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malenkiyscotChabad’s Lost Messiah
By Tomer Persico
Why the Lubavitcher Rebbe believed he was the Chosen One.
For several terrifying days in late November 2008, all Jewish eyes were on
the Indian city of Mumbai. Muslim terrorists had launched a series of
coordinated shooting and bombing attacks on targets throughout the
metropolis, including the Nariman Chabad House, a hasidic cultural center
that served the local Jewish community as well as Israeli tourists passing
through. For two days, terrorists held those inside hostage; on the third,
Indian security forces stormed the building. There they found the bodies
of six captives, including the young Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife,
Rivka, then six months pregnant. Only the Holtzbergs’ two-year-old son,
Moshe, survived, having been spirited away by his Indian caretaker at the
onset of the attack. Later, he was returned safely to his family in
Israel.
Amidst their grief, the followers of Chabad found one additional source of
comfort—or at least of awe—in the Mumbai tragedy, however: Though the
Nariman House and its contents had been severely damaged, an oil painting
of the late Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the seventh Lubavitcher
Rebbe and the last leader of Chabad, had survived unharmed. To many of his
followers, this was nothing less than proof of the miraculous aura
surrounding their deceased leader.1
Referred to by his acolytes simply as “the Rebbe,” Menachem Mendel
Schneerson (1902-1994) continues to excite the passions of Lubavitchers
even today, a decade and a half after his death—a testament to his
personal stature as well as his profound impact on the Chabad movement.
Under his charismatic leadership, Chabad was transformed within a few
short decades from a small hasidic sect into a thriving global network of
schools, community centers, synagogues, and charities.2 Even those who do
not avail themselves of Chabad’s services have like as not encountered, at
one time or another, one of the movement’s followers manning a
street-corner stand, offering tefillin (phylacteries), prayer books, and
tutelage for Jews curious about ritual observance. Nor are Chabad’s
activities limited strictly to members of the Jewish faith: In accordance
with the Rebbe’s instructions, Lubavitchers have also assumed
responsibility for convincing non-Jews to follow the Noahide Laws, a set
of seven moral imperatives the Talmud claims are binding on all mankind.
Owing to this fervent activism, Chabad is now the most widespread and
vibrant Jewish organization in the world; in some countries, such as
France, Australia, and almost all of the former Soviet republics, Chabad
has effectively become Judaism’s public face.
To be sure, such impressive achievements required a powerful motivating
force. For Chabad, this force was a messianic awakening the likes of which
Judaism had not experienced since the brief rise and fall of the
seventeenth-century false messiah, Shabtai Tzvi, and at its center stood
Menachem Mendel Schneerson himself. As the Rebbe’s fame increased in the
decades since the 1950s, and his movement grew in power and influence, so,
too, did the messianic expectations surrounding him become more and more
zealous, ultimately overwhelming both Chabad’s rank and file and its
rabbinical leadership alike. This cult of personality profoundly altered
the movement, both institutionally and theologically. Indeed, since the
Rebbe’s death in 1994, no one has been deemed worthy of succeeding him.
Moreover, the movement has found itself split between those who have
accepted its leader’s death and those—the majority of Chabad’s
followers—who believe he is somehow still alive.
No less worrisome than this internal schism, the Lubavitchers have found
themselves increasingly at odds with other ultra-Orthodox Jewish
communities. Although Chabad members follow the commandments to the
letter, often adding their own, more onerous restrictions, their critics
have gone so far as to cast doubt on the movement’s Jewishness. The head
of the Lithuanian Jewish community, the late Rabbi Eliezer Shach, once
called Chabad a “cult” and sarcastically defined it as the religion
closest to Judaism;3 Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, spiritual leader of the Sephardi
Shas movement, ruled that a certain statement by the Lubavitcher Rebbe was
“true heresy” and “idolatry.”4 And in a recent book titled The Rebbe, the
Messiah, and the Scandal of Orthodox Indifference, historian and Orthodox
rabbi David Berger demonstrates that one faction of Chabad no longer
presents the Rebbe as “only” the messiah, but instead goes so far as to
identify him with God himself—cause, argues Berger, for the movement’s
excommunication from Judaism.5 For their part, Chabad members respond to
such criticisms with either anger or derision: They describe Berger as a
crackpot, scorn the opinions of Ovadia Yosef, and insist that Eliezer
Shach was the Devil’s representative on earth.6
In light of the uproar surrounding the “aberration” of the Chabad
movement, one cannot but wonder: Did the Rebbe in truth believe he was the
messiah?7 The messianic faction of the movement naturally insists that he
did. The moderates, however, have largely succeeded in convincing the
general public that the Rebbe never presented himself as such. At most,
they assert, he neither confirmed nor denied such claims. Rather, the
messianic fervor that engulfed the movement was “from below”—i.e., at the
instigation of his followers.8
Yet such apologetics simply do not mesh with the facts. As I will show,
the Rebbe did believe—and encouraged his followers to believe—that he was
the messiah, destined to reveal himself to the people Israel and redeem
the world. In fact, he could hardly have thought otherwise: This
perception was an inevitable result of the messianic theology the Rebbe
inherited from his predecessors, a theology whose internal logic was
reflected in his teachings and which guided both his decisions and
actions. The current messianic tension that grips Chabad is therefore not
a side effect of its achievements under the Rebbe’s leadership. Just the
opposite is true: Messianism was the driving force behind Chabad’s
success, and it has only grown stronger after the death of the supposed
savior himself.
