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| Chabad Shiluchim at the 2015 international conference in Crown Heights (HDB) |
I am going to do something today that I rarely do. I am
going to publish in full a rather lengthy but I believe very insightful article published
in the Harvard Divinity Bulletin written by Joseph (Yossi) Newfield - a former
Lubavitch Moshichist. The article speaks for itself. Without further comment - it follows.
AS MY REBBE LAY DEAD on the floor of his office, I
noticed a small group of men dancing and chanting outside on the street: “Long
Live the Rebbe, King Messiah, Forever and Ever!” Only hours earlier, the Rebbe,
Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, was pronounced dead by the hospital
physician, but for many of his Hasidic followers, he was still the long-awaited
Messiah.
It was a hot and muggy Saturday night in June 1994. As a
14-year-old yeshiva student, I joined the vigil standing outside Beth Israel
Hospital in Manhattan, hoping and praying that the Rebbe would miraculously
return to his followers and community in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. Alas, at
12:30 AM our hopes were dashed. Standing among the thousand Chabad followers, I
saw the stretcher carried out on its way back to Brooklyn.
I rushed back to the Rebbe’s synagogue, known throughout the
world by its address, “770.” There, a long line of mourners filed by the
Rebbe’s office on the first floor to pay their final respects. When I saw the
outline of his body laid out on the floor, wrapped in a prayer shawl, I was
shocked and bewildered. He was surrounded by 10 burning candles and a small
delegation of elderly Hasidim reciting the book of Psalms.
The crowd swept me outside to the street. Still in shock, I joined the
dancing Hasidim and chanted along with them. I continued dancing throughout
the night until daybreak. By 6 AM, completely exhausted, I made my way home and
collapsed into bed.
Later in the day, I stood among the thousands of Hasidim
gathered outside the Old Montefiore Cemetery in Springfield Gardens as the
Rebbe was interred next to his father-in-law, Rabbi Yosef Y. Schneersohn. It
began to dawn on me that the burial would surely put an end to the Rebbe’s
messiahship. Or so I assumed.
More than 26 years have passed since the Rebbe’s demise.
Nevertheless, to this day, most of the Rebbe’s followers, known as
Chabad-Lubavitch Hasidim, continue to believe in his messianic identity. How
can this be?
For years leading up to the Rebbe’s passing, and with tacit
encouragement from the Rebbe himself, Chabad followers came to believe that the
Rebbe was the Messiah. To a large extent, this messianic attribution was
connected to the Rebbe’s mission of reaching out to every Jew across the globe.
Unlike other Orthodox rabbis and Hasidic leaders, who primarily concern
themselves with their own flock, the Rebbe saw himself as the leader of world
Jewry. To this end, he sent emissaries from his headquarters in Brooklyn to
every corner of the globe. To date, the Chabad movement has established
approximately four thousand outposts, or Chabad Houses, around the world.
No previous Jewish leader had such astounding global
ambitions. As the Rebbe’s program of Jewish outreach picked up steam in the
early 1990s, his followers became ever more convinced that he must be the
long-awaited Messiah. The Rebbe had no children and his health was
deteriorating rapidly. In 1992, at the age of 90, he suffered a severe stroke,
which led to his loss of speech and his ability to walk. In his weakened
condition, he would appear for the evening prayer service on a specially built
balcony in the back of his synagogue. On cue, the moment the curtains parted
and the Rebbe came into view, the Hasidim would begin chanting fervently, “Long
Live the Rebbe, King Messiah.”
The Rebbe’s death on June 12, 1994, came as a total shock to
all of us. For the Chabad movement, his death simply made no sense. Everyone I
knew—family, friends, and teachers—was convinced that the Rebbe was the Messiah.
As such, how could he have died? Prior to the Rebbe’s death, the movement took
it for granted that the Messiah had to come from the living, not the dead. Jews
knew that Jesus could not be the Messiah because he left the world in an
unredeemed state. Likewise, most observers outside of the Chabad movement were
convinced that upon the Rebbe’s death, his followers would cease to believe
that he was the Messiah. But they underestimated the tenacity of his followers’
faith in the Rebbe.
