The young Chabad rabbi, my friend, saw that it was a swelteringly hot and humid ‘shabbos’ day (as he would call it). And so, he instinctively knew that his congregation would forgive his dispensing with a sermon, d’var Torah or even brief impromptu remarks about Torah. Instead, as is almost first nature to him, he lovingly referred to the celebrants of each and every simcha in the community that week. It was a joyous day all around and the rabbi, as always, reveled in it.
Naturally, then came the articulated hope that “we celebrate only simchas together.” And, finally, the almost reflexive call for – perhaps, urgent anticipation of – the arrival of the messia (Moshiach).
Nothing, though, about the calamitous fall of Kabul; the disheartening news in Haiti; the escalation of COVID. Nothing even about rising antisemitism in the world. All of which Dr. King might refer to as: “The fierce urgency of now.” That is, the fierce urgency of actually doing something – taking action – now!
But the rabbi’s Moshiach comment wasn’t about now at all. Rather, it was simply a future-viewing, hopeful longing for the arrival of the Moshiach when, presumably, all such mortal suffering will be gone. Perhaps it’s the same thought process that stirred many of those in the Promised Land who were subjugated by Roman occupation at the dawn of the Common Era – hoping that the unhappiness at play in those days would instantaneously evaporate. It would become, without saying so, a figurative and continuous day at the beach. (And, then, as I posited to myself, presumably we will be able to passively rely on a benevolent All Powerful leader.)
L’Chaims all around! And with that, services concluded.
When the crowd was exiting for kiddush, another rabbi, also a friend, drew close. He’s not local, so we see one another only once every year or two when he comes to my home in the US. With a perpetual glint in his eye, we greet each other warmly. But he knows – always knows – that my conversation with him will provoke questions, even perhaps existential doubts, about belief.
And so this day’s “disputation” – hardly like that of Nahmanides and Pablo Christiani -- invariably will turn to the Moshiach, we having heard the call for his arrival just moments before.
And so I ask: “What if someone, say I, simply doesn’t believe in it?” The rabbi, understandably, a staunch believer in the Moshiach as an enervating force in his existence, nonetheless maintains his smile. He’s been around the block once or twice and, clear-eyed as always, he is surely unsurprised. (Perhaps, I need new material).
The rabbi recognizes that he simply can’t and won’t even try to change my mind – to persuade me of the error of my ways. He surely recognizes from experience that it’s just as hard to persuade one to “believe” in something as intangible as Moshiach, as to affirmatively “love” something equally hard to comprehend. Even God Himself.
So he goes elsewhere. We’re like two aging fighters – but fighters who never plan or even want to land a blow. It’s, rather, a dance. And in that dance he’s a skilled Muhammed Ali who gracefully bobs and weaves away from me, maybe seeing that the better strategy is to simply wear his opponent out. The rabbi is a savvy spiritual pugilist and teacher.
But here’s where he goes to deal with my questioning inquiry.
“Do you believe in God?” he asks. Of course, my answer is a robust “yes.”
Then, “do you believe in the Torah?” Less unequivocal this time: “At least most of it.”
He smiles broadly as if to say despite all, “We’re good.” The dance, at least for this day, is over. I forego mentioning that I don’t actually find any direct reference to the Moshiach in the (written) Torah. That, of course, would have led to a much longer dance.
Maybe he thinks he’ll get me to a promised land of sorts one day, but that if he tries too hard now to push the envelope – perhaps like Maimonides, who somewhat questionably declared that he who doesn’t believe in the Moshiach forfeits his future in the World to Come – he might lose me altogether. He wouldn’t, but why take chances?
And maybe, after all is said and done, he has come to believe that even if I won’t or simply can’t believe in King Moshiach or even the halcyon concept of it until he arrives, I’ll ultimately obtain the intended benefit of the Anointed One’s existence when he’s here on the ground in full view and undeniable.
I recall the story of a famous Illinois politician who promiscuously would tell almost anyone who would listen that he was a dedicated atheist. His eulogizer blithely remarked at his funeral: “Surely, today, he knows better.”
Finally, it’s time to leave. So after bidding the rabbi adieu I begin to walk off to enjoy the rest of the day. As if pulling me back from a distance, he calls out to me – again, with the fraternally loving glint in his eye: “You know, Joel, I’ve been looking in your eyes today. I can see that you’re constantly thinking. Perhaps you’re thinking too much?”
I doubt if he’s right about that. I don’t spend nearly enough of my time thinking. Still, his suggestion is probably worth considering. After all, the characters in the Torah, especially the heroic among them, don’t seem to “think.” Rather, they “do.” They (as should we and I) take action, not simply waiting for – “anticipating” – a panacea for life’s turmoil.
And so with that, I continue to think about the other King’s “urgency of now” and what we need to do, today, to address what confronts the world as it finds itself – now.
Yes, the dance continues.
The writer, a frequent author, practices white-collar criminal defense law at Stroock & Stroock & Lavan in New York and is the author of “Moses: A Memoir” (Paulist Press 2003).