II
The messiah, we know, can appear in a heartbeat. A messianic belief
system, by contrast, is built up painstakingly over time. As the historian
Menachem Friedman has shown, Lubavitch Hasidism has awaited the imminent
arrival of the messiah since the early twentieth century, when the
movement was led by the fifth Lubavitcher rebbe, Shalom Dovber Schneerson.
Chabad’s messianic worldview, Friedman explains, developed as a response
to the various pressures of modernity, in particular the haskala
(Enlightenment), secularization, and Zionism.9 While traditional Judaism
viewed these developments with concern, the fifth Lubavitcher rebbe saw
them as foretelling the coming of the messiah. He declared the
intellectuals of the haskala and the Zionists “enemies of God” and warned
that as these representatives of the sitra ahra (in Aramaic, “the other
side,” i.e., the forces of evil) grew more powerful, it fell to Chabad to
save humanity from the encroaching iniquity.10 Only Chabad, he believed,
could be the beacon of light in an ocean of darkness.
The idea that mankind stood at the threshold of the messianic age, and
that Chabad was destined to play a major role therein, was later taken up
by Shalom Dovber’s son, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, upon his
succession as the sixth Lubavitcher rebbe in 1920. In the decades that
followed, Yosef Yitzchok was to face a series of staggering challenges,
both physical and theological: the Soviet regime’s brutal suppression of
Judaism; the Nazi occupation of Europe; the Holocaust; and, finally, the
establishment of the State of Israel by secular Zionists. Through most of
the turbulent 1930s, Yosef Yitzchok himself had been forced to wander
across Europe in search of safe haven until, at the urging of his
followers, the Americans finally smuggled him into the United States.11
By the time he arrived in America in the early 1940s, Yosef Yitzchok
thought he knew why disaster had befallen the Jewish people: God had
decided to bring an end to the exile and thus trigger mass tshuva
(“repentance”) among the Jews in preparation for the messiah’s arrival. He
believed that an event as catastrophic and incomprehensible as the
Holocaust could only be followed by an equally astonishing and
inconceivable salvation.12 “We are living in the last days before the
redemption,” he declared.13 All that remained was to “polish the buttons,”
i.e., take care of minor details.14
The sixth rebbe passed away in 1950 after a long battle with multiple
sclerosis. His successor, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, was forty-eight
years old when he accepted the mantle of Chabad’s leadership. Blessed with
both good yichus (“family lineage”) and, as was roundly acknowledged, a
striking and charismatic personality, Menachem Mendel was born in the
southern Ukraine to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, who was himself the
great-grandson of the third Lubavitcher rebbe, known as the Tzemach Tzedek
(“Righteous Sprout,” or “Righteous Scion”). In 1923, Menachem Mendel
became a close student of the sixth rebbe, and in 1928, he married the
rebbe’s daughter, Chaya Moussia, in Warsaw. The two moved to Berlin, and
Menachem Mendel began to audit university classes in mathematics and
philosophy. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, he escaped with his wife
to Paris, where he completed a degree in electrical engineering at a
technical college.15 After the German invasion of France, he fled again,
this time to New York, where he assumed various Chabad leadership
positions (as well as working a stint at the Brooklyn Navy Yard).
Throughout this period, however, he maintained a relatively low profile,
rarely making appearances or speaking in public.
Menachem Mendel’s appointment as the seventh Lubavitcher rebbe was by no
means a foregone conclusion. His brother-in-law, Rabbi Shemaryahu Gurary,
was married to the rebbe’s eldest daughter and was also considered a
strong contender for the position. The scales eventually tilted in
Menachem Mendel’s favor, however, and he formally assumed leadership of
Chabad a year after his father-in-law’s death. According to Friedman, the
decisive factor in Menachem Mendel’s ascent was his zealous commitment to
Yosef Yitzchok’s messianic theology.16 Either way, it would soon become
clear that the seventh rebbe’s messianic fervor surpassed that of all his
predecessors—and had a deeply personal dimension.