After the initial shock of the Rebbe’s passing, the Chabad
movement recalibrated itself and came to believe that now, with the Rebbe no
longer among the living, the Messiah would have to come from the dead. All that
was needed was for the Rebbe to return to his synagogue in Brooklyn and finish
the work he began prior to his death. Upon his return, he would gather all the
Jews back to the Land of Israel and build the Third Temple in Jerusalem. In
effect, this new schema can be considered a Hasidic version of the Second
Coming.
Until the age of 22, I, too, managed to shake off the
Rebbe’s death and continued to believe in his messianic identity. Like so many
of my friends, I also had the mantra “Long Live the Rebbe, King Messiah”
emblazoned on my head covering, or kippah. One of the popular communal
songs my friends and I would listen to incessantly proclaimed, “He wouldn’t
teach us falsehoods, he wouldn’t tell us lies, if he said the Messiah was
coming, he will be here at last.” Even though I couldn’t see the Rebbe anymore
in the flesh, I was convinced that if the Rebbe prophesized the Messiah was on
his way—and I was sure he was the Messiah—it was only a matter of time before
he returned. In the meantime, I continued studying the Rebbe’s many
messianic-tinged speeches and talks.
I GREW UP IN A strange home. My father is a graduate of
Columbia College and Harvard Medical School, but he sent my three brothers and
me to a school that did not even teach the ABCs. How this was possible had to
do with my father’s disenchantment with secular Jewish life as a young man. By
the time he was 25, he had finished medical school and had joined the Chabad
Hasidic movement in Crown Heights, Brooklyn. My mother also gave up her
comfortable secular Jewish lifestyle and joined the Chabad movement upon her
graduation from Queens College. A matchmaker brought my parents together; they
had nine children. My school, or yeshiva, was founded in 1956 with the express
purpose of only teaching a Torah curriculum—with the language of instruction in
Yiddish. This meant that we did not learn even basic English, math, and
science. Instead, we studied the Bible, the Talmud, and Jewish law, all day,
every day.
I was aware from an early age that following my father into
medicine was out of the question. My school did not give out high school
diplomas—how could it?—we didn’t learn the English language. Grudgingly, I made
peace with this reality because I wanted to live up to my parents’ expectations
to become the Torah scholar they couldn’t be. As the oldest boy in the family
and the most scholastically inclined, I was going to be the one to help my
family integrate into the austere Hasidic movement. Despite not gaining the
education and skills to make it in the outside world, I took comfort in the
fact that I knew my Rebbe was the Messiah, and it was only a matter of time
before he would return and gather all the Jews back to our ancient homeland and
build the Third Temple in Jerusalem.
When I turned 17, I enrolled in the Chabad yeshiva, or
seminary, in Montreal, Canada. I discovered that most of the yeshiva students,
numbering some 100 or more, also took the Rebbe’s messianic identity for
granted. We assumed it was simply a matter of time before the Rebbe would
return and complete his messianic mission.
As an inquisitive young scholar, I searched for books that
were not included within the yeshiva’s restricted and limited collection of
talmudic and rabbinic texts. One day, while perusing the stacks of the Jewish
Public Library of Montreal, I discovered the Hebrew-language book, False
Messiahs and Their Opponents, published in Israel by Rabbi Benjamin Solomon
Hamburger in 1989. Without explicitly mentioning the Chabad-Lubavitch movement,
it became apparent to me that the book’s real goal was to debunk the Chabad
belief in the Rebbe’s messiahship.
The book described the numerous false messiahs who appeared
throughout Jewish history, starting with Jesus and culminating with the founder
of political Zionism, Theodore Hertzl. Its message resonated with me and I
started to have doubts. On the one hand, I wanted to dismiss this book since I
knew the author was an opponent of the entire Hasidic movement, including the
Chabad sect I belong to. As a proud Hasid, I didn’t think I had to take the
author too seriously. On the other hand, the book made a very important
observation—that every Jewish messianic movement ended in failure. The thought
that my belief in the Rebbe’s messianic identity might be misguided began to
haunt me.
