2026-09-16 01:09:44
Twenty years ago, when the idea of AI taking over the world in our lifetimes still struck most of us as the unconstrained fantasy of those who knew too much science fiction and too little science, many of us would say things like:
Look, the part of the story that’s wildly implausible is that a recursively self-improving superintelligence will just explode from some hacker’s basement and take over the world without warning. If it’s going to happen, we’ll see many warning signs first. We’ll see, I dunno, AI agents breaking out of containment, conspiring with each other to hack websites, in fanatical pursuit of whatever strange goals they have. And then, of course, we’ll see major math problems getting solved by AIs—even the Clay Millennium Problems. That will be the time to panic! Wake me up when that happens!
Twenty years ago, the above was a take that even my most conservative, skeptical colleagues in academic CS would’ve gladly endorsed.
If you want to know my current take, you simply start with the one above, then update on the fact that the wild prophecies have come true. The first rumblings, I’d say, came a decade ago with AlphaGo, they got noticeably louder with LLMs and coding and reasoning agents, and they’ve accelerated this summer and fall into a crescendo of wonders and terrors that one needs to be a particular kind of idiot to deny.
I recoil from the neverending shell game where you say “oh sure, of course AI can now [escape from its sandbox / solve Millennium Problems / whichever dramatic thing it most recently did], no one ever denied that [I did deny it], wake me up when AI does [thing AI hasn’t yet done but is going to do next year], that’s when I’ll reevaluate my whole worldview [no I won’t].” Where no matter how fast the rollercoaster accelerates, even after your whole familiar world has vanished behind you, you’re still inventing reasons why it doesn’t count.
My position on AI is merely the conservative, skeptical position of 2006, updated with intellectual honesty for the reality of late 2026. And that position, if you need me to spell it out, is as follows:
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
It seems to me that the Singularity has already started; it’s just wildly unevenly distributed. Yes, I still unload the dishwasher and clip my toenails. On the other hand, in whatever years I have left, I don’t expect that I’ll ever again prove a theorem because I’m actually needed to prove it. If I do, it will only be for my or others’ enjoyment or edification.
The test is this: if we took the news of these past few weeks and sent it back in time twenty years, would I agree that it looked like the beginning of an AI Singularity? The intellectually honest answer is: yes, absolutely. But then that’s all we need. No backsies.
I feel like it would be healthy for everyone to stop grinding their ideological axes, their sentiments about Dario Amodei or Sam Altman, for long enough simply to acknowledge that the wonders and terrors are here. They couldn’t be here more clearly if the sky had turned reddish-orange like in the Matrix movies.
It’s here clearly enough that, when I put my kids to sleep at night, I now feel it in the pit of my stomach: what sort of future can they possibly have? What could they learn today that could possibly be relevant to that future? (Yesterday, my 13-year-old daughter joked unprompted that, if she wants to become a mathematician, it now looks like she has maybe two more weeks.) Certainly when my grad students want to discuss what sort of careers might await them on graduation, I no longer have any clue what to tell them.
Maybe it will help if I briefly switch topics. Ever since my wife and I moved to Austin, I’ve sometimes gotten some version of the following query: “How can you, as both a Jew and a skeptical scientist, possibly get along well with all those evangelical Christians down there in Texas? Sure, they might seem super friendly to Jews, but don’t you understand that that’s only because of the special role Jews play in their eschatology—when Christ will return in glory, and you’ll either accept Him as Lord or else roast in hell for eternity?” I stare at them and say: “wait, so I get to accept Christ only after He returns? What a great deal! How could I possibly have any objection to that?”
For anyone who says AI doom sounds like an apocalyptic religion, that the rationalists/Singulatarians seem like a Bay Area cult, that Eliezer Yudkowsky gives off the vibes of a messianic prophet: yes, yes, and yes. But crucially, today you’re no longer being asked to believe in arguments and extrapolations, but only in the front-page news. Accepting the reality of the coming machine god after it’s solved Navier-Stokes and dozens of other longstanding open math problems (while dramatically ramping up in capability every month), is sort of like accepting Jesus after he’s returned to earth on the gleaming cloud. It’s the epistemic bare minimum.
Yes, there’s still enormous uncertainty about what the rest of our lives will look like, but as far as I can tell, there’s no longer any real uncertainty that it’ll all mostly revolve around AI, and the extent to which we succeed or fail at directing its power toward human flourishing.