III
Unlike the rebbes who preceded him, Menachem Mendel was not content simply
to foster vague messianic hopes among his followers. On the contrary, he
outlined a detailed metaphysical plan, based on kabbalistic ideas, for
hastening the redemption.17 As scholar of Chabad Hasidism Alon Dahan has
maintained, the Rebbe’s was a “radically apocalyptic” messianism, one that
viewed
the linear and historical progression of time as a continuum of mostly
tragic events, whose significance could be perceived if and only if they
were interpreted according to the concept of the “dwelling below” [dira
batahtonim, a mystical term that describes the infusion of the material
world with the divine]. The messianic end grants these tragedies and
catastrophes—and the Holocaust in particular—an optimistic dimension.18
The Rebbe therefore continued on the path paved by his predecessor, who
declared redemption to be just around the corner. All that was left to
discern, then, was the identity of the long-awaited messiah. In other
words, the question was not when, but who.
Menachem Mendel first provided an answer, if only an implicit one, in his
1951 succession speech. Delivered on the anniversary of Yosef Yitzchok’s
death, the discourse, titled “Basi Legani” (“I Have Come to My Garden”) in
many ways encapsulates his entire doctrine.19 The speech quotes a Midrash
based on the Song of Songs:
R. Menachem Chatanya, in the name of R. Elazar son of Ebona, said in the
name of R. Shimon in the name of R. Yossena: It does not say, “I have
come to the garden,” rather it says, “to my garden,” to my shelter, to
my original place of dwelling. And the original place of the shechina
[“divine presence”] was not in the lower realms, as it is written: “And
they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden” (Genesis
3:8).20
According to the sages’ interpretation, the biblical passage signifies the
return of God to his garden, which in turn denotes the reunification of
the divine with the world by means of the redemption. The Rebbe used this
text as a starting point for his presentation of a highly structured
theological view of history. According to this view, the shechina
abandoned this world on account of the sin of Adam and Eve, and continued
to ascend through the seven heavens on account of the actions of six other
sinners. Yet seven holy Hebrews, or tzaddikim, who lived in the period
between the Patriarchs and Moses, drew the divine presence back into this
world, where it was finally revealed through the Torah given on Mount
Sinai. The reconciliation of the earthly and the heavenly that began with
Abraham was thus completed by Moses, who was granted this honor because
“all those who are seventh are most beloved.”21
This final point is of critical significance to Chabad’s understanding of
history. From the general rule set forth by the Midrash, “all those who
are seventh are most beloved,” the Rebbe infers that the identity of the
redeemer has nothing to do with certain special qualities, nor is it
dependent on human choice. Instead, it is determined by the predestined,
divine pattern behind all historical events.22 In accordance with this
pattern, God selects a seventh messenger to complete a process of
redemption begun six generations before by a great tzaddik. The Rebbe
explained,
The seventh’s primary quality lies in his being seventh. In other words,
he is cherished not on account of his choice, desire, or spiritual
service, but because he is seventh—and this is something he is born
into.… It was for this reason that it was Moses who was privileged to
have the Torah given through him.23
This interpretation leaves little room for free will or human agency. On
the contrary, it appears to espouse an entirely deterministic
understanding of divine intervention in this world.24 It holds, for
example, that Moses was chosen to receive the Torah from God not because
of his actions or virtues—as is generally accepted in traditional
Judaism—but solely because he was seventh in a line of tzaddikim.
But redemption was not completed with Moses. The light of the divine
presence, which descended to earth with the Torah, no longer shines with
its original intensity. True salvation, the Rebbe believed, will be
attained only when the creation is once again filled with the light that
emanated from the divine presence before its withdrawal from the world
(the tzimtzum).25 This task, which has remained unfinished through two
thousand years of chaos and two thousand years of Torah, requires a second
series of seven tzaddikim to conclude the work of the first. These seven
tzaddikim, so goes the theory, are none other than the Lubavitcher rebbes.
According to this doctrine, the seventh of these corresponds to Moses, and
the burden of bringing forth the messianic age therefore falls to him.
Evidently, this seventh tzaddik was Menachem Mendel Schneerson.
