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Throughout his writings, Rabbi Haim David Halevy expressed unwavering faith that the founding of the State of Israel and the Six Day War were overt miracles. Anyone who denied the supernatural nature of these events was spiritually blind (Mekor Hayyim 4, pp. 367–368). There were two options: to believe that this was the beginning of the messianic era, or to be wrong (Mekor Hayyim 2, p. 9).

At the same time, the Sages debate fundamental aspects of the messianic age. Is redemption contingent on repentance? Will the messianic age be a supernatural era, or completely natural? Will it be a lengthy process with ups and downs, or a consistently ascending path? The Rambam concluded from these and related disagreements that there was no single authoritative tradition on the messianic age. We would not know its nature until it arrived (Hilkhot Melakhim 12:1–2). Rabbi Halevy was fully aware of the uncertainties inherent in identifying the messianic period.

Rabbi Halevy, quoting Rabbi Eliyahu of Vilna, considered two aspects of the modern period as definite signs of the first stages of redemption: the return of agricultural fertility to the Land of Israel (cf. Sanhedrin 98a); and the ingathering of exiles (Asei Lekha Rav 1:7–12; 4:6). For Rabbi Halevy, it was the responsibility of world Jewry to recognize the miraculous nature of the founding of the State of Israel, make aliya, repent, cooperate with each other, and live a unique national existence in order to set a religious and moral example for the world to emulate (Dat uMedinah, pp. 21, 34–35). [1]

Rabbi Halevy’s writings reflect a conflict. On the one hand, he firmly believed that we were at the beginning of the period of redemption. On the other hand, he acknowledged that no one knew for certain how the redemption process would unfold. Rabbi Halevy evaluated sources about messianic calculations, natural vs. supernatural redemption, repentance during the period of redemption, and other matters relating to Divine Providence.

Messianic Calculations

Confident that we were living in the period of redemption, Rabbi Halevy justified messianic calculations. Although the Talmud (Sanhedrin 97a) had criticized such calculations, Rabbi Halevy argued that this caveat applied only if a failed prediction might diminish one’s faith in the advent of the Messiah. If one certainly believed that the Messiah will come, and made calculations for the purpose of religious awakening, one did not violate the talmudic injunction. Rabbi Halevy further maintained that talmudic opposition to messianic calculations arose because redemption was so remote from their period; now that the messianic age had arrived, there was no impediment to trying to determine its precise date. Initially, he proposed 5750/1990 as the deadline for the final redemption; but if people repented, it could come earlier (Asei Lekha Rav 1:2).

In a later Responsum, he offered an original interpretation of a talmudic argument about the messianic age based on events from the past century. In Sanhedrin 99a, the Sages debated whether the period of redemption would span 40 years, 70 years, or three generations. Rabbi Halevy explained that all three positions turned out to be true. Forty years covered the period from the 1947 U.N. partition plan until 1987; 70 years spanned the Balfour Declaration of 1917 to 1987; and three generations went back to 1897, the year of the first World Zionist Congress. Given the coincidence of those three dates in relation to 1987, Rabbi Halevy predicted the final messianic redemption for 1987, only ten years after he composed the essay (Asei Lekha Rav 2, pp. 253–256).

When his prediction for 1987 proved false and yet another major wave of Arab terrorism had recently begun, Rabbi Halevy did not back away from his prediction, nor did he conclude that the Jews had missed a great opportunity for the final redemption. Rather, he stressed that Arab nations were sitting down with Israel to discuss peace, a major component of redemption (Asei Lekha Rav 9, pp. 395–396). Rabbi Halevy had offered a similar rationale for the Yom Kippur War, which led to peace talks afterward (Asei Lekha Rav 1:6).

Be-itah, Ahishenah

R. Alexandri said: R. Yehoshua b. Levi pointed out a contradiction. It is written, in its time [will the Messiah come], but it is also written, I [the Lord] will hasten it! (Isa.60:22). If they are worthy, I will hasten it; if not, [he will come] at the due time. (Sanhedrin 98a)

This talmudic passage presented a resolution to a contradiction within a biblical verse in Isaiah: will the messianic age come “on time” (beItah), or will God hasten it (ahishenah)? The Talmud answered that the outcome would depend on the merit of Israel.

Rabbi Halevy found different ways of interpreting and applying this passage, depending on the message he was trying to convey and on current political events. For example, in Dat uMedinah (p. 26), Rabbi Halevy applied the interpretation of Radak (Isa. 60:22): Once the proper time for redemption arrives, the process will accelerate. Only 19 years separated the founding of the State in 1948 until the victory of the Six Day War in 1967, demonstrating the imminence of the final redemption.