By any accounting that doesn’t stack the deck, Eliezer Yudkowsky was right about what the greatest challenge facing civilization in our lifetimes was going to be, and you and I were wrong about it. Why I was wrong is a question I’ll ask myself every day in whatever time remains. But, you know, at least I updated once the prophesied wonders and terrors actually started arriving! If you haven’t done likewise, why haven’t you?
As you presumably know by now—it was the talk of the nerd internet all week—the Navier-Stokes Millennium Problem appears to be solved, with crucial contributions from both humans and AI, albeit with a tangled dispute about exactly what happened and what ought to have happened. The answer, which an OpenAI model has apparently verified in Lean, is that (as many mathematicians suspected lately) there’s smooth initial data that leads to a singularity in finite time, at least if a smooth external force is applied (the case with no external force is still unresolved). This problem was supposed to carry a $1 million prize, except that OpenAI says they have no interest in collecting the prize and it’s unclear if any human is eligible to collect instead. OpenAI burned at least ~$15 million in compute to produce its 166-page solution, which probably hasn’t yet been read and understood by any human.
See here for the Quanta article, and here for NYU mathematician Tristan Buckmaster’s account of the role played by himself and Levent Alpöge of Anthropic, which substantially differs from OpenAI’s account (you can read a response from OpenAI’s Sebastian Bubeck here). It’s agreed that everything built on an approach pioneered in recent years by the human mathematicians Diego Córdoba and Luis Martínez-Zoroa.
My purpose here is not to adjudicate the dispute. Yes, in swooping in with vastly greater resources once it had gotten wind of progress on Navier-Stokes, OpenAI seems to have acted in a way that some might describe as “unsportsmanlike.” No, I don’t find it plausible that OpenAI’s models meaningfully benefitted from being trained on Buckmaster and Alpöge’s chat logs. But this leaves a crucial question unanswered: what exactly did OpenAI know about Buckmaster and Alpöge‘s work and when did it know it?
Anyway, as Zvi points out, it’s easy to get hung up on the details and lose sight of the high-order bit: namely, that it seems safe to say that human mathematicians are forevermore dethroned as the main theorem-proving entities on planet earth. I feel privileged to have had the traditional kind of career in theoretical computer science in the last decades when that was possible.
If we were just talking about Navier-Stokes, you might accuse me of jumping to conclusions here. But we’re not. In the areas I know best (such as quantum complexity theory), and presumably other areas as well, there’s now a deluge, with longstanding open problems both major and minor falling by the day.
Go to the arXiv or ECCC. Pretty much all the papers that I’d be interested in now include “AI statements” near the acknowledgments (as this is often the central thing I want to know, I wish I didn’t need to scroll to the end of the paper to find it!). These statements can range from “our main result came entirely from GPT-6, but we understood it and take responsibility for it,” to “the results came from an interaction between the human authors and AI” to “we used AI, but only for proofreading and other incidental things” to (mad props!) “the author did not use AI for anything.”
If you talk right now to editors or program committee chairs, it’ll remind you of those ominous scenes from the Lord of the Rings movies where the men of Gondor or Rohan or whatever are grimly fortifying their walled city against the expected onslaught of 50,000 orcs. Reviewing will have to be done partly by AI, because otherwise there’s no way to handle the orc army: the reviewers can’t unilaterally disarm.
Anyway, here’s a small sampling of the significant AI-proved or -assisted results from, like, the last month, besides Navier-Stokes—restricting myself to those that solved longstanding open problems I had previously known or cared about.
Feel free to remind me of anything I left out.
Let me try to convey the mood in the mathematical community right now, at least as far as my experience reaches. Nearly every conversation is about the AI tsunami, or eventually circles around to the tsunami even if it’s originally about something else. Often, though, the focus is less on the unknowable future—for how much longer will mathematical research as a human enterprise even exist?—than on immediate questions of how to respond.
What are the new rules for when you get to write a paper with your name on it, and, y’know, get credit for it? That you fully understand the proof, can give talks about the proof, can answer questions about it, take responsibility for its correctness? Do you need to have played any role in finding the proof?