Continuing his sermon, the Rebbe stated unambiguously that the present
generation was likewise the seventh and thus would witness the messiah’s
arrival—a claim based, once again, on the simple fact that Menachem Mendel
Schneerson was the seventh Lubavitcher rebbe.26 There can be no mistake on
this point, nor is there room for free will:
Although the fact that we are in the seventh generation is not the
result of our own choosing and our own service and indeed in certain
ways perhaps contrary to our will, nevertheless “all those who are
seventh are cherished.” We are now very near the approaching footsteps
of the messiah; indeed, we are at the conclusion of this period, and our
spiritual task is to complete the process of drawing down the
shechina.27
Menachem Mendel’s messianic belief did not rely only on his being the
seventh rebbe in the Lubavitcher line. Another important factor was the
role of the sefirot in Chabad mysticism. The Kabbala describes the
sefirot, the luminous emanations through which God infuses this world with
heavenly light, as a sequence of temporal coordinates. According to
Chabad’s unique brand of mysticism, the sefirot also correlate to specific
tzaddikim, beginning with the Baal Shem Tov—the founder of Hasidism—and
ending with the seven Lubavitcher rebbes. Menachem Mendel Schneerson’s
explanation of this doctrine is as follows:
Every one of the rebbes is a maor [“luminary”]; within this category,
however, each rebbe has a distinguishing characteristic in accordance
with his position in the scheme of the sefirot. Thus, as is well known,
the Baal Shem Tov corresponds to the level known as atik [“ancient”];
the Maggid corresponds to the level of arich [“long”]; the Alter Rebbe
to hochma [“wisdom”]; the Mitteler Rebbe to bina [“understanding”]; and
so on. And my revered father-in-law, the Rebbe [Rayatz], who is the
luminary of this generation, incorporates all the luminaries—the Baal
Shem Tov, the Maggid, the Alter Rebbe, the Mitteler Rebbe, the Tzemach
Tzedek, the Rebbe Maharash,28 and the Rebbe Rashab—because he brings
about the same effects that they brought about in their respective
generations.29
The Rebbe’s metaphysical outline of history, then, asserts that the Baal
Shem Tov corresponds to the atik yomin (the “ancient of days”) and his
disciple, the Maggid of Mezeritch, to arich anpin (the “long
countenance”)—both being manifestations of the highest sefira, keter
(“crown”). Chabad founder Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, known as the
Alter Rebbe, corresponds to the sefirah ofhochma. His son, Rabbi Dovber
Schneuri, the Mitteler Rebbe, corresponds to the sefiraof bina. This
correspondence continues until Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, referred
to by Menachem Mendel as “the luminary of this generation.” But where is
Menachem Mendel himself, the seventh rebbe, in this divine order?
There are several versions of the answer, but they all conclude that the
seventh and final rebbe corresponds to the sefira of malchut, or
“kingship.”30 This sefira encompasses all of the heavenly plenitude
emanating from above—meaning, by implication, that the Rebbe himself
completes the descent of the divine light through the heavens.31 And
indeed, on dozens of occasions the Rebbe indicated that he viewed himself
as the physical embodiment of malchut. In his 1989 Rosh Hashana speech,
for example, he claimed that,
All of the above is enhanced by the unique nature of the present year,
tav-shin-nun, a “year of miracles.” The Hebrew for “miracle” also has
the connotation “uplifted,” i.e., it refers to a level that is elevated
above the natural order….
The concept of miracles also relates to the custom (quoted by the
previous rebbe) of mentioning the nessi’im (pl., “princes”)… on Rosh
Hashana.
The word nassi (sing., “prince”) also means “uplifted” and is used
regarding an individual who is elevated above the people as a whole as
we find in regard to King Shaul, who was described as being so tall that
his shoulders were higher than the heads of the people.
Our Sages, however, explain that “a nassi is the entire people” and that
each member of the people has a spark of the nassi’s soul within his
soul. Therefore, all the physical and spiritual necessities required by
the people are drawn down to them by the nassi. Furthermore, the nassi
lifts the people up to a higher level. For this reason, it is
appropriate to mention the nessi’im on Rosh Hashana.
Our Sages teach that God relates to us in a manner of “measure for
measure.” Thus, in order to merit the present “year of miracles,” each
Jew must begin a miraculous order of behavior, i.e., take on good
resolutions regarding his service of Torah, prayer, and deeds of
kindness which totally surpass that which could be expected of him based
on his behavior in previous years.
This will serve as a vessel to contain the blessings of the present
year, a “year of miracles.” Surely, this will include the greatest
miracle, the messianic redemption, when “as in the days of your exodus
from Egypt, I will show you wonders.” God will “sound the great shofar
for our freedom,” bringing the Messiah. His coming is associated with
the revelation of the yehida, the essence of the soul of every Jew.
Then, it will be revealed how “Israel and the Holy One, blessed be he,
are all one.”32
The “nassi,” referred to by the Rebbe as the yehida, is the soul that
contains within it the souls of all Jewish people. Here, in language
obscure to the outsider but plain to his followers, the Rebbe stated that
this leader is none other than himself. He claims, in other words, that he
is the messiah—the redeemer who has not yet been revealed, but whose
revelation is nonetheless imminent.
It would appear from his speech that the Rebbe viewed all of human history
as flowing inexorably toward the decisive moment when he, as the final
descendant of a line of tzaddikim, would be required to act as the savior
of humanity. It must be emphasized: In spite of all his scientific
education, the Rebbe’s worldview was based entirely on the Kabbala, and
can be understood only in its light.33 According to his mystical belief
system, the fact that he was the seventh rebbe in the Lubavitcher dynasty
was not accidental, but rather an event of divine significance, an
eschatological occurrence that marked the beginning of the end times.
Guided by this theory, the Rebbe no doubt felt that the weight of
redemption lay entirely on his shoulders. He was therefore determined to
fulfill that destiny to the best of his abilities.
