Scott Galloway, business professor and social commentator, has sounded the alarm about what he calls a “connection crisis.” He sees in modern life a growing “social atrophy,” a weakening of the bonds that hold people together. Technology and remote work, for all their convenience, have also created a quiet epidemic of loneliness.
Galloway notes the decline of friendship, physical affection, and real-world connection. He especially worries about men, who often struggle to form or sustain deep relationships. “Get off your phone, get out, and touch grass,” he urges young men—meaning, return to embodied living. His message is simple: human beings are hard-wired for touch, conversation, and love.
In his book *The Algebra of Happiness*, Galloway argues that love is transformational, rooted in vulnerability and mutual commitment. Yet artificial intimacy—our curated, screen-based substitutes for human closeness—tempts us to believe that connection can be simulated. The more we rely on these digital surrogates, the less capable we become of genuine affection.
This week’s Torah portion, Chayyeh Sarah, tells an ancient story about real intimacy. It opens with Abraham mourning the loss of Sarah, seeking a burial place worthy of the woman he loved. The depth of that love reverberates through the narrative.
The portion then turns to a new quest for love: finding a wife for Isaac. Abraham entrusts his servant Eliezer with the sacred mission of ensuring the next generation of life as promised in his covenant with God. Before departing, Eliezer swears an oath to Abraham—by placing his hand “under Abraham’s thigh.” This is likely a euphemism for touching the testicles. As strange as that sounds to modern ears, the gesture was an intimate, physical act that invoked Abraham’s seed —the continuity of his lineage. It signified the profound trust between them, the vulnerability of one man placing his future in another’s hands. This was not artificial intimacy; it was real, embodied connection—spiritual and physical, solemn and human.
The story concludes when Eliezer finds Rebecca, who becomes Isaac’s wife. The text tells us, “Isaac loved her, and thus found comfort after his mother’s death.” Genesis 24:67. Only twice in the Torah do we read explicitly that a man loved his wife; first, Isaac and Rebekah, and later, Jacob and Rachel. Love, in these rare moments, transforms the character of our forefathers. With intimacy, they find strength and maturity.
Galloway reminds us that “humans are hard-wired to connect.” The Torah affirms that truth through acts of tenderness, loyalty, and shared vulnerability. Abraham’s oath with Eliezer, Isaac’s love for Rebecca, are demonstrations of intimacy that affirm life itself.
As we move deeper into an age of remote work, artificial intelligence, and digital companionship, we risk replacing human closeness with its sterile imitations. The Torah’s wisdom, echoed by Galloway’s warning, invites us to re-embody connection, as if commanded to touch, to comfort, to trust, and to love in ways that are unmistakably human. Our devices may inform us, but only our relationships can transform us.
Rabbi Evan J. Krame
If this reflection resonates with you, consider sharing it on social media—or simply take a moment to reflect on how you can create a better community.
