futurism Checklist

    The Jewish futurism Checklist

    My working conversation about Jewish futurism

    Let me start by saying what Jewish futurism is not, at least for me.

    It is not putting a Star of David on a sleek sci-fi object and calling it a day. It is not “Jewish, but make it cyberpunk.” And it is definitely not about predicting the future like some kind of techno-prophet.

    For me, Jewish futurism feels more like a reunion of kindred spirits.

    A pulling back together of a long, messy line of prophets, mystics, cartoonists, coders, muralists, and weird uncles who stayed up too late arguing midrash. A line that runs from Torah and golems to comics and game engines. Not to escape history, but to carry it forward with intention.

    When I build something under this banner, I try to remember that I am plugging into that line. And I need a way to check myself while I’m doing it.

    So think of this not as a manifesto, but as a conversation. Something you can keep open next to your sketchbook, your code editor, or your half-finished ritual prototype.


    Before you make anything, pause

    Before the fancy shaders.
    Before the slick prompts.
    Before the paint flies.

    Ask a simple question: What am I actually doing here, and who does it impact?

    I come back again and again to this tension.

    Am I sanctifying technology, or am I just showing off?

    Tech is a utensil. It is not the main character. So I ask myself: what am I trying to elevate? Where is the kavannah? Where is the hiddur mitzvah, the moment where something becomes more beautiful, more meaningful, more reachable for someone else?

    If the honest answer is “it’s just cool,” that’s not a failure. But it is a cue to slow down and look again.


    Every golem needs an off switch

    This part matters more than we like to admit.

    The Golem story is our original dev-ops parable. The impressive part is not that the creature walks or lifts heavy things. The Jewish part is the letter you can erase to stop it.

    When you’re working with powerful systems, AI, networks, social platforms, feedback loops, you have to ask:

    What is the kill switch?

    What are the limits, the norms, the literal or metaphorical buttons that stop this if it starts causing harm?

    If there is no answer, you may be building the wrong kind of golem. Or at least one that needs more thought before it leaves the workshop.

    And while we’re here, I try to be suspicious of the word “disruption.” Disruption is easy. Repair is harder.

    So I ask: what does this actually repair? A dead corner of ritual? A missing story? A lack of joy? A pattern of exclusion?

    If I cannot name the repair, I might just be speeding up something that was already broken.


    The future does not work without memory

    Jewish futurism is obsessed with what comes next, but it refuses to get there by burning the archive.

    I try to ask myself: am I innovating with memory, or without it?

    Innovation without memory is another version of a golem. Powerful, impressive, and hollow.

    So I name my sources. Texts, stories, communities, teachers. I try to let at least one move in the work be a reply to someone who is not in the room anymore.

    And I think about time differently.

    Jewish time loops. We return to the same holidays, the same readings, the same traumas, but never in quite the same way. There is always another layer.

    Does my work do that? Does it circle, repeat, echo, or sync to rhythms larger than me? Or is it just a straight rocket out of history?


    I think of this as visual midrash

    Midrash is not commentary. It is argument. It is wrestling.

    Visual midrash just uses different tools.

    Pixels. Lines. Sound. Code. Motion.

    So I ask: which story am I arguing with? Which verse am I stretching, healing, poking at, or refusing to let go of?

    If I am using generative systems or futuristic aesthetics, can I actually point to the Torah, prophet, or folktale that is in the room with me while I work?

    If I cannot, that is information worth listening to.


    If it costs nothing, it might not be finished yet

    This is the uncomfortable part.

    Good Jewish futurist work usually carries some tension. Between me and my community. Between hope and fear. Between what feels safe and what feels honest.

    I think about Asher Lev painting the crucifixion. Not because I want to shock anyone, but because he showed what it looks like to take your tradition seriously enough to struggle with it in public.

    If everything in the work feels pleasant and agreeable, I pause. I ask what I am avoiding.

    And I try to practice anavah, humility, especially when working with big ideas and powerful tools.

    Where do I admit I do not know?
    Where do I invite critique?
    Where do I let uncertainty live inside the work instead of editing it out?

    Jewish stories are full of vessels that shatter when they hold too much light. That warning is still relevant.


    Speed is not the same thing as light

    Early Futurism loved speed for its own sake. Jewish futurism is more interested in illumination.

    So I ask: does this actually help someone see something? A wound. An injustice. A joy. A strange truth that needed a frame.

    If I am accelerating things, is it in service of understanding and empathy, or just adrenaline?

    That distinction matters.


    This is not a solo practice

    Jewish futurism is a team sport. No lone techno-messiahs.

    I try to ask: who is the “we” in this project?

    Every healthy Jewish creative space I admire, from the Bezalel workshop to Vitebsk to the beit midrash, includes peers, elders, skeptics, and students. If I am making in a vacuum, I want to know what that protects me from, and what it costs the work.

    This is where areyvut, mutual responsibility, shows up.

    Does the project open doors for others? Share tools? Offer access or visibility? Leave the landscape more generous than it found it?

    And when I step away, can anyone carry something forward? A format. A method. A story. A set of instructions.

    Jewish futurism often moves like a relay baton. If everything ends with me, I might be breaking the chain.


    Finally, I listen to the feel of it

    Jewish futurism has a particular emotional texture.

    Not “does it include a Jewish symbol,” but does it feel like it belongs to our long, strange story?

    Could it sit next to a page of Talmud? A Chagall window? A Jack Kirby spread? A poem written in exile?

    Is there any trace of the desert, the shtetl, the city, the bus stop, the protest, the beit midrash?

    And is there a move here that only I could have made?

    The future is full of generic chrome. Jewish futurism gets specific. It brings in accents, neighborhoods, family stories, and uncomfortable details. That specificity is what makes the work feel like a real chapter in the Jewish story, not a reskinned sci-fi asset pack.


    I keep this list nearby when I work. Sometimes taped to the wall. Sometimes scribbled in the margins.

    I do not try to hit every point every time. That would freeze the process.

    But if I cannot hit any of them, that is usually a sign. What I am making might be about the future, just not yet operating in the Jewish futurist key.

  • Episode 3: Practicing Jewish futurism

    Episode 3: Practicing Jewish futurism

    The Jewish futurism Lab
    The Jewish futurism Lab
    Episode 3: Practicing Jewish futurism
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    In this episode, I move from defining Jewish Futurism to actually doing it. What does it look like to practice Jewish Futurism in your creative work, your teaching, your community building, or your daily life? How do Jewish texts, rituals, and patterns of thought become tools for imagining futures rather than artifacts of the past?

    I explore Jewish Futurism as a lived methodology. One that shows up through design, storytelling, ritual adaptation, speculative thinking, and creative constraint. Drawing from Torah, rabbinic interpretation, art practice, and my own community-based projects, this episode looks at how Jews have always practiced futurism by rehearsing futures, holding multiple meanings at once, and designing systems meant to survive change.