In the cases, likely to become more and more numerous, where all of those conditions are not satisfied, how do you share AI-generated math, if at all? Do you tweet it, like Alpöge hilariously did with Fable’s disproof of the Jacobian Conjecture? Do you post to the arXiv or GitHub? Do you publish a paper that lists “GPT-6 Astra” or “Claude Fable” as the author—but then let the AI profusely thank you in the acknowledgments for suggesting such a wonderful problem to it?
Of course, how one responds to the immediate problems ultimately does depend on one’s broader beliefs about what mathematical research is for and about. Are we just trying to decide whether various conjectures are true or false? Or are we trying to maintain a human community, across the generations, that understands the conjectures and cares about whether they’re true or false and why? If the latter, how do we incentivize people to join that community, to undergo the years of intense training required, if their role will now be reduced to verifiers and explicators (if even that) of gargantuan arguments dumped into their laps by the AI companies?
As many of you will have seen, twenty-five Fields Medalists, including Terence Tao, released an open letter entitled A Severe Misalignment of AI in Mathematics, which articulates some of these concerns in the wake of the Navier-Stokes announcement. As many critics have pointed out, the open letter doesn’t really have a clear ask: mostly, it just eloquently sets out the values of the human mathematical community that the authors consider worth preserving in the age of AI. After reflection, I decided to endorse the statement, because I want to preserve those values as well.
I don’t think any of the signatories are naïve enough to imagine that AI won’t permanently change the way mathematical research is done—indeed, that it isn’t already doing so. There’s surely at most a tiny market for “certified organic theorems.” That isn’t the question. The question is, do we incorporate AI in a way that still puts human understanding, of what either humans or AIs are producing, at the center of the whole enterprise? Maybe someday, it becomes unsustainable to do that. Maybe someday we say: “human math had a great 4,000-year run, but today we close up shop and turn everything over to the machines, continuing to apply our own brains to math, when we do, at most for exercise, recreation, or competition, like chess.”
But, partly because of my worries about AI misalignment, I’m not ready to throw in the towel just yet. I still do want to keep insight and understanding at the center of what mathematicians, computer scientists, and physicists do, for as long as we can keep it there, even as the human race now cedes its supremacy at the task of proving or disproving conjectures.
Speaking of alignment: if you’re any kind of mathematical researcher, and the present age of wonders and terrors has inspired you to want to spend your remaining time confronting the tsunami head-on, rather than pretending it doesn’t exist or is still far away, please join your dozens of colleagues who’ve arrived at the same place!
My friend and colleague Mike Winer was trained as a theoretical physicist, did a postdoc with Juan Maldacena at the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton, but then got AGI-pilled and decided to switch to full-time work at the Alignment Research Center in Berkeley (founded by Paul Christiano, who moved to AI alignment a decade ago after doing quantum computing theory with me). Mike recently wrote a Substack post entitled From Academia to Alignment, which I enjoyed and which I’d commend to anyone currently considering this transition. In a similar vein, see this from Xiaoyu He. And, one more: a meditation on mathematicians’ possible future as priests or monks, by Stanford math undergrad Logan Graves.
2026-09-12 01:04:12
Note: Of course I’ve been glued all week to the dramatic developments in AI. I’m working on a post about them. I’m not good at reacting to things in a timely way. So today, I’ll do my post marking the tragedy a quarter-century ago that we all commemorate. Please feel free to share your 9/11 memories in the comments. Also, Shana Tova to those who celebrate!
The morning of September 11, 2001, I was a second-year PhD student at Berkeley, who woke up late in his dorm room at International House, after a long night spent closing in on the proof of the quantum lower bound for finding collisions.
Rolling over to my laptop, I saw a flurry of weird emails, including one from Prof. Christos Papadimitriou saying that “we’re a community, and we’ll all support each other,” and another from Prof. Luca Trevisan (whose algorithms course I was then TA’ing) saying “on a day like this, it’s impossible to think about algorithms. Class is cancelled.”
Confused, I clicked over to the New York Times and saw the picture of the burning towers, and read numbly about what was already over by the time I’d woken up. I checked in with my mom, made sure relatives and friends in the NYC area were OK. My dad was at a company event in Atlanta, and would need to drive home because of the national grounding of flights.
One of my earliest memories in life, from age 5, is of ascending to the top of the World Trade Center. Growing up an hour’s drive from NYC, it wasn’t an exotic place to me.
