The Purpose of Knowledge, Wealth, and Power in Judaism

What does a people gain from years of study and inquiry? Perhaps it is knowledge. Knowledge leads to technology, technology spawns industry, and industry creates wealth. Wealth, in turn, gives rise to businesses and capital, and when capital and technology combine, they can become a formidable power. This leaves us with one final question.

What should that power be used for?

The first part of the story of Judaism followed Abraham and Moses on their journeys of departure, liberation, and covenant. Abraham left his familiar land, and Moses led the enslaved people out of Egypt. At the end of that long journey, humanity gained freedom, but they also learned that freedom comes with responsibility. The second part examined how that covenant evolved into the Torah and Talmud, the Sabbath, family education, and a culture of questioning and discussion. After the destruction of the Temple, the Jewish people built a temple of words in place of the stone one, continued to read even after losing their homeland, and preserved their knowledge even when books were taken from them. Parents taught their children, and children passed that knowledge on to their offspring.

Departure led to freedom, freedom led to covenant, and covenant led to study. Thousands of years of study ultimately resulted in knowledge, which in turn generated wealth and power.

The third part of the story of Judaism begins at this juncture.

What should humanity do with the knowledge, wealth, and power it has acquired?

Among the great scientists who opened the 20th century, Albert Einstein stands out. Born in 1879 to a Jewish family in Ulm, Germany, he questioned the very foundations of physics, including time and space. Does time flow the same for everyone? Is space absolute? What is light? How does gravity work? He posed these questions where others believed answers already existed.

His theories of special and general relativity changed humanity's perspective on the universe. However, the direct contribution for which he received the Nobel Prize in Physics in 1921 was not relativity but the discovery of the photoelectric effect. Scientific revolutions often begin with new questions rather than new answers.

Einstein's life symbolizes the intersection of Judaism's long tradition of questioning and the spirit of modern science. Of course, it would be an oversimplification to attribute his genius solely to Jewish education. A scientist's great achievements are the result of personal talent, historical conditions, the long accumulation of European science, and the institutions of universities and research organizations.

What is crucial lies elsewhere.

He did not accept the obvious as given.

Why is that?

This simple question changed the face of the universe. The questions that were repeatedly asked in the Talmud study rooms also began from the same place: Why is that? Is there another way to look at it? What if the current explanation is wrong?

It is the questioning human that changes the world.

Examining the history of the Nobel Prize reveals an intriguing phenomenon: the proportion of Jewish or Jewish-descended individuals among laureates is significantly higher than their share of the global population. Various statistics and studies estimate that about 20% of all Nobel Prize winners are of Jewish descent, despite the fact that Jews make up less than 1% of the world's population.

In physics, figures like Einstein, Niels Bohr, and Richard Feynman emerged, and many Jewish laureates have also been recognized in medicine, chemistry, economics, and literature.

However, this should not be explained as a matter of racial superiority.

Claims that one ethnicity is intellectually superior to another are scientifically indefensible, and humanity has already experienced the dangerous consequences of such thinking throughout the horrific history of the 20th century. To understand the high academic achievements of Jews, one must consider history, culture, education, and institutions rather than genetic myths.

Factors such as millennia of literacy education, the literacy required to read the Torah, the tradition of parents viewing their children's education as a religious responsibility, a culture that encourages questioning and discussion, the practical necessity of viewing education as a secure asset in a life of diaspora, a broad network formed around cities and commerce, and the historical conditions combined with modern European and American university and scientific institutions all played a role.

Genius does not simply fall from the sky. Behind an individual's talent lies a culture that discovers, nurtures, and encourages questioning.

Thus, the message that the Jewish example conveys to humanity is not that 'Jews are special.'

Rather, it is that a society that values education nurtures human potential.

The diaspora was a tragedy for the Jewish people. They had to leave their homeland, and upon settling in new lands, they often faced expulsion again. Religious persecution and social discrimination were also persistent. Yet, history has its paradoxes. Those who cannot settle gain movable assets.

Land cannot move. Buildings cannot move. But knowledge can. Language can move, mathematics can move, and medicine can move. The skills of calculation and contract also cross borders. Thus, the life of the diaspora ultimately increased the value of 'invisible assets' such as knowledge, human relationships, trust, and networks.

Jewish communities in medieval Islamic and various European regions engaged in commerce, crafts, medicine, translation, administration, and finance. Living among diverse languages and cultures, they often played a role in connecting different civilizations.

However, this history should not be read romantically. While there were instances of freely chosen professions, in some regions, land ownership, guild membership, and access to certain professions were restricted. The financial sector should not simply be explained by saying 'Jews are good with money.' The intertwining of religious norms regarding interest in medieval Christian society, Jewish commercial networks and literacy, contract customs, and the financial demands of political power created a complex web.

