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The Rebbe, the Jews, and the Messiah

by David Berger
Commentary magazine, September 2001, pages 23-30

I

In the course of the last seven years, a revolutionary development has quietly overtaken the Jewish religion. Unless it is somehow rolled back, Jews will soon have to confront the fact that one of the key pillars of their faith has been thoroughly undermined, and even the most elementary primer on the differences between Judaism and Christianity will have to be rewritten. The matter at issue is what Jews believe about the messiah.

Faith in the coming of a redeemer is a basic component of traditional Judaism, and a rich literature records wide-ranging speculation about the end of days. But the essence of Judaism's traditional messianic faith can be compressed into a single sentence: a king will arise from the line of the biblical David who will preside over a peaceful, prosperous, monotheistic world, with the Temple in Jerusalem rebuilt and the Jewish people-including at some point its resurrected dead-returned to its land.

Jewish history is strewn with several dozen identifiable, mostly inconsequential messianic figures whose followings dissipated almost immediately after their deaths. The only two significant exceptions-until recently-were Jesus and the l7th-century messiah Shabbetai Tzevi, whose movements were quickly separated from the mainstream of Judaism.

The reason that messianic movements have not lasted goes to one of Judaism's central convictions about aspiring messiahs: failure is failure. In the definitive judgment of the 12th-century rabbinic authority Moses Maimonides, we may not know all the details of how the messianic scenario will unfold, but the basic conditions are clear:

If a king arises from the house of David who studies the Torah and pursues the commandments like his ancestor David in accordance with the written and oral law, and he compels all Israel to follow and strengthen it and fights the wars of the Lord-this man enjoys the presumption of being the messiah. If he proceeds successfully, defeats all the nations surrounding him, builds the Temple in its place, and gathers the dispersed of Israel, then he is surely the messiah. But if he does not succeed to this extent, or is killed, it is evident [literally, "known"] that he is not the one whom the Torah promised; he is, rather, like all the complete and righteous kings of Israel who have died. . . . All the events surrounding Jesus of Nazareth and the Ishmaelite [Muhammad] who came after him were for the purpose of straightening the way for the king messiah and preparing the entire world so that all will serve the Lord together, as it is written (Zephaniah 3:8), "For then I will make the peoples pure of speech, so that they all invoke the Lord by name and serve Him with one accord." (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Kings 11:4, in the uncensored version)

For Christians, of course, the messiah decidedly could die in the midst of his redemptive mission. Indeed, Jewish denial of this proposition became one of the central points of contention in the millennial debate between the two religions. Thus, in the most famous of medieval disputations, the Jewish representative, Moses ben Nahman (Nahmanides), asserted that he could not believe in Jesus' messiahship because the biblical prophecies of universal peace and knowledge of God had gone unfulfilled.

Incredibly, however, over the course of the last seven years, Orthodox Judaism has effectively declared that, with respect to this fundamental issue of principle, Christians were correct all along and Jews profoundly mistaken. I stress "effectively": no one has pronounced these exact words, and the identification of Jesus of Nazareth as the messiah remains anathema. Nevertheless, this conclusion follows from two interlocking considerations.

First, a large segment-almost certainly a substantial majority-of a highly significant Orthodox movement called Lubavitch, or Chabad, Hasidism affirms that the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, who was laid to rest in June 1994, initiated the authentic messianic mission and will soon return to complete the redemption in his capacity as the messiah.

Second-and far more important-Hasidim who proclaim this belief, including some who have ruled that it is a belief required by Jewish law, routinely hold significant religious posts with the sanction of major Orthodox authorities unconnected with their movement. These range from the offices of the Israeli rabbinate to the ranks of mainstream rabbinical organizations to the chairmanship of rabbinical courts in Israel and elsewhere, not to speak of service as scribes, ritual slaughterers, teachers, and administrators of schools and religious organizations receiving support from mainstream Orthodoxy. For much of Orthodox Jewry, then, the classic boundaries of the messianic faith of Israel are no more.

To a historian, the process culminating in this transformation is a gripping drama, the opportunity not of one lifetime but of many; to a believing Jew, it is no less fascinating, not as a datum but as a nightmare. In my twin capacity as a historian and a believing Jew, I have played a role in some of the early chapters of this story, as the following narrative will recount. The final chapter is yet to be written.

II

Hasidism, arguably the most vibrant religious movement in the history of modern Jewry, was born in 18th-century Poland with the teachings of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (Master of the Good Name or, better, Good Master of the Name). Emphasizing the centrality of joy in the service of God, the crucial role of prayer, and the opportunity to cleave to the divine through a tzaddik, or rebbe-a charismatic leader seen as a conduit between the heavenly and earthly realms-the Baal Shem Tov and his successors fashioned a message that energized and redirected Jewish piety, ritual, and social institutions.

