Less than a year later, on March 2, 1992, the Rebbe suffered a massive stroke.⁸⁴ He survived but lost the use of both legs, his right hand, and, most devastating of all, his voice. The Rebbe’s followers were not dispirited, however. The majority of them simply assumed that God was testing their faith, and that redemption was closer than ever.⁸⁵ Then, two years later, the worst happened: On June 12, 1994, the Rebbe passed away. Yet this time, too, many Lubavitchers quickly established that their leader’s death was merely the final “trial” before the redemption.⁸⁶

To this day, most Lubavitchers refuse to accept the Rebbe’s demise, explaining it as an incomprehensible mystery, a hester panim, or “hiding of [God’s] face.” The precise status of the Rebbe is a matter of intense debate within the ranks of Chabad: The majority of Lubavitchers insist that the Rebbe is now in a state of healem gamur (“complete concealment”), hidden from the world “like an crescent moon”—implying that the Rebbe, like the celestial body, will eventually reveal himself once again. A minority faction is of the opinion that the Rebbe continues to walk among us, and there are even those who swear they have caught a glimpse of him on one occasion or another.⁸⁷ Either way, anyone who believes the Rebbe was in fact the messiah will insist that he did not pass away, but rather that he only appeared to die.⁸⁸ This claim is based on the belief that the messiah will live forever⁸⁹—something the Rebbe repeatedly emphasized—as well as the on the desire to distance Chabad from the Christian doctrine concerning the messiah’s death and subsequent resurrection.⁹⁰

Still, in light of the Rebbe’s promise to bring about the redemption, the movement remains at a loss to explain why said event has not occurred. Some Lubavitchers have admitted as much: “From the time of this announcement [that the Rebbe made on January 24, 1992, in which he explained that all the preparations had been completed and that all that remained was to greet the messiah]⁹¹ of the completion of the work of the exile, every moment that the redemption is postponed is truly a mystery to which we can provide no explanation, cause, or reason. This fact is utterly incomprehensible!”⁹² Yet though he may tarry, the messiah’s followers are not discouraged. The wait, they believe, will have been well worth it.⁹³

 

Ultimately, the personal story of the seventh Lubavitcher rebbe, as well as that of the Chabad movement as a whole, is in many ways a tragic tale. All evidence points to the fact that the Rebbe truly believed he was destined to be the messiah, and that he had, moreover, fulfilled the requirements necessary to be seen as what Maimonides called behezkat moshiach—someone who has at least the potential to become the savior on the basis of his accomplishments.⁹⁴ He and his followers did everything in their power to realize these messianic hopes—and the results were unquestionably impressive. In spite of all their efforts, however, the Rebbe never received the heavenly sign that would reveal his true calling to the world. He prayed, he exhorted, and he waited, but in the end, it was all for naught. The man who would be king was destined to spend his last months trapped in a broken body, watching as his minions danced around him, singing ecstatically, “Forever live our master, our teacher, our rebbe, the king messiah!”

The Lubavitchers continue to dance and sing to this day. And if the Rebbe shied away from explicit declarations, his leaderless followers have long since thrown caution to the wind, openly proclaiming him the messiah. True, some have experienced a painful awakening. The majority of them, however, refuse to abandon their dream.

To the outside observer, this phenomenon may seem almost incomprehensible. Yet it must be remembered that the messianic impulse is one of the most powerful forces in the history of mankind. Indeed, the Jewish people—which introduced this drive to the world—owes it no small debt of gratitude. The ardent secularist David Ben-Gurion probably went too far when he claimed that messianism was “one of the main causes of the existence of the Jewish people,” but his point is well taken.⁹⁵ Of course, while it is true that the messianic idea can motivate both individuals and nations to work toward improving the world, it can also sow destruction and devastation. It is as dangerous as it is productive; it is an article of faith, but also an open door to heresy. Judaism learned this painful lesson more than once, from the catastrophic rebellion against Rome led by Shimon Bar Kochba—believed by many, including R. Akiva himself, to be the messiah—to the disastrous aftermath of Shabtai Tzvi’s conversion to Islam.

Indeed, while Judaism may have given birth to the messianic idea, history shows that every time this ideal manifests itself in the flesh, it eventually results in the creation of an entirely new religion. The power of messianism is so turbulent, and its impact on theology and religious practice so acute, that those caught up in its wake are usually unable to hold on to their Jewish identity. Invariably they are drawn away from it, or else reject it outright. In some instances, such as the Bar Kochba revolt, messianic fervor led to military disaster. More often, however, the primary casualty is halacha, which falls victim to vulgar messianic manipulations, or—as in the case of Christianity—is erased altogether. Paradoxically, then, it would seem that the quickest way out of Judaism is an excessively zealous espousal of one of its most fundamental principles.

Undoubtedly, Chabad’s explicit messianism renders it an atypical sect of contemporary Judaism. As we have seen, some critics have already gone so far as to label it a separate religion. The death of the Lubavitcher Rebbe and his followers’ concomitant refusal to renounce the hopes they placed in him by naming a successor have only widened this rift.⁹⁶ The reason for this is obvious: The idea of a dead and then resurrected messiah is hardly new; it was adopted by a religion with which Judaism has been contending for two thousand years. This naturally raises the question: Will Chabad continue in its current path and, like Christianity, ultimately sever itself from the main body of Judaism?

At present, it is impossible to say. On the one hand, values such as reason and prudence are at the heart of the Chabad tradition, whose very name is an acronym of hochma, bina, and daat (“wisdom,” “understanding,” and “knowledge”). Yet such sober ideals can find it difficult to compete with the enthusiasm generated by eschatological expectations. The simple fact that those overcome with the messianic drive are louder and generally more active than their more moderate peers makes it probable that they will be the ones to shape Chabad’s future. The outcome of such a development would be to the detriment of not only Chabad, but all of Judaism, which stands to lose one of the most extraordinary movements it has produced in modern times. For this reason, everyone—even the unbelievers among us—should pray that this does not come to pass.

Tomer Persico is a researcher in the field of religious studies.