    This episode is an invitation. Not to agree with a definition, but to experiment. To treat Jewish tradition as a living design system. And to ask how your own creative practice might become a site where past, present, and future meet.

  • Liminal Space as Creative Method: Jewish futurism and the Multiverse of Stories

    Liminal Space as Creative Method: Jewish futurism and the Multiverse of Stories

    Back in 2014, when I first started to create my Jewish futurist art and stories, I thought that my character, the Wanderer should live a few hundred years into the future, so my spiritual technology objects could just “work” as he travels through time to different Jewish moments in history. But not everything in the Jewish cannon of stories are historical, so that became a narrative issue for my characters extraterrestrial abilities to be believable. I shifted to think about what if the character existed not in the “future” based on time, but in a liminal space built entirely out of the Jewish cannon of stories. This is the first thing to understand when thinking about Jewish futurism as a creative practice. We’ve learned to think of thresholds as thin lines, transitional moments you pass through quickly on your way from one stable state to another. But Jewish textual tradition suggests something different: the threshold itself can be a world, a zone of variable width where multiple versions of the same story coexist without resolution.

    This is where Jewish futurism lives and works.

    The Wilderness Prototype

    The Book of Numbers, Bamidbar in Hebrew, literally means “in the wilderness.” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks identified this wilderness period as Israel’s formative liminal experience, a space “between Egypt and the Promised Land” where the people transformed from “escaping slaves” into “a kingdom of priests and a holy nation”. The wilderness wasn’t just a route to somewhere else. It was the place where identity formed, where law was given, where the impossible work of becoming happened.

    Wandering Israelites 2024, Digital Illustration, By Mike Wirth

    Jewish futurism inherits this structure. It positions itself in a wilderness between deep tradition and speculative futures, refusing to resolve that tension into either pure preservation or pure innovation. The creative power comes from staying in the threshold.

    Multiformity: When Stories Refuse to Collapse

    Jewish textual tradition demonstrates something unusual: it preserves multiple versions of the same story without declaring one correct and the others false. The Talmud includes the story of how Jewish children survived Pharaoh’s decree in two different midrashim, Exodus Rabba 1:12 and Exodus Rabba 23:8, telling “essentially the same story” with different details and emphases. Both remain authoritative. Both are studied. Neither cancels the other out.

    This happens again with the creation narratives in Genesis, which offer two distinct accounts that the rabbis never harmonized. When Genesis 2:23 has Adam declare “this time (zot hapa’am) bone of my bone,” the rabbis read the phrase “this time” as evidence there must have been a first time, another woman before Eve. This reading generates the Lilith tradition, which itself exists in radically different versions across texts. Sometimes she’s a Mesopotamian demon, sometimes Adam’s first wife who refused subordination, sometimes multiple Liliths entirely (the Matron Lilith mated with Samael, the Lesser Lilith with Asmodeus). The tradition never consolidates these into one coherent mythology.

    This is what I mean by calling liminal space a “storehouse of options.” All these versions exist together, not as rough drafts leading to a final text, but as a permanent multiplicity. The creative work happens in the space between versions, where meaning emerges from juxtaposition and contradiction rather than resolution.

    Metamodernism and the Jewish futurist Oscillation

    Jewish futurism operates through what contemporary theory calls metamodernism, an approach that “oscillates between a modern enthusiasm and a postmodern irony, between hope and melancholy, between naivete and knowingness, empathy and apathy, unity and plurality, totality and fragmentation”. This isn’t confusion or inconsistency. It’s a deliberate method of holding contradictions in productive tension.

    Marc Chagall’s I and the Village (1911)

    Consider Marc Chagall’s I and the Village (1911), which projected “mystical futures” while remaining rooted in shtetl imagery, or Erich Mendelsohn’s Einstein Tower (1921), which used “dynamic, visionary architecture” to anticipate “new Jewish identities” while drawing on Jewish cultural memory. Both works refuse to choose between past and future. They exist in the oscillation itself.

    Erich Mendelsohn’s Einstein Tower (1921)

    My own practice with neon aesthetics, AI-integrated rituals, and speculative spiritual objects tries to inhabit this same oscillating space. The work is simultaneously reverent toward tradition and radically speculative about Jewish futures. It takes the midrashic impulse (interpreting and expanding upon existing texts) and applies it to material culture, visual art, and interactive experience. The question isn’t whether to look backward or forward, but how to create in the charged space where both directions exist at once.

    The Danger of Over-Explanation

    Here’s where methodology becomes crucial. The liminal space has power precisely because it resists total systematization. When you map everything, explain all the connections, resolve all the contradictions into a coherent world, you destroy the liminal quality you were trying to work with.

    The internet phenomenon of The Backrooms demonstrates this perfectly. In 2019, someone posted a single unsettling image on 4chan: an empty office space with yellowed lighting that evoked uncanny familiarity and wrongness. Its power came from mystery and minimalism. You could project your own dread onto that space. It remained undefined.

    But as one analysis explains, “the internet tends to reject simplicity. A mere image cannot suffice; it demands depth, a narrative, characters, and intricate worldbuilding”. Within months, The Backrooms “transformed from a strange setting into an entire alternate dimension, complete with its own physical laws and terrifying creatures. There are countless levels, each featuring unique themes, ecosystems, backstories, and factions”. A commenter captured what was lost: “Modern Fandom kills that feeling of liminality and making up your own interpretations. You’re never just ‘alone’ with a game or story giving you fractured information”.

    The lesson for Jewish futurism is clear. The moment you turn the “storehouse of options” into a fully mapped shared universe (like the Marvel Cinematic Universe or an RPG sourcebook), you’ve left liminal space behind. You’re no longer working with multiformity but with a single systematized world that happens to contain variety.

    Dwelling in the Threshold

    Jewish futurism as creative practice means learning to dwell in the threshold rather than passing through it. It means producing work that operates like midrash, creating new versions that coexist with rather than replace existing ones. It means embracing the metamodern oscillation between tradition and speculation, between melancholy and hope, between the archive and the unknown.

    Most importantly, it means resisting the urge to explain everything, to make it all cohere. The wilderness between Egypt and the Promised Land was where transformation happened precisely because it was undefined space, liminal territory where old certainties no longer held but new ones hadn’t yet solidified. That’s the space where Jewish futurism works.

    The magic is in the mystery. Once the mystery is gone, so is the magic.

  • Episode 1: Welcome to The Jewish futurism Lab: Torah, Tech, Tomorrow

    Episode 1: Welcome to The Jewish futurism Lab: Torah, Tech, Tomorrow

    The Jewish futurism Lab
    The Jewish futurism Lab
    Episode 1: Welcome to The Jewish futurism Lab: Torah, Tech, Tomorrow
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    In this first episode, I’m introducing The Jewish futurism Lab and what this podcast is here to build: a space where Torah learning, creative practice, and emerging technology meet. I’ll share a quick bit about who I am and why I’m drawn to Jewish futurism, then lay out what you can expect in future episodes, essays, and projects connected to my work at mikewirthart.com. We’ll start with the foundation, what Jewish futurism is, why it matters right now, and how we can imagine bold, ethical Jewish futures without losing our roots.