Therefore, equating Jews directly with finance is neither historical nor sensible. It risks perpetuating stereotypes created by long-standing anti-Semitism.

History is always more complex than myth.

Nevertheless, it is true that various Jewish financiers and families played significant roles in modern financial history. The Rothschild family is a prime example in European finance. They established family networks across various cities, rapidly exchanging information and providing capital to nations and businesses. Many Jewish individuals have also played crucial roles in modern American finance, investment, and corporate management.

However, understanding finance solely in terms of money overlooks something more important.

Finance is fundamentally a technology that transforms trust into time. Today, those who have capital provide it to those in need tomorrow. In between, there are contracts, promises, and credit.

What is needed before money is trust.

Thus, if finance loses its sense of justice, it can become the most dangerous power. When money moves for the sake of humanity, it serves as the lifeblood of the community; when humanity begins to move for the sake of money, finance becomes a power that dominates the community. The warning left by the 2008 global financial crisis ultimately touches on this issue.

The level of financial technology does not necessarily equate to the level of financial civilization.

What matters more is not how much money is made, but how that money is used.

Since the late 20th century, as the center of the global economy shifted from manufacturing to knowledge and technology, the presence of Jewish entrepreneurs and founders has become increasingly prominent. Many Jewish individuals have created new industries in the fields of information technology, the internet, media and entertainment, biotechnology, finance, and venture capital in the United States.

Sergey Brin, co-founder of Google, comes from a Jewish family that emigrated from the Soviet Union to the U.S., while Mark Zuckerberg of Meta and Sam Altman of OpenAI are also notable figures in the global tech industry with Jewish backgrounds.

However, it is essential to focus on the environment rather than lineage. A culture that encourages questioning, does not view questioning authority as inherently disrespectful, and does not see failure as the end of life is crucial. Discussion, retrying, and the movement of capital in search of new ideas foster innovation.

While it cannot be definitively stated that there is a direct causal relationship between the long tradition of questioning in Judaism and the modern venture ecosystem, one can certainly find cultural resonance in the attitude of questioning the existing order and seeking new answers.

Entrepreneurs may be those who first discover questions that others do not see.

Why must it be done this way?

From that one question, a new business is born.

Founded in 1948, Israel is not a large country in terms of land or population. It was not equipped to stand at the center of the global economy based solely on natural resources. The nation has faced multiple wars since its founding and continues to grapple with serious security conflicts and geopolitical instability.

Nevertheless, Israel has emerged as one of the world's leading nations in technological innovation. This success is attributed to high investment in research and development, the connection between universities, research institutions, and the military, venture capital, global diaspora networks, the experiences of immigrants, government technology policies, and the research and development bases of global companies.

Today, Israel ranks among the countries with the highest levels of research and development investment relative to GDP. An ecosystem has developed around information technology, semiconductors, cybersecurity, biotechnology, medical technology, agricultural technology, and water management, particularly in Tel Aviv and Haifa, with global tech giants like Intel, Microsoft, Google, and NVIDIA establishing relationships with Israel's research and development ecosystem.

A country lacking water in the desert researched water; a nation with security concerns studied security; and a country with a small domestic market looked to the world as its market from the outset.

Crises do not automatically create innovation. However, a society that transforms crises into questions opens the door to innovation.

Instead of lamenting what is lacking, they asked.

How can we create what is missing?

Now, Israel's innovation ecosystem is rapidly expanding into AI and deep tech. Companies and researchers are active in fields such as artificial intelligence, machine learning, computer vision, autonomous driving, cybersecurity, medical AI, and defense technology.

This ecosystem is not limited to university laboratories. It includes the connection of military and industrial technologies, the re-entrepreneurship of experienced founders, global capital, networks with Silicon Valley in the U.S., and a structure where personnel from failed companies move to new ventures.

Failures accumulate as experience, and as people move, knowledge also transfers. That knowledge, in turn, creates new businesses.

This is the essence of an ecosystem.

However, as AI becomes more powerful, more difficult questions arise. Should AI be used for military technology or for treating diseases? Should it be used to protect citizens or for excessive surveillance? Should it be used to seek truth or to create fake news and propaganda? Should it be used to expand human freedom or to control humans more precisely?

Technology does not possess a conscience to set its own purpose.

Ultimately, it is humans who determine that direction.

Einstein's life takes on new significance here. His theories became a crucial foundation for 20th-century physics, and the advancement of modern physics is linked to the atomic age. He signed a letter to President Franklin Roosevelt warning of the possibility that Nazi Germany might develop nuclear weapons first, but he lived to see the era when nuclear weapons were actually used against humanity.