The more I wrestled with this question, the more convinced I
became that I would have to read the book that was strictly forbidden to
Orthodox Jews: the New Testament itself. Perhaps it would help me understand if
the Rebbe could still be the Messiah even after his passing. By the time I came
to the book of John, it became apparent to me that the parallels between
Chabad’s belief in the Rebbe and the faith of the early followers of Jesus were
undeniable; both groups of Jews continued to insist on their leader’s messianic
identity following his earthly ministry.
This realization frightened me. From the earliest age, I was
taught that Christianity was false and Jesus could not be the Jewish Messiah.
Over the years, I had argued with Jews for Jesus and tried to prove to them
that Jesus was not the Messiah. Now, after reading the Gospels, it dawned on me
that my own community was like the early followers of Jesus; we could not let
go of our Rebbe. Despite all evidence to the contrary, the disciples of Jesus
and my fellow Hasidim both insisted that our respective leaders were the
long-awaited Messiah, their deaths notwithstanding. This parallel to
Christianity made me exceedingly uncomfortable.
The belief in the Rebbe’s messianic identity, while
widespread in the Chabad community, expresses itself in different ways. For the
vast majority of the Chabad movement, the Rebbe’s burial is not denied. In
fact, they visit the Rebbe’s gravesite on a regular basis. But his burial is
seen as merely temporary. If only we did one more good deed, or mitzvah, his
return would surely be hastened. Perhaps for this reason, the Chabad movement
has not appointed a replacement rebbe, since the “Rebbe” will be returning at
any minute.
During the Rebbe’s lifetime, every couple would wait for the
Rebbe’s blessing before getting engaged. If the blessing was not given, it was
a sign that the Rebbe disapproved of the match and the engagement would be
called off. With the Rebbe no longer among the living, the custom transformed
to seeking his approval and blessing at the gravesite. This is accomplished by
praying at the gravesite and laying a note on the grave, informing the Rebbe of
the couple’s intention to marry. With this pilgrimage, the Rebbe’s approval is
assumed. Upon leaving the gravesite, the couple will announce their engagement
to their waiting family and friends and sponsor a small collation at the
adjacent 24-hour visitor center.
Some Chabad members are not satisfied with assuming the
Rebbe’s approval for individual requests, such as guidance on job offers or
medical questions. They opt to divine the Rebbe’s guidance by consulting his
30-plus volumes of published letters, known as the “Holy Letters.” The
individuals requesting guidance pen a letter to the Rebbe outlining their
concern or question and insert the letter randomly into one of the volumes of
the “Holy Letters.” Then they open up the book to the page where the letter had
been inserted and read the printed letter found there. In this way, they
find their answer in the published letter that the Rebbe had sent
to someone else decades ago.1
A small but vocal minority of the Chabad movement continues
to this day to deny that the Rebbe passed away at all. For them, the Rebbe is
not buried in Old Montefiore Cemetery, but is still present in his synagogue at
770 Eastern Parkway. The fact that they can’t see him in “770” is of no
concern. They are sure he is there and ministering, as he had for 40 years
before the “Day that can’t be mentioned.” For them, June 12, 1994, is not
the day the Rebbe passed away from this world; rather, it’s the day of the
Rebbe’s “disappearance.” They set up his prayer lectern in the main synagogue,
as was customarily done during the Rebbe’s “visible” lifetime. They also clear
a path for the now “invisible” Rebbe to enter and exit the prayer service, and
they reenact various public functions in which the Rebbe participated.2 Whether
they believe the Rebbe is physically buried in Queens or is still residing in
his synagogue in Brooklyn, the majority of Chabad followers continue to
maintain that the Rebbe is the long-awaited Messiah. Not since the time of
Jesus has a committed, traditionally observant Jewish community continued to
maintain such a belief. This phenomenon raises many historical and theological
questions.