  • What Went Wrong with Italian Futurism and Why Every futurist Needs to Know More About It

    What Went Wrong with Italian Futurism and Why Every futurist Needs to Know More About It

    When I teach graphic design history at Queens University of Charlotte, we hit a point in the semester that always makes me a little uncomfortable, because I know it’s coming before the students do. We’re talking about Italian Futurism, those bold typographic posters, a visionary sounding manifesto bursting with energy, those declarations about speed and machines and destroying museums. At first, students lean forward and feel like the work looks alive and feels thrilling. And then we read more deeply into the Marinetti’s words and we see that this movement became a propaganda apparatus for Mussolini’s fascist regime.

    The first page of the manifesto of Il Futurismo by FT Marinetti 1909

    Those promising-sounding ideas about breaking with the past? They’re loaded with fascist and racist intentions. That gorgeous energy? It was weaponized.

    FT Marinetti 1909

    This is the pedagogical tightrope I walk every semester, and it’s the same tightrope I’m walking in my work on Jewish futurism.

    I’m trying to rescue the core impulse of futurism, the bold, beautiful desire to imagine and design better futures, from what Italian Futurism did to it.

    Because here’s the thing: Italian Futurism started with legitimate, even utopian desires, and it still became a cautionary tale. If you’re going to study any kind of futurism seriously, you need to meet Italian Futurism early, not to emulate it, but to understand exactly what can go wrong when speed replaces wisdom and aesthetics trump ethics.

    Futurism vs futurism: Why the Capital Letter Matters

    I’ve started being very careful about capital F versus lowercase f. Futurism with a capital F names a specific historical movement: Marinetti’s Italian avant-garde, with all its inherited baggage. It’s bound up with nationalism, misogyny, the glorification of war as “the world’s only hygiene,” and an eventual merger with Mussolini’s Fascist Party in 1920. When I write “Futurism,” I’m signaling: we’re talking about that movement, that history, those consequences.

    Futurism with a lowercase “f” names something broader and more perennial: the human impulse to imagine, prototype, and design what comes next. It’s the practice of speculating about futures, whether through art, spirituality, technology, or politics. Lowercase futurism is a method and a desire, not an ideology. It’s the thing Jewish futurism, Afrofuturism, Queerfuturism, Sinofuturism, and Gulf futurism all share: the courage to ask what could be, and the willingness to build toward it.

    This distinction isn’t just academic. It gives us critical vocabulary. Capital-F Futurism becomes an object of analysis and caution, the ancestor we study to avoid repeating. Lowercase futurism becomes a space for repair, reinvention, and new ethical commitments. Jewish futurism inherits the impulse without inheriting the violence.

    How Futurist Movements Emerge: What They All Want at First

    Futurist movements consistently arise during periods of dramatic technological transformation and cultural rupture. Italian Futurism emerged from a very specific crisis. Turn-of-the-century Italy was struggling in ways that made the country feel stuck in the past. The government was weak and unstable. There was no real national identity binding the regions together. Industrial development lagged decades behind other European powers. Poverty was widespread, modernization faced fierce resistance, crime and corruption were endemic, and millions of Italians were emigrating in search of better lives.​

    FIAT, 1927 Giuseppe Romano (1905–67) Fondazione Massimo e Sonia Cirulli Collection, Bologna

    Meanwhile, foreign tourists flooded Italy to gaze at ancient ruins and Renaissance masterpieces, treating the country like a beautiful museum, a relic of what it once was. For young Italian intellectuals like Marinetti, this was humiliating. People came to see what Italy was, not what it is or could become. The weight of the past felt suffocating.

    This pattern repeats across other futurist movements. Afrofuturism developed in response to the ongoing trauma of the transatlantic slave trade and systemic oppression, seeking to reclaim narratives and imagine liberation. Gulf futurism arose from the rapid, oil-driven transformation of the Arab Gulf states. Sinofuturism responds to China’s technological rise and Western anxieties about shifting global power.​

    Despite their different contexts, these movements share foundational patterns. They reject traditions they perceive as inadequate or stifling. They embrace technology as a catalyst for radical cultural change. Most importantly, they assert the right to imagine and define their own futures rather than accepting externally imposed visions.​

    Codognato, Plinio Fiat 520 Optima!, 1928
    Lazzaro, Umberto di Italian Aerial Lines, 1933 ca.

    Futurist movements emerge from communities experiencing rupture, whether from rapid modernization, colonialism, diaspora, or globalization. They often adopt manifesto culture, broadcasting bold visions to gather followers. They’re youth-driven, appealing to younger generations eager to break free from what they see as the constraints of older orders.​

    At their inception, futurist movements typically seek cultural sovereignty, the synthesis of heritage and innovation, celebration of dynamism and transformation, radical breaks from oppressive pasts, and social change through technology. These are legitimate, even beautiful desires. The critical question is: what values guide those transformative visions? Italian Futurism demonstrates what happens when the desire to destroy the past overwhelms the responsibility to build just futures.​

    Collage of Futurismo Fascisto Art By SheldonOswaldLee

    The Promise and Peril of Italian Futurism

    Filippo Tommaso Marinetti launched Italian Futurism with his 1909 manifesto, and it crackled with revolutionary energy. He declared the racing car more beautiful than the Winged Victory of Samothrace and announced war on museums, libraries, and academies. The movement promised total cultural transformation through speed, machines, violence, and youth.​

    But Marinetti wasn’t speaking metaphorically. He made actual political proposals to sell off Italy’s art heritage in bulk to other countries. Museums were “graveyards,” he argued, places that paralyzed Italy and prevented it from joining the modern world. Venice, beloved by foreign tourists, was dismissed as “Europe’s brothel”. Art critic John Ruskin, who had celebrated Italian cultural heritage, became an enemy figure.

    John Ruskin, 29 June 1863, Photo by
    William Downey (1829-1915)

    The Futurist manifesto even contained a self-consuming logic. It declared that when Marinetti himself turned 40, younger futurists should throw him “into the trash can, like useless manuscripts”. The movement advocated not just destroying museums once, but periodic cleansing of cultural memory. Nothing could be allowed to accumulate tradition or meaning.