The stream of Hasidism known as Chabad-an acronym representing the Hebrew words for wisdom, understanding, and knowledge-originated in the career of Rabbi Shneur Zalman, a towering figure in Jewish law and mysticism who injected a strongly intellectual component into a movement marked by pietistic enthusiasm. As a host of factors rendered the hasidic movement in general highly controversial within Judaism, the Chabad group, centered in Lithuania, soon found itself at the vortex of a campaign headed by Rabbi Elijah of Vilna, the greatest talmudist of his and all subsequent generations and the driving force behind a series of bans against nascent Hasidism in the 1770's and thereafter.

With the dawn of the 19th century, Hasidism did more than weather these attacks. As a multitude of rebbes founded dynasties in towns and hamlets throughout the Jewish Pale of Settlement, the movement became the dominant form of Judaism in much of Eastern Europe, the heartland of 19th-century Jewry. Traditionalist opponents did not entirely abandon the field, but their efforts waned as they found themselves allied with Hasidim in resisting a shared enemy: the onrushing forces of skepticism, secularism, and acculturation that were working to erode the very foundations of traditional Jewish society.

The Chabad movement, now also known as Lubavitch from the town where the group's leaders resided from 1813 to 1915, played a significant role in that resistance. This was true in the 19th century, when the rebbes of Chabad worked in tandem with other traditionalist leaders, and it was all the more true in the 20th, when resistance meant a heroic stand, fought for decades in lonely isolation, not against Jewish modernists but against a totalitarian Soviet regime bent on the complete eradication of Jewish observance. Only the hardest of hearts could fail to be moved by accounts of self-sacrifice on the part of Lubavitch Hasidim struggling to preserve tiny pockets of Judaism in the depths of Stalinist and post-Stalinist Russia-committing themselves against all odds to the exclusive maintenance of a kosher diet, to the avoidance of writing during enforced attendance at classes on the Sabbath and festivals, to months or even years of celibacy by married couples because of the unavailability of ritual baths necessary for the resumption of marital relations. I vividly remember the emotional impact of such stories as I responded to appeals for Lishkas Ezras Achim, a Chabad organization that shipped kosher food to observant Jews in the darkest days of the Soviet tyranny.

In the second half of the 20th century, this campaign and many others were spearheaded by the most recent rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, who ascended to his position 50 years ago, following the death of his father-in-law. From the movement's headquarters in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, the Rebbe, as he was called in simple shorthand, established a world-wide empire of followers, spread Orthodox Judaism to places where it had never been known, energized Jewish education, led substantial numbers of irreligious Jews to observance, and much more. Indeed, he was a man of such extraordinary talent that most of the accolades heaped upon him by present-day messianists-a term widely used to characterize believers in his messiahship-are true.

The monumental importance of the Lubavitch movement, both before and after the Rebbe's death, goes largely unrecognized even by knowledgeable observers. A journalist basing himself on official sources recently reported that Chabad boasts more than 2,600 institutions throughout the world, with 3,700 married couples serving as emissaries; over 500 of these institutions have been established since the Rebbe's death alone. Even if the numbers are exaggerated, there is no question that the worldwide Chabad presence continues to grow at a stunning rate.

I was recently taken aback to learn, for example, that Chabad rabbis constitute 50 percent of the rabbinate in England. In Italy, Milan has a powerful Chabad presence, Venice boasts a Chabad center where many Jewish tourists eat and spend the Sabbath, and the most important ritual slaughterer in Rome is a Lubavitch Hasid. Any Jewish traveler to France, where the Lubavitch directory lists 35 major emissaries, will testify to the visibility and .significance of Chabad institutions and services there. Thirteen of the 26 synagogues in Sydney, Australia are led by Chabad rabbis, and the kashrut authority in that city, in the words of my informant, "is supervised by one rabbi only-Chabad, of course." A Dutch Jewish journalist informs me that more than half the major Orthodox rabbis in Holland are Lubavitch Hasidim. The head of the rabbinic court for the entire city of Montreal is a Chabad rabbi. The Lubavitch directory lists eighteen major centers in Brazil.

Then there are the United States and Israel. In a significant number of American communities, anyone seeking an Orthodox presence-sometimes any religious Jewish presence-will find it only in Chabad. As for Israel, the movement is disproportionately represented there among the country's rabbis and religious functionaries, and its political influence testifies to its impact.