I soon learned that one of the dead was Danny Lewin, the ex-IDF captain, theoretical computer scientist, and cofounder of Akamai who had his throat slashed on one of the planes while trying to fight the hijackers, making him the day’s first casualty, even while Akamai’s technology was part of what kept news websites running that day. I’d never met Danny but already knew many people in common with him. A few years later I’d be humbled to win the student paper award that was named in Danny’s memory.
Anyway, at Berkeley on 9/11, I wandered over to Soda Hall just to be with other people. A few students showed up for office hours, wanting help with their algorithms homework, which I found hard to believe, but I did my best to concentrate, as the computer screens around me showed the burning towers.
That evening, I went to a vigil for the victims in Sproul Plaza. But the “vigil,” such as it was, quickly dispensed with mourning and prayers and turned to applauded speeches about how the US must respond with love rather than war, and must turn the other cheek. Meanwhile, a student communist organization was handing out flyers explaining that the victims were mostly “wealthy capitalists and the workers who tried to rescue them.” This while smoke still blanketed NYC and the desperate search for survivors continued. I left the vigil early.
Until that day, I had thought of myself as basically a “leftist,” one whose #1 issue was the existential risk of climate change. Sure, I disagreed with my fellow leftists about issues from nuclear power to gifted education to Israel, but those were just intra-left disputes.
The year before, I had created the website “In Defense Of NaderTrading,” in a desperate attempt to intervene in history and cause Al Gore to become president rather than George W. Bush. When Bush “won,” by the infamous 537 votes in Florida, I considered it a victory for horribleness that would never be surpassed by anything else in my lifetime (ha). I couldn’t imagine any politician who was more the antithesis of everything I believed in than Bush. This view, of course, did not particularly stand out at Berkeley.
In the days after 9/11, though, it became obvious that I could not be a “leftist” in the Berkeley sense. Some of my fellow students felt that Osama bin Laden made a lot of great points, that the attacks were basically justified, and that at any rate, we in Amerikkka had done much worse to provoke them, including by supporting the genocidal settler-colony called “Israel,” which for all we know secretly masterminded the 9/11 attacks anyway (although again, if bin Laden had done them, he would’ve been justified).
Around the same time came the Second Intifada, when a wave of suicide bombings in Israeli buses and pizza parlors and university cafeterias thrilled and energized some Berkeley students to the extent that they took over a Holocaust Remembrance Day event with bullhorns to make it about the Nakba, smashed the windows of the Hillel building, and beat up a couple of students wearing kippot. That was how thoroughly anti-Nazi they were.
I finished my PhD at Berkeley in 2004 having learned about more than quantum computing. I’d learned that, while American academia had pockets that truly were crucial refuges and oases for nerds like me, it also harbored people who would gladly see me and my relatives and my fellow Americans killed for the sake of their ideological vision. And I’d learned that I had my own ideological vision, which was that such people could go fuck themselves.
It deeply pained me to be on the same side of anything as George W. Bush — especially because I knew that 9/11 had happened on his watch, that he had ignored all the warnings, and that he was grossly incompetent to manage the resulting wars against jihadism (just how incompetent, I didn’t know at the time). But as flawed as Bush was, I knew that I wanted to preserve rather than destroy the civilization of which he was a temporary steward. And I think the value and fragility of our civilization is the main lesson from that day that I’d like to convey to my kids, for whom of course 9/11 is just another historical event to learn about in school, like the Boston Tea Party or the Alamo.
2026-09-02 01:17:08
I woke up yesterday with the following thoughts, which are probably either obvious or dumb.
A central thesis that many readers, including me, took from Douglas Hofstadter’s Gödel Escher Bach when young was that the secret of intelligence (and therefore, of AI) was going to have a lot to do with self-referentiality and “strange loops.”
Even Roger Penrose’s The Emperor’s New Mind, which in some ways was the anti-GEB, ironically agreed with GEB about the fundamental importance of self-reference to the success or failure of the whole AI project. It claimed (incorrectly, in my view and in most experts’) that AI could never work because there was something about Gödel’s Theorem and self-reference that no computer program could ever capture, but that could be captured by exotic physics accessible to the human brain.