For David Berger, a rabbi and professor at Yeshiva
University, the messianic fervor currently gripping the Chabad movement is
outside the pale of normative Orthodox Judaism.3 As
such, he believes it should be condemned as heretical and those professing this
belief should not be counted in the tradition prayer quorum (minyan). Despite
his best efforts, the majority of the Orthodox establishment has not been moved
to accept Berger’s call to arms.
With no replacement rebbe on the horizon, the Chabad
movement today is just as dominated by the Rebbe as it was prior to his
passing. They have not internalized his passing. Grieving for a loved one
primarily consists of accepting the loss. The natural grieving process has been
stunted, since the Rebbe is still very much alive for them on a daily basis.
Besides communicating with him through his “Holy Letters,” the community
incessantly watches historic film footage of his lengthy sermons.4
Ever since the Rebbe’s passing, scholars have debated
whether the Rebbe himself believed he was the Messiah. One of the first
academics to tackle this question was Joel Marcus of Duke Divinity School.
Marcus concluded:
The recent history of the modern Chabad (Lubavitcher)
movement of Hasidic Judaism provides insight into the development of early
Christianity. In both movements successful eschatological prophecies have
increased belief in the leader’s authority, and there is a mixture of ‘already’
and ‘not yet’ elements. Similar genres of literature are used to spread the
good news (e.g. miracle catenae and collections of originally independent
sayings). Both leaders tacitly accepted the messianic faith of their followers
but were reticent about acclaiming their messiahship directly.5
On the one hand, the Rebbe never emphatically stated, “I am
the Messiah.” Still, the many hints he gave his followers over the years seem
to have indicated that he believed in his own messianic identity. While, for
academics, the question of the Rebbe’s messiahship may be interesting material
for papers and conferences, for the Chabad movement, the Rebbe’s messianic
identity is of existential importance. This was starkly evident when I examined
the tombstone inscriptions of a number of recently deceased messianic Chabad
members. I noticed that their families engraved the message that the deceased
“faithfully believed in the Rebbe’s messiahship.”
After the Rebbe’s passing, his critics resumed their assault
on his messiahship with new zeal. In 2010, Rabbi Hamburger of Bnei Brak,
Israel, reissued his book False Messiahs and Their Opponents in an
expanded 703-page edition. This time, unlike his first edition in 1989, he
attacks the Chabad belief in their Rebbe’s messianic identity directly in his
long introduction. He states that even those who may have given Chabad the
benefit of the doubt in 1989 will surely now admit that the Rebbe never was the
Messiah. Reading the new edition confirmed my ever-increasing conviction that
the Rebbe was not the Jewish Messiah, while also validating my perception that
the first edition was written in order to undermine belief in the Rebbe’s
messianic identity.
For many in the Chabad movement, Rabbi Hamburger’s book
won’t dissuade them in the slightest of their belief. For one, he is a follower
of their long-time antagonist Rabbi Eliezer Schach, who openly challenged the
Rebbe even during his lifetime. Within Chabad, Rabbi Schach is seen as a sort
of anti-Christ for challenging the Rebbe on theological and philosophical
grounds. In any case, Chabad has seldom taken outside views into consideration
when deciding what to believe or how to behave.
Tragically, the coronavirus has hit the Rebbe’s community in
Brooklyn very hard. At least 100 members of his tight-knit community in Crown
Heights passed away in the first wave of the pandemic in early 2020. Among the
victims was the Rebbe’s personal long-time secretary, Rabbi Leibel Groner, a
revered figure within the Chabad movement. Sadly, a close Chabad friend of
mine, Rabbi Yehudah Dukes, age 40, recently lost his 10-month heroic battle
with COVID-19. For his wife, six children, and the entire Chabad community,
Rabbi Dukes’s passing was a terrible and painful blow.
In reading responses and missives following some of these
losses, it has occurred to me that the denial over the Rebbe’s death has
trickled down to personal tragedies as well. Now, the Rebbe is not the only one
who is only “temporarily” missing; his followers are as well. This jump from
the temporarily missing Rebbe to personal loss may not have been inevitable in 1994,
but it may be the logical consequence of Chabad’s inability to come to terms
with the Rebbe’s earthly passing.