Finally, the role of Chabad in the former Soviet Union, a vast territory with a population of a half-million Jews, deserves special mention. The recently formed Federation of Jewish Communities has installed a Chabad emissary named Berel Lazar as the country's chief rabbi. Although the existing chief rabbi has not relinquished his position, the new group enjoys the sympathy of the government, and the activities of Chabad dwarf those of all other Jewish religious movements. According to one very well informed Russian Jew, Chabad will before too long come to be seen in his country as synonymous with Judaism, and all other Jewish religious groups will be perceived as sects.

III

Theoretically, the Rebbe could have established this extraordinary empire without reference to any belief in the coming end of days. In fact, however, his activities took place against the background of acute messianic expectation. In a series of statements that have since been vigorously underscored by the messianists, he himself unqualifiedly proclaimed the imminence of the redemption; encouraged the cry, "We want moshiah [messiah] now!"; and strongly implied that he would be the redeemer. Among such statements were these: that his deceased father-in-law, whose soul he was believed to have shared and who was consequently understood as a surrogate or code for the Rebbe himself, was the prince (nasi) of this generation and would redeem us. That the prince of the generation was the messiah of the generation. That this was the generation of the redemption. That the metaphysical process of separating the sparks of holiness from the domain of evil had been completed. That the messiah had already been revealed, and all that remained was to greet him. That the messiah was coming right away. That "the time of your redemption has arrived." That the final Temple would descend from heaven to a spot in Crown Heights adjoining Lubavitch headquarters, and that only then would the two buildings be transferred to Jerusalem. That the messiah's name was Menachem.

Not that the message was unequivocal. The Rebbe refrained from any open, explicit proclamation of his own messianic identity, taught that public relations must be conducted in a manner that would win acceptance, and continued to encourage leadership roles for people who were known to oppose the messianists. A long-time aide has reported that the Rebbe once told him, "The man who is the messiah has to have this revealed to him from above and at present this has not been revealed to me." Though in his last years the Rebbe tolerated and even appears to hove encouraged the singing of the formula declaring his messiahship-"May our Master, Teacher, and Rabbi the King Messiah live forever"-he also remarked that he should really leave the room when the slogan was sung and remained only because leaving would do no good. In the 80's he expressed strong criticisms of people who published messianist material, and he made a similar remark as late as 1991. On one occasion, he is reported to have responded to a petition addressed to him in his capacity as the messiah by saying, "When he comes I will give it to him."

In my own judgment, the Rebbe would not have wanted people to proclaim his messiahship after his death in an unredeemed world. Yet this is precisely what has occurred. Days after his death, a messianist newspaper in Israel compared nonbelievers to biblical worshippers of the golden calf who lost faith because Moses was absent on Mount Sinai longer than had been anticipated, and declared that the Rebbe "will appear with literal immediacy and redeem Israel." Within a few months, two beautifully produced volumes, the first in Hebrew and the second in English, were published to explain the grounds for continued faith. The Rebbe's strongest assertions concerning the imminence of redemption were now understood as literal prophecy.

When a prophet has spoken, no further evidence is necessary; all contrary evidence is null and void. Two thousand years of messianic literature were now scoured to find a handful of broadly relevant if, strictly speaking, inapplicable quotations-and several more irrelevant ones-to demonstrate that Judaism may countenance the belief in a messiah who returns from the dead. As the months passed, even this position did not suffice, and a growing number of messianists began to assert that the Rebbe never died, that he remained alive in the full sense of the word. In this reading, what happened on June 12, 1994 was an illusion, analogous to Satan's strcation based on their messiah's being identified as Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson rather than as Jesus of Nazareth. Regrettably, this author continues, "they have pinned [their hopes] on the wrong candidate." In this way-and setting aside the issue of Jewish observance-the deep theological divide between Judaism and Christianity has been reduced to a matter of mistaken identity.

VI

There is a prevailing impression these days-one that has been furthered by some Lubavitch spokesmen-that the messianists are either a peripheral phenomenon or in retreat. This impression is seriously awry. Chabad Hasidism is dominated by the messianist belief.

Of course, there are genuine non-messianists in Chabad. The establishment leadership in the United States and Israel, whatever its inner beliefs, officially opposes overt messianist propaganda, and emissaries tend to be somewhat less affected than are the main population centers in Brooklyn, Israel, and elsewhere. Nonetheless, the central synagogue at 770 Eastern Parkway in Crown Heights-the hub of worldwide Lubavitch Hasidism-is indisputably the headquarters of a messianic sect, and there the messianist slogan is a regular component of the liturgy. The slogan adorns the headquarters of the Lubavitch Women's Organization in Crown Heights. A prominent messianist directs the Lubavitch Youth Organization. Major schools in Crown Heights are shot through with messianism. In Israel, the rabbi of Kfar Chabad is a messianist.