By Tomer Persico
Why the Lubavitcher Rebbe believed he was the Chosen One.
For several terrifying days in late November 2008, all Jewish eyes were on
the Indian city of Mumbai. Muslim terrorists had launched a series of
coordinated shooting and bombing attacks on targets throughout the
metropolis, including the Nariman Chabad House, a hasidic cultural center
that served the local Jewish community as well as Israeli tourists passing
through. For two days, terrorists held those inside hostage; on the third,
Indian security forces stormed the building. There they found the bodies
of six captives, including the young Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife,
Rivka, then six months pregnant. Only the Holtzbergs’ two-year-old son,
Moshe, survived, having been spirited away by his Indian caretaker at the
onset of the attack. Later, he was returned safely to his family in
Israel.
Amidst their grief, the followers of Chabad found one additional source of
comfort—or at least of awe—in the Mumbai tragedy, however: Though the
Nariman House and its contents had been severely damaged, an oil painting
of the late Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the seventh Lubavitcher
Rebbe and the last leader of Chabad, had survived unharmed. To many of his
followers, this was nothing less than proof of the miraculous aura
surrounding their deceased leader.1
Referred to by his acolytes simply as “the Rebbe,” Menachem Mendel
Schneerson (1902-1994) continues to excite the passions of Lubavitchers
even today, a decade and a half after his death—a testament to his
personal stature as well as his profound impact on the Chabad movement.
Under his charismatic leadership, Chabad was transformed within a few
short decades from a small hasidic sect into a thriving global network of
schools, community centers, synagogues, and charities.2 Even those who do
not avail themselves of Chabad’s services have like as not encountered, at
one time or another, one of the movement’s followers manning a
street-corner stand, offering tefillin (phylacteries), prayer books, and
tutelage for Jews curious about ritual observance. Nor are Chabad’s
activities limited strictly to members of the Jewish faith: In accordance
with the Rebbe’s instructions, Lubavitchers have also assumed
responsibility for convincing non-Jews to follow the Noahide Laws, a set
of seven moral imperatives the Talmud claims are binding on all mankind.
Owing to this fervent activism, Chabad is now the most widespread and
vibrant Jewish organization in the world; in some countries, such as
France, Australia, and almost all of the former Soviet republics, Chabad
has effectively become Judaism’s public face.
To be sure, such impressive achievements required a powerful motivating
force. For Chabad, this force was a messianic awakening the likes of which
Judaism had not experienced since the brief rise and fall of the
seventeenth-century false messiah, Shabtai Tzvi, and at its center stood
Menachem Mendel Schneerson himself. As the Rebbe’s fame increased in the
decades since the 1950s, and his movement grew in power and influence, so,
too, did the messianic expectations surrounding him become more and more
zealous, ultimately overwhelming both Chabad’s rank and file and its
rabbinical leadership alike. This cult of personality profoundly altered
the movement, both institutionally and theologically. Indeed, since the
Rebbe’s death in 1994, no one has been deemed worthy of succeeding him.
Moreover, the movement has found itself split between those who have
accepted its leader’s death and those—the majority of Chabad’s
followers—who believe he is somehow still alive.
No less worrisome than this internal schism, the Lubavitchers have found
themselves increasingly at odds with other ultra-Orthodox Jewish
communities. Although Chabad members follow the commandments to the
letter, often adding their own, more onerous restrictions, their critics
have gone so far as to cast doubt on the movement’s Jewishness. The head
of the Lithuanian Jewish community, the late Rabbi Eliezer Shach, once
called Chabad a “cult” and sarcastically defined it as the religion
closest to Judaism;3 Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, spiritual leader of the Sephardi
Shas movement, ruled that a certain statement by the Lubavitcher Rebbe was
“true heresy” and “idolatry.”4 And in a recent book titled The Rebbe, the
Messiah, and the Scandal of Orthodox Indifference, historian and Orthodox
rabbi David Berger demonstrates that one faction of Chabad no longer
presents the Rebbe as “only” the messiah, but instead goes so far as to
identify him with God himself—cause, argues Berger, for the movement’s
excommunication from Judaism.5 For their part, Chabad members respond to
such criticisms with either anger or derision: They describe Berger as a
crackpot, scorn the opinions of Ovadia Yosef, and insist that Eliezer
Shach was the Devil’s representative on earth.6
In light of the uproar surrounding the “aberration” of the Chabad
movement, one cannot but wonder: Did the Rebbe in truth believe he was the
messiah?7 The messianic faction of the movement naturally insists that he
did. The moderates, however, have largely succeeded in convincing the
general public that the Rebbe never presented himself as such. At most,
they assert, he neither confirmed nor denied such claims. Rather, the
messianic fervor that engulfed the movement was “from below”—i.e., at the
instigation of his followers.8
Yet such apologetics simply do not mesh with the facts. As I will show,
the Rebbe did believe—and encouraged his followers to believe—that he was
the messiah, destined to reveal himself to the people Israel and redeem
the world. In fact, he could hardly have thought otherwise: This
perception was an inevitable result of the messianic theology the Rebbe
inherited from his predecessors, a theology whose internal logic was
reflected in his teachings and which guided both his decisions and
actions. The current messianic tension that grips Chabad is therefore not
a side effect of its achievements under the Rebbe’s leadership. Just the
opposite is true: Messianism was the driving force behind Chabad’s
success, and it has only grown stronger after the death of the supposed
savior himself.