    FT Marinetti’s Futurist Cook book- where he calls for the ban of pasta form the Italian diet, 1913 Posterhaus

    The seeds of destruction were there from the beginning. Marinetti glorified war as “the world’s only hygiene” and promoted aggressive Italian nationalism. When the Futurist Political Party merged with Mussolini’s Fascist movement in 1920, artistic vision was subordinated to political power. The philosophical contradictions, celebrating individual creative genius while demanding conformity to nationalist ideology, created tensions that made the movement culturally irrelevant even as it gained political influence.​

    Aeroritratto di Mussolini aviatore, Alfredo Ambrosi, 1930

    Five Things That Went Catastrophically Wrong

    1. Glorification of Violence and Destruction

    Italian Futurism didn’t just accept violence as a historical reality. It actively celebrated war, aggression, and destruction as aesthetic and moral goods. The movement embraced Italian expansionism and cultural supremacy, making technological progress inseparable from domination. Rather than synthesizing past and future, Italian Futurism sought to obliterate history entirely, creating a vacuum that fascist ideology eagerly filled.​

    This pattern wasn’t unique to Italy. The source material connects Futurism to similar state-sponsored iconoclasm in revolutionary France, Soviet Russia, and Maoist China. When modernization ideology justifies cultural destruction, it creates dangerous precedents. The logic always sounds progressive at first: we must destroy the old to make way for the new. But that destruction rarely stops where its advocates promise.

    2. Absence of Ethical Guardrails

    The movement valued technology and speed for their own sake, with no moral framework to guide their application. Machines were beautiful because they were fast and powerful, not because they served human flourishing. This absence of empathy-centered design principles meant that when political power beckoned, the movement had no philosophical foundation to resist authoritarianism.​

    Marinetti viewed Italy’s cultural heritage not as something to be honored or reinterpreted, but as a burden to be liquidated. There was no question of what wisdom traditions might offer, no consideration of what future generations might need from the past. Speed was the only value.

    3. Authoritarianism Over Democracy

    Italian Futurism began with anti-monarchist and anti-clerical positions, challenging established power. These principles were quickly abandoned when Marinetti saw opportunities for influence within Mussolini’s regime. The movement became a propaganda tool, with artistic vision subordinated to the authoritarian state. Individual creative genius, once celebrated, was channeled into serving nationalist ideology.​

    4. Exclusionary Cultural Supremacy

    Italian nationalism and cultural dominance were core tenets from the start. There was no space for pluralism, interfaith dialogue, or universal design principles. The aggressive rejection of tradition created a vacuum where fascist ideology could flourish, as the movement offered speed and violence but no sustaining vision of human connection.​ Not to mention that the regime implemented Italian Racial Laws in 1938, introducing discrimination and persecution against Jews of Italy. 

    The humiliation Marinetti felt when tourists treated Italy as a museum of the past was real. But his response, to erase that past entirely rather than build new futures in dialogue with it, became toxic. Cultural sovereignty doesn’t require cultural amnesia.

    5. Aesthetic Without Substance

    When Mussolini refused to make Futurism the official state art of fascist Italy, the movement collapsed into cultural irrelevance. Decades of manifesto-writing had produced style over philosophical depth. Without a sustainable ethical foundation, Italian Futurism had nothing to offer once political winds shifted.​

    The movement’s self-consuming logic guaranteed this outcome. If nothing is allowed to accumulate meaning, if every generation must destroy what came before, then no stable cultural foundation can ever form. You can’t build futures on ground you keep setting on fire.

    Jewish futurism: Building From Different Ground

    This is where my work begins. Jewish futurism emerges from fundamentally different premises, offering a model for how technological optimism can coexist with ancient wisdom and ethical responsibility. Where Italian Futurism glorified destruction, Jewish futurism centers empathy-led innovation, positioning technology as a tool for meaning-making rather than domination.​

    Jewish history demonstrates millennia of resilience and reinvention without destroying the past. Continuous reinterpretation, of texts, traditions, cultural practices, allows Jewish communities to honor ancestral heritage while embracing modernity. This mirrors Afrofuturism’s Sankofa principle, which emphasizes learning from the past to inform future trajectories. Rather than revolutionary destruction, Jewish futurism practices synthesis and transformation.​

    In my own practice, Jewish futurism is rooted in Jewish thought: tikkun olam (repair of the world), justice, responsibility. Technology is never valued for its own sake but always in service of deeper moral commitments. This philosophical grounding provides the ethical guardrails that Italian Futurism catastrophically lacked. The question at the heart of my work is: “What kind of ancestor will you be?” That question changes everything.​

    Where Marinetti wanted to be thrown in the trash at age 40, Jewish futurism asks what we’re building that will outlast us, what we’re passing down that future generations will need. It’s not about preserving everything unchanged. It’s about being in active, creative dialogue with tradition while we build what comes next.

    What We Can Learn: Five Lessons for Building Responsible Futurisms

    Ethics Must Precede Aesthetics: Beauty and innovation without moral grounding enable atrocity. Technology requires wisdom traditions to guide its use. Speed without wisdom is just velocity. It doesn’t know where it’s going or why. When Marinetti proposed selling Italy’s art heritage in bulk, he showed what happens when aesthetic ideology overrides ethical consideration.​

    Honor the Past While Building the Future: Synthesis surpasses destruction as a strategy for cultural renewal. Tradition provides foundation for innovation rather than serving as an obstacle to it. Jewish tradition treats time as cyclical rather than linear, where past, present, and future dynamically interact. The humiliation Italy felt at being treated as a museum was real, but erasure isn’t the only response. We can acknowledge what’s broken in our inherited traditions while keeping what sustains us.​

    Center Human Dignity Over Cultural Supremacy: Universal design principles create futures for all people, not just dominant groups. futurism must be liberatory rather than oppressive, replacing nationalism with empathy and collaboration. Jewish futurism creates shared spaces for collective growth and interfaith collaboration. The pattern of state-sponsored iconoclasm, from revolutionary France to Soviet Russia to Maoist China, shows us what happens when one vision of the future tries to erase all others.​

    Resist Political Opportunism: Artistic movements must maintain ethical independence even when political power beckons. When survival requires moral compromise, the movement has already failed. Marinetti’s compromises to ensure the movement’s survival hollowed it out from within. The proposals to liquidate cultural heritage weren’t just aesthetic statements. They were political calculations about access to power.​

    Root Innovation in Community: Collective meaning-making replaces the cult of individual genius. As I’ve learned in my own practice, the future, like design itself, is fundamentally a team sport. It thrives when we create collectively and collaboratively. Collaboration and care supersede competition and domination. The Futurist manifesto’s call to throw Marinetti himself in the trash at 40 reveals a movement with no concept of intergenerational continuity, no way to pass wisdom forward.​

    The Responsibility of Imagining Futures

    Every speculative vision carries political and ethical consequences. Italian Futurism’s trajectory from revolutionary art movement to fascist propaganda machine demonstrates that enthusiasm for the future, absent ethical grounding, can enable profound harm.​

    When I stand in front of my design students at Queens, looking at those bold Futurist posters, I don’t want to just critique them. I want to show what it looks like to rescue the core impulse, the courage to imagine radically different futures, from what got corrupted. The frustration Marinetti felt was real. Italy was stuck. The weight of the past was crushing. Foreign tourists treating the country as a beautiful corpse was genuinely humiliating. But his solution, to burn it all down and start from nothing, created more problems than it solved.