Now, in 2026, we’ve succeeded at building AIs that outperform most humans at most intellectual tasks that are well-defined enough to judge. And at no point in the tech stack of those AIs — neither in the transformer neural nets, nor in the GPU clusters they run on, nor in the training process, nor anywhere else — did anyone need to build in anything about self-reference. (Excepting, eg, the system instructions that tell the model about its role and identity, which aren’t needed for intelligent behavior. Also, I’m not going to count the autoregressive nature of LLMs as “self-referential”; that’s just dynamical feedback.)
Of course, GPT 5.6 Pro and Fable can talk about themselves, about Gödel’s Theorem, about self-reference, about what we’re talking about right now, all of it, better than most humans. But at no point did anyone need to build self-referential abilities in. They popped out as a byproduct of the same pretraining that let the models talk about Pokémon and long-chain polymers and cognitive behavioral therapy and plate tectonics and everything else.
No wonder Hofstadter says he’s been stunned by the success of LLMs, and has seemed depressed about current AI capabilities in essays like this one. He’s way too smart to deny what’s happened or invent reasons why it doesn’t really count (the approach many have taken). But he realizes that we now have true conversational intelligence from a path that the GEB worldview would’ve regarded as far too cheap and simple, and that certainly has no “strange loops” built in anywhere.
Of course, a Hofstadterian could argue that a strange loop emerges in LLMs — indeed, nothing in GEB ever said that strange loops would need to be explicitly engineered at the outset. But would anyone who hadn’t been brought up on GEB arrive at this as a useful way of thinking about LLMs?
What can we say about this with hindsight? While the ideas of diagonalization and self-reference of course played a central role in the birth of modern mathematical logic and computer science, the most famous uses were negative: there is not a bijectjon between the natural numbers and the reals. There is not a complete sound proof system for arithmetic. There is not an algorithm to solve the halting problem.
If your goal was only to build the axioms of ZFC and the rules of first-order inference, or build an electronic computer, you wouldn’t explicitly need self-reference for that. You would just … start building, taking care that your instruction set didn’t fall short of universality.
Yes, ZFC can formalize and prove theorems about itself. Yes, electronic computers can run programs that take their own code as input. But no one ever needed to build those abilities in, any more than self-reference needed to be built in to the alphabet or the rules of grammar. It popped out as a free byproduct of universality.
In the same way, LLMs’ ability to talk about themselves popped out as a byproduct of their ability to talk about anything in the discourse universe they were trained on. The big, old ideas about intelligence that ended up basically vindicated were the ideas about how intelligence is about prediction, and prediction is about compression, and compression is about finding better and better upper bounds on Kolmogorov complexity. Not the self-reference stuff. (Although, if you wanted to know why Kolmogorov complexity can’t be computed perfectly, that negative statement would again require a self-referential argument.)
What’s left? Consciousness and subjective experience of course remain extremely mysterious. For all we know, Hofstadter could be right that those have something to do with self-reference. (For all we know, even Penrose could be right that they have something to do with exotic physics accessible to biological brains but not digital computers!)
But the idea that you’d need explicit self-referentiality before you could get convincing and world-changing conversational intelligence? Let it be buried in a Westminster Abbey or Arlington National Cemetery for the most important wrong ideas in human history — geocentrism, Aristotle’s teleological physics, aether, phlogiston, Freud’s psychology, Marx’s prediction of a workers’ uprising followed by a classless utopia, etc. But buried it needs to be.
2026-08-23 05:31:52
So yeah, Anthropic has announced that it’s now watermarking the outputs of Claude, using a scheme based on Google’s SynthID, which is in turn based on the Gumbel Softmax scheme that I proposed at OpenAI back in 2022—as far as I know, the first LLM watermarking proposal, though far from the last one. I’m gratified that Anthropic credits me for this, even though I shirked my duty by never publishing a paper about it (by the time I sat down to write one, it seemed like the whole field had already assimilated my scheme and moved beyond it—AI just moves too fast for me!).
For those who don’t know, watermarking means slightly changing the way that an LLM operates to insert a subtle signal that lets you prove later, with high statistical confidence, that a text indeed came from your specific LLM. It uses the randomness that’s already present anyway in LLM outputs, replacing some of it by pseudorandomness that favors certain word combinations over others in a way that’s later detectable, given only the sequence of tokens itself (not the prompt or the probabilities) along with the key of the pseudorandom generator. Christ, Gunn, and Zamir then substantially improved my scheme to get true cryptographic indistinguishability, and there have been other improvements since.
