Throughout Jewish history there have been too many false Messiash to count. Going all the way back to the first century there have been charismatic people, ascetics, warriors, simple shepherds, all claiming to be Mashiach. All of them ended their Messianic campaign in disgrace.
Rav Moshe Chaim Luzzato, a brilliant 18th century kabbalist and philosopher, distinguishes between two types of false Messiahs. He invokes terminology found in classic literature that refers to Mashiach as a form of birth and explains that there are similarly two types of failed Messiahs. There are false messiahs, just like there are times that someone may think they are pregnant, but they are not. And then there are times when a woman is pregnant, but tragically, there is a miscarriage; the fetus dies before birth. Explains Rav Luzzato, there were times in history when a false Messiah showed up; people like Shabtai Tzvi and Jacob Frank. There are other times when someone had the potential to be the real Messiah, but it did not pan out. Perhaps Bar Kochba, who was embraced by Rabbi Akiva, is a good example of such a person. According to some historians, Luzatto himself, talented, brilliant, charismatic man that he was, may have thought himself to be a candidate for Mashiach. One way or another, as we wait for the real deal, we have a concept of false Messiahs and aborted Messiahs that helps us conceptualize the world around us.
Throughout much of history, Mashiach was seen as an individual. But in the late 19th century, many started to develop ideas of a Messianic era that would be heralded, not by a person, but by a movement. Marxism, a world of equality, in which the downtrodden are poor no more, has been described as being born out of the Jewish concept of Mashiach. Was that a false Messiah or a miscarried Messiah? I’m not sure. One way or another, it did not end well.
The return to Israel, Zionism, was a Messianic movement of sorts. This is one of the reasons that in its early years, many rabbis opposed the movement; many saw it as supplanting Judaism. And while we at Ner Tamid proudly describe the State of Israel as “reishit tz’michat ge’ulateinu,” the beginning of the sprouting of our redemption, we are not so naïve to say this definitively, especially after the humbling reminder of October 7th. Rather, we say it as a hope and as a prayer. May the State of Israel be the beginning of the sprouting of our redemption.
There is another Messianic movement that was grabbing the attention of many Jews throughout the early 20th century, and that was the Golden Medina, the United States of America. It was a place where Jews could practice their religion freely, where Jews could become millionaire businessmen and Hollywood producers. It was a place where Jews could become judges and politicians like everyone else. “The wolf and lamb” can lay side by side.
The crown jewel of this new Messiah was higher education. That was the great equalizer. You could be a ‘greener,’ an immigrant with a thick accent, but if you were bright and ambitious, you would be accepted and respected. Sure, there were quotas and other bumps along the way. But those were the chevlei Mashiach, the birth pangs of this beautiful new reality. The poor and downtrodden Jew finally found a home. The third temple was the hallowed halls of Harvard, Penn, and Yale.
And yet here we are today. These citadels of education have taught their students almost everything – except basic Middle Eastern history. These citadels of tolerance have taught their students to be tolerant of every minority – except for Jews. These citadels of empowerment were supposed to be the pathway through which Jews could be full-fledged members. Instead, they have become the place where Jews are afraid to stay for Pesach. The warm and all-encompassing ivy has turned into poison.
To be clear, I love this country. The United States, coined by many leading rabbis as the ‘country of chesed,’ has been the greatest blessing to the Jewish People. It still is to this day Israel’s greatest ally and supporter. I value higher education. I am a proud alum of Johns Hopkins. Although the US in 2024 is not identical to Germany in 1933, but we cannot be ignorant of our history of false and aborted Messiahs. Is this quasi-utopia coming to an end?
In the early 19th century, a Scottish historian by the name of Alexander Fraser Tytler proposed a theory; democracy cannot last forever. And I quote: “The average age of the world’s greatest civilizations has been 200 years. These nations have progressed through this sequence: From bondage to spiritual faith; From spiritual faith to great courage; From courage to liberty; From liberty to abundance; From abundance to selfishness; From selfishness to apathy; From apathy to dependence; From dependence back into bondage.”
And yes, it has been more than 200 years since this glorious democracy was born. So maybe democracy was blessed with long life. Just because you have a long life does not mean you will live on forever.
And so, I wonder out loud – perhaps it’s time to start asking ourselves hard questions. Questions like, at what point of growing antisemitism do we reassess our way of life as Jews in this country to be either more or less vocal? At what point in the illiberal and ignorant education being offered in higher education, do we give up on the dream of sending our children to the Ivy’s and start sending them to Yeshiva University and Stern or find pathways that bypass higher education altogether? At what point of political unrest should we leave this country? At what point of growing antisemitism all over the world should we move to Israel and give up on the American dream?
In Judaism we have a belief; nothing lasts forever.
There is, however, one exception to that rule. There is one thing in this world that does last forever and that is our Neshama, our soul.
In a moment we are going to pray for the souls of our loved ones. We may not be able to feel their warmth, we may not be able to embrace them or be comforted by them, we may not be able to share with them our deepest secrets, our dreams, our regrets. But they are still alive.
In a moment we are going to pray for the souls of those murdered in the Holocaust. They may not have graves, they may be drowned in the sea, thrown in a pit, burned into ashes. But they are still alive.
In a moment we are going to pray for the souls of those murdered since October 7th. In heaven, they are still dancing.
When we pray for their souls, it is not just for them, it is for us. It is an affirmation of our belief in an afterlife. It is an affirmation of our belief in a world of spirituality. It is a commitment to living a life focused not only on our bodies and our material and sensual pleasure. It is a commitment to not being seduced by the comfort of our host country. By speaking of the soul, by praying to G-d for the elevation of their souls, we are committing to living our lives by the light of a value system that has outlived Tytler’s theory not by a few decades, but by a few thousand years.
We hope and pray that what we are experiencing in Israel and here in the US are birth pangs, not a false alarm and not a tragic miscarriage. We hope and pray that our stay in this country remains safe and sound and that the State of Israel continues to flourish until the day that reishit tz’michat ge’u’loteinu, the beginning of the sprouting, blossoms into something so grand and beautiful we cannot even imagine. But while we hope and pray, while we petition and protest, while we do everything we can to continue on this course, let’s not forget to ask ourselves if maybe just maybe it’s time to move on once more. Let’s not forget what is real and eternal and what is false and going to inevitably decay. In the memory of those whose souls we pray, let us ensure that we live lives not dedicated to the American dream, but dedicated and attuned to the dream of our soul; a life of prayer, a life of Torah, a life of Mitzvos. May we merit to see the day when each of us reunite with our loved ones and the true Mashiach finally arrives.