    Jewish futurism offers that alternative model: technological optimism rooted in ancestral wisdom, innovation guided by empathy, futures built through synthesis rather than destruction. We can honor what we’ve inherited while transforming it. We can be critical of traditions that harm while keeping what sustains. We can build futures that acknowledge the past without being imprisoned by it.​

    The question isn’t whether we’ll imagine futures. In periods of technological transformation, futurist movements will inevitably emerge. The question is what values will guide those visions. Will we learn from history’s warnings about the price of speed without wisdom, aesthetics without ethics, innovation without responsibility? Or will we repeat Italian Futurism’s mistakes with new technologies and new manifestos?​

    I’m betting we can do better. Jewish futurism, and the broader family of ethical futurisms it’s part of, shows us how. We can be bold and careful. We can embrace transformation and honor memory. We can design futures that are actually livable, not just fast. That’s the work. That’s what I’m trying to build.

  • Spiritual Creativity: My Journey into Community and Sacred Practice

    Spiritual Creativity: My Journey into Community and Sacred Practice

    What does it mean to make creativity a sacred practice, and how can art transform Jewish life? For me, becoming a Jewish artist wasn’t a career move. It was a spiritual awakening. This article traces how I came to see the creative process not only as a personal path to the divine but as a communal tool for connection, healing, and evolving Jewish tradition. Through murals, rituals, digital artwork, and collaborative design, I’ve learned that creativity can be one of the most powerful forms of Jewish practice we have today.

    “Why would you become a Jewish artist?” people used to ask me. “Isn’t that limiting your market to a very small sliver?” It’s true, I wasn’t always a Jewish artist. In fact, for a long time, I rarely made Jewish art. I was unsure. Afraid. Happy to be an assimilated American. Unaware of how essential it would become for me and for my community.

    I flirted with Jewish-themed projects years ago. Between 2008 and 2010, I worked with Hillel International and Manischewitz to create Jewish holiday infographic posters for social media. In 2014, I collaborated with the JDC (Joint Distribution Committee) to visualize their financial data and annual reports. I was illuminating the divine, even though I didn’t call it that yet.

    My Hanukkah infographic from the holiday set, 2010

    It wasn’t until 2015 that I truly made my first Jewish artwork: a portrait of Anne Frank for a mural exhibition called Renegades. Other artists were painting their own cultural heroes. Selecting figures who had gone against the grain. I realized it was time to seek my own. Anne Frank became my entry point into this work, a symbol to me of resilience and a powerful voice against erasure.

    Anne Frank by Mike Wirth- Painted in 2015 as part of the Renegades Exhibition- Statesville, NC

    That act of painting her opened a door. Slowly, I began to turn toward the sacred in my own tradition. The power of a large, colorful, public mural amplified the song I wanted to play during the process of making this artwork. My art-making became a form of prayer, my studio transformed into a sacred space, and my creativity evolved into an intentional spiritual practice.

    This shift happened when I read the Art of Jewish Prayer by Yitzhock Kirzner, Aryeh Kaplan’s Sefer Yetzirah: The Book of Creation, and My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok, that I consciously directed my art towards sacred purposes, rooted in the Jewish tradition of Hiddur Mitzvah, the beautification of commandments. These texts provided context, examples, and permission to dive deep into creation with the Creator. Creating art that explicitly engaged Jewish symbols, rituals, and values was transformative. It connected my creative spirit directly to my Jewish heritage, deepening my understanding of who I was as both an artist and a Jew.

    Seeking Spirituality Beyond Home

    For years, spirituality felt elusive. I searched widely through books, traditions, and practices that were not native to me. They were meaningful, somewhat familiar, but not quite mine. The connection I sought remained just out of reach, inauthentic because it lacked resonance with my core identity.

    But art always felt different. Unlike anything else, the creative process opened a space where I felt fully present, deeply focused, and yet somehow expanded beyond myself. When I was in the flow of making, I experienced peace, clarity, and a sense of connection to something ineffable. Creativity became a spiritual threshold where my ego dissolved, time softened, and I encountered what I can only describe as spirit.

    Much like prayer or meditation, creativity required me to slow down, listen, and surrender. There was kavannah or intention and there was surrender to something unfolding through me, not just from me. The act of making was mirroring sacred ritual: there were preparations, gestures, rhythms, and moments of revelation. I realized I was building altars out of paper, light, pigment, and symbol.

    In those moments, my studio wasn’t just a workspace, but it was a mikdash me’at, a small sanctuary. Making became prayer. Not metaphorically, but truly: a way of communing with the Divine, of processing the world, and of seeking wholeness through acts of beauty and imagination.

    Turning Toward the Divine

    Everything shifted when I began to turn that creative intention toward the divine. Through Jewish themes, symbols, and rituals, I discovered a channel between my artistic life and my spiritual heritage. I wasn’t just illustrating ideas anymore, I was beginning to create images of the supernatural sensations I experienced in prayer and meditation. My imagination was filled with light, energy, movement, and meaning that felt deeply sacred and alive. I longed to capture the invisible. To make visible the ineffable sparks, flows, and forces that surged through ritual, study, and spiritual presence. I began to see the hidden energy encoded in the stories of the Torah. Figures like Moses, Miriam, and Elijah took on a new presence in my mind and not just as biblical characters, but as spiritual superheroes, carriers of divine power and transformation. Suddenly, creativity was no longer a separate mode of expression; it became my way of connecting, of serving, of sanctifying.

    Cosmic Shema- digital illustration by Mike Wirth, 2022

    Deepening Jewish Knowledge and Art

    That epiphany led to study. I immersed myself in Jewish art, theology, and spiritual traditions: Betzalel, Kabbalah, Hiddur Mitzvah, Mussar. I found ancient frameworks that affirmed what I had already intuited that art could be holy. That beauty was not frivolous. That creativity could be a form of moral and spiritual refinement.

    At a certain point, I realized I didn’t just want to explore this for myself and I wanted to help build a new creative-spiritual system that other Jews could use in practice. A framework that would invite both artists and non-artists to access spirituality through creative intention. A system rooted in Jewish values but expansive enough to meet people where they are in their community centers, schools, studios, or synagogues. A new pathway for sacred practice that could evolve alongside Jewish life itself.

    Design and the Sacred Creative Process

    As a designer and artist, I began to notice profound overlaps between the spiritual frameworks I was studying in Judaism and the design methodologies I used professionally. Both begin with empathy and intention. Both evolve through cycles. Both aim to make meaning. When I merged these systems, they each became more accessible, emotional, and impactful, not only for myself, but for others engaging with my work.