II
The messiah, we know, can appear in a heartbeat. A messianic belief
system, by contrast, is built up painstakingly over time. As the historian
Menachem Friedman has shown, Lubavitch Hasidism has awaited the imminent
arrival of the messiah since the early twentieth century, when the
movement was led by the fifth Lubavitcher rebbe, Shalom Dovber Schneerson.
Chabad’s messianic worldview, Friedman explains, developed as a response
to the various pressures of modernity, in particular the haskala
(Enlightenment), secularization, and Zionism.9 While traditional Judaism
viewed these developments with concern, the fifth Lubavitcher rebbe saw
them as foretelling the coming of the messiah. He declared the
intellectuals of the haskala and the Zionists “enemies of God” and warned
that as these representatives of the sitra ahra (in Aramaic, “the other
side,” i.e., the forces of evil) grew more powerful, it fell to Chabad to
save humanity from the encroaching iniquity.10 Only Chabad, he believed,
could be the beacon of light in an ocean of darkness.
The idea that mankind stood at the threshold of the messianic age, and
that Chabad was destined to play a major role therein, was later taken up
by Shalom Dovber’s son, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, upon his
succession as the sixth Lubavitcher rebbe in 1920. In the decades that
followed, Yosef Yitzchok was to face a series of staggering challenges,
both physical and theological: the Soviet regime’s brutal suppression of
Judaism; the Nazi occupation of Europe; the Holocaust; and, finally, the
establishment of the State of Israel by secular Zionists. Through most of
the turbulent 1930s, Yosef Yitzchok himself had been forced to wander
across Europe in search of safe haven until, at the urging of his
followers, the Americans finally smuggled him into the United States.11
By the time he arrived in America in the early 1940s, Yosef Yitzchok
thought he knew why disaster had befallen the Jewish people: God had
decided to bring an end to the exile and thus trigger mass tshuva
(“repentance”) among the Jews in preparation for the messiah’s arrival. He
believed that an event as catastrophic and incomprehensible as the
Holocaust could only be followed by an equally astonishing and
inconceivable salvation.12 “We are living in the last days before the
redemption,” he declared.13 All that remained was to “polish the buttons,”
i.e., take care of minor details.14
The sixth rebbe passed away in 1950 after a long battle with multiple
sclerosis. His successor, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, was forty-eight
years old when he accepted the mantle of Chabad’s leadership. Blessed with
both good yichus (“family lineage”) and, as was roundly acknowledged, a
striking and charismatic personality, Menachem Mendel was born in the
southern Ukraine to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak Schneerson, who was himself the
great-grandson of the third Lubavitcher rebbe, known as the Tzemach Tzedek
(“Righteous Sprout,” or “Righteous Scion”). In 1923, Menachem Mendel
became a close student of the sixth rebbe, and in 1928, he married the
rebbe’s daughter, Chaya Moussia, in Warsaw. The two moved to Berlin, and
Menachem Mendel began to audit university classes in mathematics and
philosophy. When the Nazis came to power in 1933, he escaped with his wife
to Paris, where he completed a degree in electrical engineering at a
technical college.15 After the German invasion of France, he fled again,
this time to New York, where he assumed various Chabad leadership
positions (as well as working a stint at the Brooklyn Navy Yard).
Throughout this period, however, he maintained a relatively low profile,
rarely making appearances or speaking in public.
Menachem Mendel’s appointment as the seventh Lubavitcher rebbe was by no
means a foregone conclusion. His brother-in-law, Rabbi Shemaryahu Gurary,
was married to the rebbe’s eldest daughter and was also considered a
strong contender for the position. The scales eventually tilted in
Menachem Mendel’s favor, however, and he formally assumed leadership of
Chabad a year after his father-in-law’s death. According to Friedman, the
decisive factor in Menachem Mendel’s ascent was his zealous commitment to
Yosef Yitzchok’s messianic theology.16 Either way, it would soon become
clear that the seventh rebbe’s messianic fervor surpassed that of all his
predecessors—and had a deeply personal dimension.