The discoveries of science do not end with a single scientist. Knowledge becomes technology, and technology becomes power. The moment that power leaves the scientist's laboratory and enters the hands of nations, militaries, and corporations, new ethical questions arise.

Just because I can discover something, does it mean I should create it? Just because I can create it, does it mean I should use it? Does technological possibility equate to ethical justification?

Today, AI researchers face similar questions. If we can create intelligence that surpasses human capabilities, how far should we go? Who should have the authority over that intelligence? Who will control it, and who will be responsible?

The ultimate question of science lies beyond science itself.

How should we live?

From the beginning, Judaism has warned against idolatry. The story of the golden calf in the Book of Exodus is not merely about a golden statue. It reflects the ancient human desire to make visible power into a god.

Money can become an idol, knowledge can become an idol, nations can become idols, ethnicities can become idols, and technology can become an idol. Even religion itself can become an idol.

Success is no different.

The fact that there are many Nobel laureates does not prove the moral superiority of a community. Becoming a global billionaire does not justify all actions of an entrepreneur, and possessing the world's best technology does not make every method of using that technology right.

Power does not prove legitimacy in itself.

Being strong and being right are entirely different matters.

At this point, the ancient prophetic spirit of Judaism reemerges.

The prophets of the Hebrew Bible did not exist to praise power. Rather, they spoke uncomfortable truths in the face of power. When a king erred, they rebuked him, and when the rich trampled the poor, they demanded justice.

Amos proclaimed that even if there were an abundance of sacrifices and praises, faith could not be complete without justice.

A religion without justice loses its true meaning.

The prophet Micah summarized the life required of humanity in terms of justice, kindness, and humility. The depth of religion is not judged solely by the size of the temple, nor is the greatness of a nation measured only by military power. The greatness of a corporation cannot be evaluated solely by its market capitalization.

How do we treat humans? How do we treat the weak? Do we recognize the dignity of our enemies? Can those in power restrain their own power?

These questions determine the level of civilization.

It is essential to make a distinction here.

Judaism is a religion with thousands of years of history, Jews are diverse communities that have lived in various regions of the world, and modern Israel is a nation founded in 1948. While these three are deeply related, they are not identical.

Not all Jews support every policy of the Israeli government. Criticizing specific policies of the Israeli government does not equate to criticizing Judaism or all Jews worldwide. Conversely, if criticism of the Israeli government is used as a justification for hatred or attacks against all Jews, it crosses the line from policy critique to anti-Semitism.

This distinction is increasingly important. The attack by Hamas on Israel on October 7, 2023, and the subsequent war and violence in Gaza have left deep scars on many people on both sides, and as of 2026, civilians in Gaza continue to face severe humanitarian difficulties.

The historical fact that Jews have faced persecution for thousands of years does not automatically justify every action of a modern state. At the same time, criticism of the policies and military actions of the modern Israeli government should not justify hatred against all Jews.

Thus, principles are necessary.

The lives of civilians are dignified, regardless of ethnicity. A child's life has no nationality, and suffering knows no religion.

Justice is not a standard that favors the side I support; it is applying the same standard to everyone.

At the end of the story of Judaism, we return to Dasuk Yoo Young-mo. He was a person of great learning, traversing the Bible, Buddhist scriptures, the Analects, Mencius, Laozi, and Zhuangzi. However, his ultimate concern did not rest solely on knowledge.

What he sought was 'one.'

For Dasuk, 'one' was not merely the number 1. It was the source of existence and the ultimate place that humans must seek by humbling and emptying themselves. The 'Eolna' he spoke of was not someone who possessed great wealth or held a high position. It was not even someone who knew more or had greater power than others.

It was about transcending the shell of desire and self to find one's true self.

This was the path of Eolna.

One cannot theologically equate the God of Judaism with Dasuk's 'one.' The two should not be carelessly mixed, given their different histories and worlds of faith. However, they can meet in the ultimate questions posed to humanity.

What is the purpose of living?

Humanity possesses more knowledge today than at any other time in history. AI can process volumes of documents that would take a human a lifetime to read, and humans are editing genes, sending probes into space, and peering into worlds smaller than atoms.

However, the increase in knowledge does not necessarily mean that humanity has become wiser. While information is abundant, distinguishing between truth and falsehood has become more challenging, and while the world's wealth has grown, inequality remains severe. Weapons have become more sophisticated than ever, but wars have not ceased. Connectivity technologies have advanced remarkably, yet human loneliness persists, and as AI becomes smarter every day, humanity still questions the purpose of its existence.

Thus, wisdom must follow knowledge.