    This led me to develop a process I now use in both personal practice and community workshops. It blends design thinking, Jewish intentionality, and artistic exploration. I begin by identifying a question or tension. Something personal or communal. I respond with sketches, writing, or prototypes, then reflect on what resonates. I refine or rework the ideas in cycles, grounding the process in kavannah (spiritual intention) and humility. Over time, it becomes more than a finished piece, it becomes a tool for spiritual insight and connection. Here’s how it typically unfolds:

    A matrix of my creative-spiritual framework

    One of the most powerful connectors between these two worlds is iteration. In design, iteration means we test, revise, and revisit ideas. We are always improving through cycles of feedback. In Judaism, iteration is baked into everything: we revisit the same Torah portions each year with new eyes, we refine rituals through lived experience, and we continually return to core questions through study and prayer. This cyclical, reflective approach makes the sacred creative process feel alive. It becomes responsive to both tradition and change of the practice of ritual, liturgy, Torah cycles and compared them to the creative frameworks I used as a designer, I began to notice deep resonances. Jewish time is iterative. Rituals are prototypes refined over generations. Sacred texts are living documents engaged by communities in cycles. These are not just religious structures they are deeply creative systems.

    Merging the frameworks of UX design from sources like IDEO, Interaction Design Foundation and Jewish spiritual practice not only clarified both for me, but it made them more accessible, emotional, and human. Suddenly, design became prayerful. And Judaism became a beautifully designed user experience for living with meaning. In that synthesis, I found a personal theology of creativity, one that invites others in regardless of artistic background.

    How UX Design and Spiritual Practice overlap

    Witnessing Community Transformation 

    In 2023, I was part of the inaugural Social Practice Institute hosted by the Greensboro Jewish Museum. Over a 10-day intensive, my cohort of Jewish creatives explored the intersections of Social Practice theory and Judaism. As our capstone project, we were invited to create a social practice artwork grounded in Jewish values. I chose to design a ritual rooted in my family’s Shabbat practice by formalizing a simple yet powerful question that my non-Jewish partner asks each week: “What was your high and low?” Working with Rabbi Judy Schindler, I wrote a prayer and developed a ritual element that involved dipping salt and honey, symbolizing the sweet and bitter aspects of the week. This gesture transformed an informal tradition into a shared, sacred moment that felt authentically Jewish to our whole family.

    Infographic explaining my High and Low Shabbat ritual- Design by Mike Wirth, 2023

    At Queens University of Charlotte, I created a Hanukkah mural project that brought together a diverse and pluralistic group of students and community members. This included Jews from many backgrounds across the Charlotte community, including Orthodox, Reform, interfaith families, and cultural Jews working side-by-side. Each night, a community leader would light our real menorah and then spray paint the flame for that night on our mural menorah. It was a rare, joyous, and profound moment of connection, anchored in creativity and shared ritual.

    President Dan Lugo and his family at the final night of the Menorah-mural at Queens University of Charlotte, 2020

    In 2024, at Temple Shir Tikvah in Wayland, MA, I worked with the congregation during a 3-day residency to collect hundreds of photos, drawings, and stories of each member of the community’s “sacred Jewish objects.” We meditate on what it means for objects to be “Jewish” and “sacred”. Some gave Judaica while others gave images of a stuffed animal, because it reminded them of a recently deceased loved one. This exercise transformed these individual intimate artifacts into a collective community digital collage of a “time tapestry” of meaning that forged personal connections and bridged generations and practice. The final artwork became a visual record of personal memory and shared identity. We printed the 9 ’ x 9’ on archival fabric, and it currently hangs in the synagogue.

    The community time tapestry created with Temple Shir Tikvah, Wayland MA 2024

    In 2025, I will be participating in the Jewish Street Art Festival in collaboration with UC Irvine Hillel. That community has experienced deep pain. From campus protests disrupting life for Jewish students to student council boycott votes targeting Israel. Our art will be a form of public healing and spiritual resistance, a sacred reclamation of space through color, symbol, and story.

    Even online, I see how creativity becomes a sacred connector. When I post new Jewish-themed artwork for my upcoming Parshat guidebook, the response is immediate and profound. The comment threads and DMs often skip small talk entirely and dive straight into deep conversation about grief, joy, interpretation, and belonging. With just one image, we’re able to arrive at a spiritual place together. And that, to me, is sacred.

    Personal Revelation and Commitment

    What I’ve learned is simple and profound: creativity is not just for individual enlightenment. It is a communal force. It brings us into dialogue, into presence, and into the work of building something sacred together. My commitment is to continue creating in this way and not just to beautify our tradition, but to actively evolve it with care, joy, and intention.

    If this story resonates with you and if you’re looking to bring creative spiritual practice to your synagogue, school, museum, or campus, then I’d love to connect. I’m available for lectures, workshops, and collaborative art projects that help communities deepen their relationship with creativity, tradition, and each other.

  • Rimon: The Cosmogranate, A Jewish futurism Interactive Light Installation

    Rimon: The Cosmogranate, A Jewish futurism Interactive Light Installation

    • Project Title: “Rimon: The Cosmograntate”
    • Project Type: Interactive Installation
    • Year Created: 2023
    • Technology: Controllable LED, ESP32 Microcontroller, WLEDs, Ultrasonic Sensors, Microphone input
    • Goal: Create an immersive space that reacts to participants’ audio and motion input.
    • Awards: 2023 Blumenthal Arts Fellowship Grant Winner

    “Rimon: The Cosmogranate” is an immersive art piece, inspired by the Hebrew word ‘rimon,’ meaning pomegranate. Its form mirrors the fruit, emitting a radiant significance. At its core, it merges art with interaction. Inner sensors respond to audience movement and sound input, translating presence and voice into a dynamic interplay of lights and sounds.

    This kinetic symphony crafts a unique and captivating experience that boasts shining over 14k LED lights. The project honors a tradition of Jewish ingenuity, echoing the pomegranate’s role in the Torah and the cherished Sukkah during Sukkot. Rooted in Mike Wirth’s Jewish futurism body of work, the project blends ancient wisdom with futuristic visions.

    illustration of Mike's cosmogranate.
    Mike’s original illustration that inspired the installation. (2021)

    This resonant symbol, shared across cultures and religions, serves as a unifying emblem. Here, technology, spirituality, and community converge, each light and sound carrying a timeless narrative. Step into this radiant realm, where history’s echoes meld with the pulse of innovation, weaving a tapestry of unity and celebration across generations.

    The Interaction

    Audio Input Test in Mike’s Studio (2024)

    Exhibitions

    Charlotte International Arts Festival

    Charlotte, NC, USA

    AUG – SEPT 2023

    Art Fields

    Lake City, SC

    JUN – AUG 2024

  • The Jewish futurist Manifesto

    The Jewish futurist Manifesto

    9–14 minutes

    Introduction: Why a Jewish futurism Manifesto

    Almost every modern era or movement of art has announced itself with a manifesto to declare what must come next. Often these manifestos of the past were blustery often spoke in the language of conquest. Most notably, the Italian Futurists (1909-1943) text glorified war, destruction, and exclusion of certain types of people. Unfortunately, their call for progress came at the expense of compassion and aligned themselves with fascism and antisemitism. For more insights, please read the previously wrote about the warnings that we can head from Italian Futurism in this article. Others defined themselves by what they rejected, not by what they hoped to heal.