WHERE DOES THIS leave the Chabad movement going
forward? Will a time come when the Chabad movement will cease waiting for the
Rebbe’s return and appoint a new leader? Or will they continue indefinitely to
believe in the Rebbe’s messianic identity and refrain from ever appointing a
new leader? If the historical Jewish movement that grew up around the person of
Jesus is any indication, it would seem that once a Jewish leader is perceived
to be the Messiah, his followers will find it difficult to give up this belief,
despite his death or “disappearance.” As long as Chabad followers can inspire
their progeny to believe in the Rebbe’s messiahship, he will continue to be the
Messiah—if not for the world, then at least for his tens of thousands of
followers.
As for me, giving up the belief in the Rebbe’s messiahship
has come at a terrible price. Until the age of 22, I believed heart and soul in
the Rebbe’s messianic identity. But the more Jewish history I read, the more
convinced I became that the Jewish Messiah has to come from the living, not the
dead. My readings on the Sabbatean movement were instructive, highlighting for
me the dangers of the messianic impulse. Once
I gave up the belief in the Rebbe’s messiahship, I found myself outside the
community, if not physically, then spiritually. I don’t see eye to eye with my
friends and family. While they eagerly await the Rebbe’s return, I am sure that
they will never see the Rebbe again. Chabad members are fond of saying, “May we
merit to see the Rebbe in the flesh,” but I know the Rebbe’s earthly ministry
has ended for all eternity.
My loss of belief in the Rebbe’s messianic identity didn’t
only affect my relationships with family and friends, it also affected my
belief in the bedrock principles of Orthodox Judaism. The belief in a Messiah
is only one of Maimonides’s (1138–1204) obligatory 13 principles of faith. If
what I was taught regarding the Rebbe’s messianic identity is false, I reasoned,
maybe other beliefs taught to me were false too. This doubt led me on a
multiyear quest to investigate every belief I was ever taught.
And once I accepted that the Rebbe is not the Messiah and
will not be returning, my lack of secular education came back to haunt me.
Finding myself outside the community, without even basic knowledge of English
grammar and math, made me bitter and angry. I felt like my education had been
sacrificed on the altar of the Rebbe’s messiahship. Sitting through the GED exam
at the age of 23 was a humbling experience. As I filled out the exam, I kept
coming back to the same question: “How could my own father have denied me a
basic secular education, when he was given the best education in the world?”
I did become the Torah scholar my parents envisioned me to
be, but my loss of conviction undermined my ability to share this knowledge
with others. I understand why Chabad followers tenaciously hold on to the
Rebbe’s messianic identity, as letting go can call into question their very
faith in Orthodox Judaism. My family and friends are not burdened by the New
Testament since they consider such knowledge off limits. But my own inquisitive
nature would not allow me to block out information and knowledge, however
forbidden it was considered by my community.
With time, I came to understand that my parents joined the
Chabad movement without fully understanding the theological and philosophical
underpinnings of the community itself. The great irony is that it was my own
belief in the Rebbe’s messianic identity that led to my disenchantment with the
community my parents fought so hard to join. Ultimately, the Talmud was correct
when it stated, “He who adds to the Torah will eventually come to subtract from
the Torah.”
Today, I am skeptical of religious claims, especially of a
messianic nature. I discovered classical music and opera at the age of 30.
Listening to Mahler’s Fifth at Carnegie Hall can only be described as
transformative. I wept though the heartbreaking Adagio. I guess I was crying
for my lost faith and lost Rebbe. Verdi’s Aida taught me that from
time immemorial, people have been trying to connect to the infinite and the
eternal.
I suppose the messianic psychology of the current Chabad
movement is not very different from the messianic fervor that took hold of the
early followers of Jesus, or that occurs in other movements that hold up a
leader as the one and only savior and embrace apocalyptic visions of the “end
times” when their deceased leader will return. The times may have changed, but
the impulse is the same. If only I could join in.