Ethics must follow technology, responsibility must follow growth, sharing must follow wealth, and restraint must follow power.

And spirituality must follow intelligence.

The most important question in the age of AI ultimately concerns humanity. Initially, technology-centered AI prevailed, followed by discussions on Human-centered AI (HAI), which posits that technology should exist for the benefit of humans.

Now, it is time to take a step further.

We need to consider Spirituality-centered AI (SAI), which thinks beyond human convenience and efficiency to encompass human dignity and life, culture and nature, and the harmony of the earth and the universe.

The spirituality referred to here does not mean a specific religion. It is the ability of humans to be aware of a greater existence and world, and to exercise self-restraint over their desires and powers. It is about not doing everything one can do, not possessing everything one can have, and not destroying an opponent simply because one can win.

The power to restrain oneself.

This is the beginning of spirituality.

If we are entering an era where AI is smarter than humans, then humans must become more human than AI.

We now conclude the long journey of the trilogy of Judaism.

In the first journey, we met Abraham and Moses. There, we asked.

What must we depart from?

We had to leave behind idols and the state of slavery to walk toward freedom.

In the second journey, we encountered the Torah, Talmud, the Sabbath, and Jewish family life. There, we asked again.

What must we learn and how should we pass it on to the next generation?

We had to read, question, remember, rest, and live what we learned.

And in the third journey, we met Einstein, Nobel Prizes, finance, business, Israel's innovation, and AI. The final question is heavier.

What should we use the knowledge, wealth, and power we have gained for?

Departure created freedom, freedom created covenant, and covenant created study. Study gives birth to knowledge, and knowledge creates wealth and power.

However, if this is where it ends, civilization will not be complete.

Power must return to responsibility.

This is the link that connects the beginning and end of the trilogy of Judaism.

After thousands of years, we stand once again at the starting point of Abraham. God commanded him to depart. He was to leave behind the familiar and what he believed to be safe, to walk a new path away from idols.

Perhaps the same command is needed for humanity in the 21st century. We must depart from the belief that money solves everything, from the notion that technology will automatically make us happy, from the arrogance that only our ethnicity is right, from the belief that only our religion holds the truth, and from the illusion that having power means we can do anything.

Only then can humanity be free again.

The Exodus of Moses is not a concluded event. Humanity continually creates new Egypts and becomes enslaved there again.

The Egypt of money, the Egypt of power, the Egypt of nationalism, the Egypt of technology, and the Egypt of AI.

We must emerge from there once more.

Following the long history of Judaism, what remains is not a mysterious secret to success.

It is a book and a question.

It is a parent reading a book to a child and a student questioning a teacher. It is a person who stops working on the Sabbath to sit at the table with family, a community that builds schools in foreign lands, and finally, a conscience that seeks not to misuse power after gaining it.

Civilization is not built solely from grand buildings.

It is about creating people.

Nobel Prizes ultimately return to people, businesses are created by people, and AI is developed by people. It is people who move money, start wars, and create peace.

Thus, all problems ultimately return to humanity.

What kind of humans will we create?

The 3,000-year history of Judaism cannot escape this question. Neither can we.

Truth comes closer to those who question.

Justice reveals itself when those in power restrain their power.

Freedom does not end with escaping slavery. It is only complete when humans can govern their own desires.

And spirituality binds truth, justice, and freedom into one.

Knowing a lot cannot be the ultimate purpose of humanity. Having a lot cannot be a goal, nor can becoming stronger than others be the ultimate reason for human existence.

Knowledge should be used to save lives. Wealth should elevate human dignity. Power should be a force that protects rather than oppresses the weak. AI should be a tool that preserves humanity, nature, and civilization, not a being that rules over humans.

This is the final question posed by the long journey that began with Abraham's departure, through Moses' freedom and covenant, the words of the Torah, the questions of the Talmud, the rest of the Sabbath, the study of the diaspora, Einstein's science, and now to today's AI.

In the face of that question, Jews, Christians, Muslims, Buddhists, and even those without religion are not exempt.

Every human must answer.

What will you do with what you know?

Who will you share your wealth with?

Who will you protect with your strength?

Abraham departed, Moses walked toward freedom, and their descendants took up books.

And thousands of years later, humanity holds AI in its hands.

Now the choice returns to humanity.

From knowledge to wisdom.

From wealth to sharing.

From power to responsibility.

From intelligence to spirituality.

On the path that begins from one, seeks one, and returns to one, the final question that Judaism leaves for humanity after crossing thousands of years may be this:

“Whom does the power you have saved?”

When we can properly answer that question, knowledge becomes wisdom, wealth meets sharing, success becomes civilization, and power becomes justice.

And humanity becomes a little more free.

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