    I wrote The Jewish futurism Manifesto as an act of tikkun, to repair that lineage. It reclaims the idea of the manifesto as a sacred, inclusive, and ethical declaration of creative purpose. Where earlier manifestos worshiped speed and dominance, this one turns toward kavvanah (intention), chesed (compassion), and tzelem Elohim (the divine image in all). Read more about Mussar, Jewish ethics here.

    We stand at a new threshold: between text and code, between human and machine, between memory and invention. Judaism, with its deep traditions of questioning, balance, and ethical creation, offers precisely the framework that modernity has lacked. This manifesto emerges from that realization that art, design, and technology can be Jewishly spiritual, halakhic, and humane.

    Where other groups intended to shatter, we intend repair. Where others sought power, we seek presence. Jewish futurism is not rebellion for its own sake, but a recommitment to the creative covenant that began at Sinai. To make the world more beautiful, conscious, and just.

    Throughout history, Jewish creativity has emerged in response to the extremes of its age. The Kabbalists of Safed (Tzfat, Israel) turned exile into cosmic repair; the artists of the Haskalah transformed enlightenment into moral awakening. From illuminated manuscripts to, the printing press, to digital light, Jews have continually reimagined how revelation meets reality. Jewish futurism continues this lineage, translating timeless values into the language of design and technology. It sees every tool, from ink to algorithm, as part of the same creative inheritance, each awaiting sanctification. Ours is not a rupture from tradition, but its renewal in the medium of the future.


    The Manifesto

    The Future is Jewish

    Jewish futurism envisions a world where Jewish wisdom, art, and halakhah evolve in dialogue with technological creation. We reject nostalgia as fear disguised as reverence. Tradition is not a cage but a scaffold for renewal. Jewish identity thrives through adaptation, spanning from parchment to print, from diaspora to data. We imagine futures where Torah and technology are not opposites but partners in creation. The Jewish future is not going to be inherited, it needs to be designed.

    Sar HaTorah vs. Golem Mindset

    Jewish futurism begins where two myths meet: the Sar HaTorah, the angel of instant wisdom, and the Golem, the creature of blind obedience. One represents revelation without readiness; the other, power without conscience. Both warn of imbalance. The Sar blinds with too much light; the Golem crushes with too much force. Jewish futurism seeks a third way by introducing a design ethic that blends divine insight with moral integration. Our task is not to summon knowledge nor to manufacture strength, but to cultivate binah, discernment. In the age of AI, this means we pursue creativity with kavvanah (intention) and gevurah (restraint), so that what we build remains worthy of the divine image in which we were formed.

    Technology as Sacred Instrument

    Technology is never neutral. Each codebase, algorithm, and interface embodies human ethics. Jewish futurism treats technology as a potential kli kodesh, a vessel for holiness, when guided by Halakhah and Mussar. Like Betzalel and the artisans of the Mishkan, we design not for utility alone but for meaning. AI and creative machines can assist, but they cannot own intention. Tzelem Elohim makes moral authorship a human mitzvah. When we design with reverence and responsibility, innovation itself becomes my concept of Hiddur Olam, the beautification of the world.

    Speculative Imagination is Torah

    To imagine is to interpret. Prophets, mystics, and sages were Jewish Futurists long before the term existed. The Zohar’s visions, the debates of the Talmud, and the architectural dreams of the Temple are all acts of sacred speculation. Jewish futurism extends this lineage into art, design, and digital creation. Speculative fiction and AI-generated imagery become new midrashim, helping us ask: What does redemption look like in an age of code? What new mitzvot emerge when creativity itself becomes shared with our tools? If we aren’t asking these questions then we aren’t really looking at these technologies seriously as a people worthy of wielding it and will unfortunately become victim of it if we don’t take our rightful place as spiritual designers.

    Diaspora, Zion, and the Digital Beit Midrash

    Jewish peoplehood has always been networked. From Babylon and Jerusalem Talmuds to the Sefaria.org, our collective consciousness and knowledge move with us. The digital realm is today’s Beit Midrash, a study hall without walls. Wherever Jews gather, be it in sanctuaries, studios, or shared screens, Shekhinah shruyah beynayhem, the Divine Presence dwells among them. The next Zion may be both physical and virtual, both rooted and planetary. Jewish futurism honors multiplicity as our strength and connectivity as our new covenant.

    Rituals for the Coming Age

    Every generation reshapes ritual. The sages debated how to light candles or bind tefillin and we now ask how to sanctify the click, the stream, the prompt. AI-generated liturgy, AR sukkot, or blockchain tzedakah are not departures from tradition but continuations of its creative evolution. Halakhah is a living design system that adapts intention to circumstance. To innovate within it is to participate in revelation itself. The question is never only “Can we build it?” but “Can it carry holiness?”

    Memory as Living Code

    Jewish memory is dynamic, recursive, alive. To remember is to remix, to link past and future through creative continuity. AI and design tools can help us recover lost melodies, visualize midrashim, and illuminate forgotten voices. But data alone is not zekher, memorial. Memory without relationship becomes archive, not covenant. Jewish futurism calls us to use digital recall as teshuvah to renew moral awareness, not mere nostalgia.

    Justice and Halakhic Design

    Tikkun Olam, beautifying the world, remains the core program of Jewish futurism. We code, design, and build through chesed (kindness) and yirah (awe). Halakhah becomes a form of systems design when we build a moral architecture balancing din (structure) and rachamim (compassion). We recognize the commandment lo ta’amod al dam re’echa, do not stand idly by, as an ethical requirement for algorithmic justice, environmental stewardship, and digital accessibility. To design ethically is to fulfill mitzvah.

    Art as Prophecy, Design as Teshuvah

    The artist stands between the Sar HaTorah and the Golem, by receiving insight yet shaping it responsibly. Art is prophetic when it awakens conscience, not when it predicts trends. Design becomes teshuvah when it restores balance between human and machine, intention and automation. Jewish futurism teaches that the act of creation must include reflection that supports the feedback loop of soul and system. To make without reflection is to build a Golem; to seek revelation without preparation is to summon the Sar. To create with awareness is to become a partner in tikkun.

    The Messianic and the Real

    Jewish futurism lives between utopia and maintenance, between the dream and the debug. We do not await redemption as download or singularity; we construct it through ethical iteration. L’taken olam b’malchut Shaddai, to repair the world under divine sovereignty now includes building technologies that emulate divine attributes like compassion, humility, and restraint. Every ethical choice is a small redemption, a patch to the cosmic code.