In the fall of 2000, Beis Moshiach published a multi-part interview with nine messianist religious mentors from Lubavitch yeshivas around the world. The Chabad school system in Safed, Israel, which boasts 1,500 students, teaches the messiahship of the Rebbe. A powerful messianist presence is evident in France, Australia, Montreal, and many other centers. The Chabad rabbi who heads Montreal's rabbinic court was appointed to that position after he signed the 1997 ruling obligating all Jews to accept the messiahship of the Rebbe. Seventeen of the most important emissaries in the former Soviet Union, including the new chief rabbi, are likewise signatories. So are nearly 70 Israeli rabbis, including many identified as chief rabbis of towns, cities, and settlements-so many, indeed, that Israel's chief rabbinate was finally impelled to place a small advertisement in a religious newspaper declaring the ruling a dangerous stumbling block in a matter touching the foundations of the faith.

I do not dismiss the importance of this advertisement, any more than I do the RCA resolution for which I fought so hard, or the article in the Jewish Observer, or the delegitimation of messianists in a few Orthodox subcommunities such as the one led by Rabbi Elazar Menachem Schach in Israel. Nonetheless, these limited, episodic expressions of disapproval do not even come close to a genuine communal policy, which would have to include such measures as the refusal to appoint messianists to positions of religious authority and a prohibition on the use of certain foods and ritual objects produced by Chabad Hasidim whose beliefs have not been determined. Indeed, the key element in creating the present watershed in Judaism is the inaction of the mainstream community, if not its positive embrace of overt messianists.

The reasons for this inaction and this embrace are varied, numerous, and powerful. They include:

• the ideal of toleration, or the desire to promote unity and avoid strife;
• the difficulty of overcoming the impression of strict traditionalism created by the physical appearance of messianist Hasidim and their evident observance of the religious commandments of Judaism;
• the balkanization of Orthodoxy, which leads to almost exclusive concern with one's own enclave;
• the fact that Orthodox Jews everywhere are deeply reliant on Chabad services;
• the waning of a Christian threat, which has weakened instincts that would once have recoiled instantly from doctrines smacking of Christology;
• admiration for all the "good things" accomplished by the Lubavitch movement;
• the conviction that the messianist development is a form of transient insanity that can be ignored;
• the difficulty of fighting a battle against a movement with financial resources, political influence, and deep reservoirs of sympathy.

To overcome these obstacles would require an extraordinary degree of determination and conviction-one that appears well beyond the capacity of this generation of Orthodox Jews.

To a greater extent than usual, the ultimate significance of this development depends on the perspective of the beholder. To a historian or sociologist, what we have here is a striking case study in the transformation of religions, in the persistence of millenarian convictions, and in the power of social forces to overwhelm belief-systems that have survived generations of untold pressures. Studying this movement has instructed me, as well, in the divergent ways believers respond to challenges arising from without and those arising from within, and also caused me to reassess some of my views about the historiography of early Christianity.

To believing Christians and Jews, the significance can be much deeper. For Christian missionaries, Lubavitch messianism-and its effective legitimation by mainstream Orthodox Judaism-is an unanticipated, unearned, but priceless gift. For non-Orthodox Jews, many of whom have long since abandoned the belief in a personal messiah, this affair raises other questions. The affirmation that a human being is pure divinity should be no less disturbing to Conservative and Reform Jews than to the Orthodox. On the other hand, it is difficult to become too exercised over the question of whether the messiah in whom you do not believe has already appeared.

Or is it? By this reasoning, it should not matter whether the messiah in whom you do not believe is Jesus of Nazareth. But in point of fact this matters very much to all committed Jews. The visceral Jewish opposition to such groups as Jews for Jesus, even when they declare some level of commitment to the Jewish people and Jewish religious law, is not generated solely by the fact that they affirm the divinity of Jesus. Evidently, even those Jews who have rejected the traditional messianic faith do not want those who retain it to permit its Christianization.

And so we conclude with those who have retained that faith. Most Orthodox Jews have not yet awakened to the mortal wounds inflicted during the last seven years upon the millennial Jewish idea of the messiah and the Jewish conception of God. When they do, it is remotely possible that they will act decisively, recognizing the threat to Jewish theology and Jewish practice alike. To this point, however, Orthodox reactions have provided few grounds for optimism. The classical messianic faith of Judaism is dying.