III
Unlike the rebbes who preceded him, Menachem Mendel was not content simply
to foster vague messianic hopes among his followers. On the contrary, he
outlined a detailed metaphysical plan, based on kabbalistic ideas, for
hastening the redemption.17 As scholar of Chabad Hasidism Alon Dahan has
maintained, the Rebbe’s was a “radically apocalyptic” messianism, one that
viewed
the linear and historical progression of time as a continuum of mostly
tragic events, whose significance could be perceived if and only if they
were interpreted according to the concept of the “dwelling below” [dira
batahtonim, a mystical term that describes the infusion of the material
world with the divine]. The messianic end grants these tragedies and
catastrophes—and the Holocaust in particular—an optimistic dimension.18
The Rebbe therefore continued on the path paved by his predecessor, who
declared redemption to be just around the corner. All that was left to
discern, then, was the identity of the long-awaited messiah. In other
words, the question was not when, but who.
Menachem Mendel first provided an answer, if only an implicit one, in his
1951 succession speech. Delivered on the anniversary of Yosef Yitzchok’s
death, the discourse, titled “Basi Legani” (“I Have Come to My Garden”) in
many ways encapsulates his entire doctrine.19 The speech quotes a Midrash
based on the Song of Songs:
R. Menachem Chatanya, in the name of R. Elazar son of Ebona, said in the
name of R. Shimon in the name of R. Yossena: It does not say, “I have
come to the garden,” rather it says, “to my garden,” to my shelter, to
my original place of dwelling. And the original place of the shechina
[“divine presence”] was not in the lower realms, as it is written: “And
they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden” (Genesis
3:8).20
According to the sages’ interpretation, the biblical passage signifies the
return of God to his garden, which in turn denotes the reunification of
the divine with the world by means of the redemption. The Rebbe used this
text as a starting point for his presentation of a highly structured
theological view of history. According to this view, the shechina
abandoned this world on account of the sin of Adam and Eve, and continued
to ascend through the seven heavens on account of the actions of six other
sinners. Yet seven holy Hebrews, or tzaddikim, who lived in the period
between the Patriarchs and Moses, drew the divine presence back into this
world, where it was finally revealed through the Torah given on Mount
Sinai. The reconciliation of the earthly and the heavenly that began with
Abraham was thus completed by Moses, who was granted this honor because
“all those who are seventh are most beloved.”21
This final point is of critical significance to Chabad’s understanding of
history. From the general rule set forth by the Midrash, “all those who
are seventh are most beloved,” the Rebbe infers that the identity of the
redeemer has nothing to do with certain special qualities, nor is it
dependent on human choice. Instead, it is determined by the predestined,
divine pattern behind all historical events.22 In accordance with this
pattern, God selects a seventh messenger to complete a process of
redemption begun six generations before by a great tzaddik. The Rebbe
explained,
The seventh’s primary quality lies in his being seventh. In other words,
he is cherished not on account of his choice, desire, or spiritual
service, but because he is seventh—and this is something he is born
into.… It was for this reason that it was Moses who was privileged to
have the Torah given through him.23
This interpretation leaves little room for free will or human agency. On
the contrary, it appears to espouse an entirely deterministic
understanding of divine intervention in this world.24 It holds, for
example, that Moses was chosen to receive the Torah from God not because
of his actions or virtues—as is generally accepted in traditional
Judaism—but solely because he was seventh in a line of tzaddikim.
But redemption was not completed with Moses. The light of the divine
presence, which descended to earth with the Torah, no longer shines with
its original intensity. True salvation, the Rebbe believed, will be
attained only when the creation is once again filled with the light that
emanated from the divine presence before its withdrawal from the world
(the tzimtzum).25 This task, which has remained unfinished through two
thousand years of chaos and two thousand years of Torah, requires a second
series of seven tzaddikim to conclude the work of the first. These seven
tzaddikim, so goes the theory, are none other than the Lubavitcher rebbes.
According to this doctrine, the seventh of these corresponds to Moses, and
the burden of bringing forth the messianic age therefore falls to him.
Evidently, this seventh tzaddik was Menachem Mendel Schneerson.