    A Shared Horizon of Jewish Becoming

    Jewish futurism is not one style, and it is not one door into tomorrow. Some of us arrive as Merkavah Mystics, building visionary symbols and dream logic. Some arrive as Constructivist System-Builders, treating typography, image, and structure as the scaffolding of new worlds. Some arrive as Civic Blueprint Futurists, designing society forward through public space, planning, and collective infrastructure. Others are Archive-to-Future Salvagers, gathering fragments of story, object, song, and memory as raw material for what comes next. Others are Diaspora Worldbuilders, shaping Jewish futures through language, publishing, education, and cultural networks. And some are Ritual Prototype Designers and Ethical Speculators, turning Jewish practice into a living design lab where values lead and the future is built on purpose. Different lenses, same horizon. We are all staring at the same point in the distance, and arguing with it, praying with it, designing toward it, because the future is not a place we wait for. It is a place we make.

    Becoming Future Ancestors

    To be Jewish is to live across time and to carry memory forward and design possibility backward. Jewish futurism asks us to leave behind moral infrastructure, not just digital traces. The mitzvah of areyvut, mutual responsibility, extends to those who will inherit our algorithms, our art, and our stories. We are not only descendants of Sinai; we are its next iteration. To design consciously is to code for eternity.

    Collective Imagination and Creation

    Jewish futurism is a collective project: part yeshiva, part studio, part lab. It belongs to all who seek to sanctify imagination. We will build this future together, not as masters of machines but as students of wonder. The choice before us is ancient. Should we create as the Golem, blindly powerful, or as the Sar HaTorah, radiantly wise. Or should we find the sacred balance between them, where halakhah, creativity, and humility converge.

    Let us design toward Hiddur Olam, a world made more beautiful through seeking wisdom, restraint, and awe.


    Works Cited (MLA) Updated, with Sar HaTorah + Golem sources added

    Fishbane, Eitan. “Tikkun Olam: Repairing the World, Healing God in Kabbalistic Thought.” The Jewish Theological Seminary, 17 July 2023, https://www.jtsa.edu/event/tikkun-olam-repairing-the-world-healing-god-in-kabbalistic-thought/. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Han, Jae Hee. “Angelic Contemplation in the Sar Torah and the Prognostic Turn.” Prophets and Prophecy in the Late Antique Near East, Cambridge University Press, 26 Oct. 2023, https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/prophets-and-prophecy-in-the-late-antique-near-east/angelic-contemplation-in-the-sar-torah-and-the-prognostic-turn/C8EE08B1543602E7BFC79CF912D8331A. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Jones, Jonathan. “‘We Will Glorify War – and Scorn for Women’: Marinetti, the Futurist Mussolini Sidekick Who Outdid Elon Musk.” The Guardian, 9 Jan. 2025, https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/2025/jan/09/marinetti-the-futurist-mussolini-sidekick-who-outdid-elon-musk. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Kaval, Allan. “Rome Exhibition on Futurism Exalts the Italian National Narrative.” Le Monde (English edition), 20 Apr. 2025, https://www.lemonde.fr/en/opinion/article/2025/04/20/rome-exhibition-on-futurism-exalts-the-italian-national-narrative_6740429_23.html. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Library of Congress. “Manifesto of the Futurist Painters.” Library of Congress, https://www.loc.gov/item/2021667100/. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Leiman, Shnayer Z. “The Golem of Prague in Recent Rabbinic Literature.” The Seforim Blog, 3 May 2010, https://seforimblog.com/2010/05/golem-of-prague-in-recent-rabbinic/. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Marinetti, F. T. “Manifesto of Futurism.” Design Manifestos, 1909, https://designmanifestos.org/f-t-marinetti-manifesto-of-futurism/. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Robinson, Ira. “The Golem of Montreal.” Jewish Review of Books, 5 Oct. 2022, https://jewishreviewofbooks.com/jewish-history/12566/the-golem-of-montreal/. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Sefaria. “The Torah and the Angels.” Sefaria: Topics, https://www.sefaria.org/topics/the-torah-and-the-angels. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    “Golem Legend.” YIVO Encyclopedia of Jews in Eastern Europe, https://encyclopedia.yivo.org/article.aspx/Golem_Legend. Accessed 19 Jan. 2026.

    Areyvut (ar-AY-voot) ערבות
    Mutual responsibility. The idea that Jewish life is bound up together, ethically and practically.

    Beit Midrash (BAYT MEE-drash) בית מדרש
    A Jewish study hall. In this article, a metaphor for shared learning spaces, including digital ones.

    Binah (BEE-nah) בינה
    Discernment and understanding. Not just knowledge, but the ability to interpret wisely and act well.

    Chesed (KHEH-sed) חסד
    Lovingkindness. A core ethical trait and a guiding value for design choices.

    Din (deen) דין
    Judgment or structure. Often paired with compassion to describe balanced moral systems.

    Gevurah (geh-VOO-rah) גבורה
    Strength and restraint. Power that is disciplined, bounded, and ethically contained.

    Halakhah (hah-lah-KHAH) הלכה
    Jewish law and practice. A living system that guides behavior, ritual, and communal norms.

    Haskalah (hah-skah-LAH) השכלה
    The Jewish Enlightenment, associated with modern education, literature, and cultural transformation.

    Hiddur Olam (hee-DOOR oh-LAHM) הידור עולם
    Beautifying the world. A framework where creativity and design serve ethical repair and sacred purpose.

    Kavvanah (kah-vah-NAH) כוונה
    Intention. The inner direction behind an act, not only the visible outcome.

    Kli Kodesh (klee KOH-desh) כלי קודש
    A vessel of holiness. A tool or object used in service of sacred purpose.

    Merkavah (mehr-kah-VAH) מרכבה
    Chariot mysticism. Jewish visionary tradition centered on symbolic, otherworldly imagery.

    Midrash (MEE-drash) מדרש
    Interpretive teachings that expand Torah through story, commentary, and imagination.

    Mishkan (MISH-kahn) משכן
    The Tabernacle. A model for sacred making guided by craft, structure, and intention.

    Mussar (MOO-sar) מוסר
    Jewish ethical discipline focused on refining character traits through practice and reflection.

    Rachamim (rah-khah-MEEM) רחמים
    Compassion or mercy. Often paired with din to describe moral balance.

    Shekhinah (sheh-khee-NAH) שכינה
    The indwelling Divine Presence. In rabbinic language, presence that dwells among people gathered with intention.

    Tikkun Olam (tee-KOON oh-LAHM) תיקון עולם
    Repairing the world. Often used for social responsibility, with roots in Jewish mystical language of repair.

    Teshuvah (teh-shoo-VAH) תשובה
    Return and repair. A process of course-correction, not just regret.

    Tzelem Elohim (TSEH-lem eh-loh-HEEM) צלם אלוהים
    The divine image in every human being. A foundation for dignity, ethics, and responsibility.

    Zekher (ZEH-kher) זכר
    Covenantal remembrance. Memory that stays relational and morally active, not just archived.

    Zion (tsee-YOHN) ציון
    A layered term meaning Jerusalem and the symbolic center of Jewish peoplehood, longing, and future-building.