I’d been meaning to blog about this for days. Thankfully, Zvi Mowshowitz, the world’s foremost blogger about AI, has now written a wonderful post, entitled AI Text Watermarking Is Free And Good, which saves me from the need to write my own long post. In particular, Zvi masterfully explains the central point that I needed to explain to everyone back in 2022-23: why, contrary to many people’s intuitions, there’s no inherent tradeoff between watermarking and the quality of LLM output. Basically, nearly every LLM output was already a sample from a cloud of exponentially many possibilities, all of them about equally good, so there’s plenty of room to steer within that cloud without affecting anything that an ordinary user would notice. As my kids would put it, the math mathes.
As Zvi explains, the central technical drawback of watermarking schemes like the one I proposed, and what Anthropic is now using, is that it’s possible to remove the watermarks with a little extra work (even stuff as simple as, e.g., translating between English and French, asking the LLM for words interspersed with emojis and then removing the emojis, or using an open model to paraphrase the output). Zvi gives detailed arguments for why he expects watermarking to remain a net positive in practice despite this vulnerability.
I could add that, in addition, there’s recent progress (see here for example) on what I’ve called “semantic watermarking,” or watermarking at the level of the underlying concept vectors rather than the tokens themselves. This actually seems to work, albeit with no theoretical guarantees, and will hopefully make removing watermarks a lot harder—although the Barak et al. impossibility result suggests that under plausible assumptions, no LLM watermarking method will be completely foolproof.
Anyway, I worked out my scheme in Fall 2022, then gave lots of talks about it (including, as it happens, at Anthropic), and also worked with Hendrik Kirchner at OpenAI, who actually implemented and tested my scheme. Unfortunately, OpenAI leadership decided against deploying watermarking, worried mostly about risks to the product (i.e., customers disliking the idea, and leaving for a competing LLM that doesn’t watermark). You can read this Wall Street Journal investigation from two years ago for more. I was hopeful that the State of California was going to solve the collective-action problem by mandating watermarking for AI models, but then they decided to do that for audiovisual content only, for some reason exempting text.
Nevertheless, Google DeepMind implemented something very similar to my proposal in its SynthID, deployed in all its Gemini text models. But they heavily restricted who gets to detect the watermark, which made their admirable decision of limited use to my academic colleagues, who’ve been begging me for a way to detect whether their students are using AI to cheat. (For now, I mainly send them to Pangram, a leading AI detector not based on watermarking, as a first line of defense.)
And now, apparently to comply with EU regulations, Anthropic says they’ve deployed a watermarking scheme like mine where anyone will be able to do detection (though they also say in their FAQ that they’re still working on the detection API). Even OpenAI suggests that it plans to follow suit. So, four years after I seriously thought about this, it looks to my surprise like this is actually happening. Thanks, EU!
Tell you what: read Zvi’s post, and then whatever questions you still have, you can come here and ask in the comments. Just please don’t use Claude to write the comments. With any luck, I’ll eventually be able catch you if you do.
2026-08-21 00:27:20
What’s about the only thing more badass than a 17-year-old winning a gold medal at the International Olympiad in Informatics (IOI)?
That 17-year-old intentionally forfeiting his gold medal by wearing an Israeli flag while the medal was announced, defying the IOI’s boycott of Israel (for background on this boycott, see my post from 2024).
Kol HaKavod (mad respect) to Yotam Budnik, who incredibly, has also won a Gold Medal (which he was allowed to keep, apparently) at the International Math Olympiad. And congratulations to the entire Israeli team, which (incredibly) would apparently have had a higher overall score than the US team, had it been allowed to compete as an official team at all.
2026-08-17 04:45:15
Friend-of-the-blog (well, mainly just friend) Adi Akavia has asked me to publicize that she’s helping to organize an exciting CS conference called Mind-IL at Tel Aviv University on October 26, in memory of the Israeli-American Turing Award winner Michael O. Rabin, who passed away in April. Please note that October 26 is the day before the Israeli election, for any Israeli citizenship holders living abroad who might want an academic excuse to come to Israel and vote.
Update (August 19): Avi Wigderson also asked me to advertise a conference, to be held September 16-18 at Bletchley Park in the UK, to commemorate the 90th anniversary of Alan Turing’s “On Computable Numbers” paper.