Continuing his sermon, the Rebbe stated unambiguously that the present
generation was likewise the seventh and thus would witness the messiah’s
arrival—a claim based, once again, on the simple fact that Menachem Mendel
Schneerson was the seventh Lubavitcher rebbe.26 There can be no mistake on
this point, nor is there room for free will:
Although the fact that we are in the seventh generation is not the
result of our own choosing and our own service and indeed in certain
ways perhaps contrary to our will, nevertheless “all those who are
seventh are cherished.” We are now very near the approaching footsteps
of the messiah; indeed, we are at the conclusion of this period, and our
spiritual task is to complete the process of drawing down the
shechina.27
Menachem Mendel’s messianic belief did not rely only on his being the
seventh rebbe in the Lubavitcher line. Another important factor was the
role of the sefirot in Chabad mysticism. The Kabbala describes the
sefirot, the luminous emanations through which God infuses this world with
heavenly light, as a sequence of temporal coordinates. According to
Chabad’s unique brand of mysticism, the sefirot also correlate to specific
tzaddikim, beginning with the Baal Shem Tov—the founder of Hasidism—and
ending with the seven Lubavitcher rebbes. Menachem Mendel Schneerson’s
explanation of this doctrine is as follows:
Every one of the rebbes is a maor [“luminary”]; within this category,
however, each rebbe has a distinguishing characteristic in accordance
with his position in the scheme of the sefirot. Thus, as is well known,
the Baal Shem Tov corresponds to the level known as atik [“ancient”];
the Maggid corresponds to the level of arich [“long”]; the Alter Rebbe
to hochma [“wisdom”]; the Mitteler Rebbe to bina [“understanding”]; and
so on. And my revered father-in-law, the Rebbe [Rayatz], who is the
luminary of this generation, incorporates all the luminaries—the Baal
Shem Tov, the Maggid, the Alter Rebbe, the Mitteler Rebbe, the Tzemach
Tzedek, the Rebbe Maharash,28 and the Rebbe Rashab—because he brings
about the same effects that they brought about in their respective
generations.29
The Rebbe’s metaphysical outline of history, then, asserts that the Baal
Shem Tov corresponds to the atik yomin (the “ancient of days”) and his
disciple, the Maggid of Mezeritch, to arich anpin (the “long
countenance”)—both being manifestations of the highest sefira, keter
(“crown”). Chabad founder Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, known as the
Alter Rebbe, corresponds to the sefirah ofhochma. His son, Rabbi Dovber
Schneuri, the Mitteler Rebbe, corresponds to the sefiraof bina. This
correspondence continues until Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, referred
to by Menachem Mendel as “the luminary of this generation.” But where is
Menachem Mendel himself, the seventh rebbe, in this divine order?
There are several versions of the answer, but they all conclude that the
seventh and final rebbe corresponds to the sefira of malchut, or
“kingship.”30 This sefira encompasses all of the heavenly plenitude
emanating from above—meaning, by implication, that the Rebbe himself
completes the descent of the divine light through the heavens.31 And
indeed, on dozens of occasions the Rebbe indicated that he viewed himself
as the physical embodiment of malchut. In his 1989 Rosh Hashana speech,
for example, he claimed that,
All of the above is enhanced by the unique nature of the present year,
tav-shin-nun, a “year of miracles.” The Hebrew for “miracle” also has
the connotation “uplifted,” i.e., it refers to a level that is elevated
above the natural order….
The concept of miracles also relates to the custom (quoted by the
previous rebbe) of mentioning the nessi’im (pl., “princes”)… on Rosh
Hashana.
The word nassi (sing., “prince”) also means “uplifted” and is used
regarding an individual who is elevated above the people as a whole as
we find in regard to King Shaul, who was described as being so tall that
his shoulders were higher than the heads of the people.
Our Sages, however, explain that “a nassi is the entire people” and that
each member of the people has a spark of the nassi’s soul within his
soul. Therefore, all the physical and spiritual necessities required by
the people are drawn down to them by the nassi. Furthermore, the nassi
lifts the people up to a higher level. For this reason, it is
appropriate to mention the nessi’im on Rosh Hashana.
Our Sages teach that God relates to us in a manner of “measure for
measure.” Thus, in order to merit the present “year of miracles,” each
Jew must begin a miraculous order of behavior, i.e., take on good
resolutions regarding his service of Torah, prayer, and deeds of
kindness which totally surpass that which could be expected of him based
on his behavior in previous years.
This will serve as a vessel to contain the blessings of the present
year, a “year of miracles.” Surely, this will include the greatest
miracle, the messianic redemption, when “as in the days of your exodus
from Egypt, I will show you wonders.” God will “sound the great shofar
for our freedom,” bringing the Messiah. His coming is associated with
the revelation of the yehida, the essence of the soul of every Jew.
Then, it will be revealed how “Israel and the Holy One, blessed be he,
are all one.”32
The “nassi,” referred to by the Rebbe as the yehida, is the soul that
contains within it the souls of all Jewish people. Here, in language
obscure to the outsider but plain to his followers, the Rebbe stated that
this leader is none other than himself. He claims, in other words, that he
is the messiah—the redeemer who has not yet been revealed, but whose
revelation is nonetheless imminent.
It would appear from his speech that the Rebbe viewed all of human history
as flowing inexorably toward the decisive moment when he, as the final
descendant of a line of tzaddikim, would be required to act as the savior
of humanity. It must be emphasized: In spite of all his scientific
education, the Rebbe’s worldview was based entirely on the Kabbala, and
can be understood only in its light.33 According to his mystical belief
system, the fact that he was the seventh rebbe in the Lubavitcher dynasty
was not accidental, but rather an event of divine significance, an
eschatological occurrence that marked the beginning of the end times.
Guided by this theory, the Rebbe no doubt felt that the weight of
redemption lay entirely on his shoulders. He was therefore determined to
fulfill that destiny to the best of his abilities.
