A little more than thirty years ago, as a senior at James Madison College at Michigan State University, I wrote my undergraduate thesis on how the internet would change Jewish life. I argued that this new technology would redefine the very meaning of “community” in Judaism because the virtual borders were being erased by globalization. At the time, it felt like a bold prediction. Today, looking back on the past two decades, I see how completely that vision has come true. The internet has expanded Jewish life far beyond the walls of synagogues, JCCs, and college campuses, connecting Jews across the globe in ways that my grandparents could never have imagined.
AOL, Listservs, and the First Digital Jewish Neighborhoods
In the mid-1990s, Jewish life online was in its infancy. I remember logging into America Online (AOL), after waiting minutes for the dial-up modem to connect and seeing many vibrant Jewish chat rooms with names like “Torah Talk” or “Jewish Singles.” For many Jews, it was the first time they could instantly connect with others who shared their identity, no matter where they lived. The virtual Jewish community was open to all, had no membership dues, and was quickly redefining synagogues, JCCs, and Jewish federations.
Listservs soon became popular. I was on a couple of Jewish educator listservs in the late 1990s, and I remember how surprising it felt to send a question into the digital void and then receive thoughtful responses from people in Israel, New York, and Los Angeles within minutes. That was the beginning of something. Jewish conversation had gone global.
MySpace, for a moment, gave Jewish teens and college students a platform to showcase their Jewish identity, often with links to Jewish bands or photos from summer camp. And then came YouTube. I recall when rabbis first started posting sermons in short video format. Suddenly, a rabbi in Chicago could share words of Torah that reached Jews in Australia and South Africa. Suddenly, Jewish people were asking why their own rabbi wasn’t talking about the same hot topics other rabbis were and why their congregation’s cantor wasn’t inspiring them with such spirited melodies to the prayers. Jewish musicians, comedians, and educators found an international stage, and the Jewish world felt smaller in the best possible way.
Social Media Takes Hold
The mid-2000s were a turning point. With the advent of Facebook on college campuses in 2004, Jewish communities began to flourish online. Synagogues set up official pages. Grassroots groups formed around everything from Jewish cooking and Jewish film to Jewish day school alumni. I joined some of these groups myself, fascinated by how quickly friendships and support networks formed among people who might never meet face-to-face, and I was also surprised to see how friends of mine from diverse groups were connected through the social network.
Twitter created a new kind of Jewish conversation. Rabbis, educators, and activists could share insights in real-time, weighing in on everything from the weekly Torah portion to breaking news out of Israel. I still remember seeing rabbis post their first tweets about their Torah insights and thinking, “This is the new Torah commentary of the 21st century with a 140-character limit.”
Reddit became another gathering place. A college student in Texas could post a question about kashrut, and within minutes, receive a dozen thoughtful answers from people around the world. It was raw, unfiltered, and sometimes messy, but it was also community.
The big shift was that Jewish life online was no longer a curiosity. It was becoming a parallel space for connection, learning, and belonging.
The Pandemic and the Jewish Digital Boom
Then came the COVID pandemic in 2020, which pushed Jewish life online in ways that none of us could have anticipated. Practically overnight, every rabbi I know had to become somewhat of a tech expert. I’ll never forget helping a synagogue board member set up his iPhone on a tripod so their congregation could stream Friday night services on Facebook Live. The sight of a camera phone recording a Shabbat service would have my childhood rabbi rolling in his grave.
Zoom became a lifeline. I began to hold bar and bat mitzvah lessons over Zoom exclusively, while this had previously only been for my out-of-state students in a pre-pandemic world. I officiated virtual bar and bat mitzvahs in places like Mexico, France, Scotland, India and Tokyo, where grandparents watched from different countries, beaming as if they were right in the same room and giving thanks for the technology that prevented them from missing this lifecycle event. Families joined virtual Passover seders where the youngest child read the Four Questions from hundreds of miles away. Like thousands of other rabbis, I officiated shiva minyans where people told stories of a loved one, trying to sync their voices during the Mourner’s Kaddish which overlapped from different time zones, yet creating the same sense of comfort and presence that an in-person gathering brings.
There was an important distinction between Zoom and live streaming. Live streaming allowed people to watch, but it was one-directional. Zoom was participatory. People could unmute, share, sing along, and ask questions. That gave Jews in small or remote communities the chance to become real participants, not just passive viewers. Someone in rural Nebraska could feel part of a service in New York City or Los Angeles. For the first time, geography no longer defined who belonged. Even if you were an unaffiliated Jew in Wichita or a paying dues member at a congregation in Metro Detroit, you could virtually attend a Yom Kippur service in San Francisco or Buenos Aires to enjoy a talented cantor’s voice or listen to a famous rabbi preach a sermon for the first time.
Hybrid Life and the Next Frontier
In the years since the pandemic, Jewish communities have kept many of these tools in place. Hybrid models are now the norm. A synagogue might have 200 people in the sanctuary on Shabbat and another 50 on Zoom. Hillels coordinate Shabbat dinners through WhatsApp groups. Jewish organizations host board meetings with participants spread across multiple time zones. New members of the Jewish community converted after being inspired by the vibrancy of Judaism they experienced virtually during the pandemic.
And now, we are beginning to see the first steps into the world of artificial intelligence. Some Jewish educators are experimenting with AI to create custom lesson plans for students. Others are exploring how AI can make Jewish texts more accessible, offering instant translations or commentary at the click of a button. These are early days, but it is clear that AI will become part of how Jews connect, study, and build community in the decades to come.
The larger question is how we define community itself. For most of Jewish history, community meant a physical place. It was a synagogue, a neighborhood or a shtetl. Today, community is increasingly definted by shared identity and digital presence. A Jew in South America can study Torah with Jews in Canada and Europe, and together they form a real, living community, even if they never meet in person.
Looking Forward
When I wrote that senior thesis three decades ago, I suggested that the internet would dissolve the barriers of geography and allow Jewish life to flourish without borders. That prediction turned out to be true in ways that were hard to imagine at the time.
The internet has not replaced the beauty of gathering in person. Sitting around a Shabbat table, dancing with the Torah on Simchat Torah, or standing together in prayer will always be at the heart of Jewish life. But digital tools have enriched the Jewish community and expanded it far beyond physical walls.
As we look ahead, the challenge will be to continue using these tools to deepen the connection and not just broaden it. Technology should not only make Jewish life accessible, but it should also make it more meaningful. If we can keep that balance, the Jewish community of the 21st century will be more vibrant, inclusive, and global than ever before.
Originally published in the Detroit Jewish News
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