But after the Yom Kippur War in 1973, Rabbi Halevy shifted to a modified reading of the aforementioned talmudic interpretation of beItah, ahishenah: If the messianic age were merited early, it would not be accompanied with suffering. If it came “on time,” it would be a natural process, entailing affliction. No longer did Rabbi Halevy think in terms of a quick process; he began to view the prolonged struggle of the State as part of a longer divine plan of redemption (Asei Lekha Rav 1:7–12).

To explain the prominent role of secular Zionism in the redemption process, Rabbi Halevy wrote that the State of Israel arose as a result of beItah, a natural process. The Talmud (Megillah 17b; Sanhedrin 97a) stated that wars would precede the final redemption. Historically, Jews had gradually adopted the idea of a supernatural redemption since they had suffered so much during their exile.

Thus, by the time the process of redemption began during the twentieth century, most religious Jews rejected the possibility of natural redemption. It was specifically the secularists who were able to achieve success. Yes, some religious Jews were involved, but the majority of modern Zionists were not religiously observant. In retrospect, it had become obvious that the process of establishing and defending the State had been miraculous. God’s plan of redemption was achieved, but most of the religious community had failed to respond. Unwittingly, the secularists became God’s agents of redemption (Asei Lekha Rav 1:3).

Rabbi Halevy explained the struggles and wars of Israel not only through beItah, but also with the idea that it would not be dignified were God simply to deliver the Land on a silver platter. Ancient Israel understood this message, evidenced by the way they fought Amalek (Exod. 17:8–17). They did not expect supernatural intervention once they had left Egypt. Rabbi Halevy expressed disappointment that many contemporary Jews still had not recognized the messianic potential of today, mistakenly waiting for supernatural miracles (Asei Lekha Rav 1:4-5).

Rabbi Halevy viewed natural and supernatural as different stages in the messianic process, rather than as alternatives. Mashiah ben Yosef (the first stage of redemption) will be characterized by suffering, whereas Mashiah ben David (the final stage of redemption) will be characterized by a supernatural redemption and the ingathering of the exiles (Asei Lekha Rav 4:6, 4:8). He thought that the Six Day War completed the first stage in the process of redemption, but we still required national repentance to merit the final redemption (Dat uMedinah, pp. 23–24). To this end, Rabbi Halevy considered his five-volume series, Mekor Hayyim, to have been driven by his passionate desire to hasten the arrival of the messianic age through repentance (introduction to Mekor Hayyim 1, pp. 9–14).

The common denominator of Rabbi Halevy’s responses is that we certainly are in the early stages of the messianic age. Rather than allowing the Yom Kippur War, Arab terrorism, or other tragedies to negate that belief, Rabbi Halevy offered interpretations that were in tune with unfolding realities. At the same time, he continued to advocate national repentance and unity as the primary catalysts to effect the full redemption.

Rabbi Halevy adopted a finely nuanced position toward military exemptions for yeshiva students. Fundamentally, he favored military exemptions for yeshiva students. Were the entire nation to engage in Torah study, supernatural miracles would occur to protect Israel (see Sanhedrin 14b). But after his praise for full-time Torah study, he emphasized that this exemption applied exclusively to those who were truly dedicated to Torah learning. Those who enrolled in yeshivot simply to dodge the draft desecrate God’s Name. Additionally, all yeshiva students must serve in the military during actual wartime. Acknowledging the difficulty of explaining this concept to those not committed to Torah values, he praised yeshivot hesder, which combine yeshiva learning with military service, thereby sanctifying God’s Name (Asei Lekha Rav 1:21, 3:58).

In a response to pamphlets opposing military service for yeshiva students, Rabbi Halevy defended his position that all yeshiva students must serve in the military during wartime. Training did not take that long; and even if the students could not be trained quickly, they could serve in non-combat roles. In this Responsum, Rabbi Halevy maintained that those who did not serve at all during wartime were violating halakha, not just giving religion a bad name. He also reiterated his earlier position that any exemption referred exclusively to those who were genuinely engaged in serious Torah study. Insincere students should be drafted to regular military service (Asei Lekha Rav 7:72).

In these discussions, Rabbi Halevy revealed a strong belief in the supernatural powers of Torah, combined with a fervent commitment to the sanctification of God’s Name. He also explicated what halakha really taught about military service for yeshiva students. His deepest desire was for all Jews to be dedicated to Torah study, so as to merit God’s miraculous protection and bring about the full redemption. Until that ideal state was realized, though, Jews would have to maintain military defense forces.

The Yom Kippur War: A Challenge to Redemption?

Rabbi Halevy’s earlier writings expressed unreserved enthusiasm about the redemption process. Yet, many of his followers were perplexed by the Yom Kippur War. This war had exposed Israel’s vulnerability. No longer did the messianic age appear to be marching forward with increasing brightness.

Rabbi Halevy opened his Asei Lekha Rav series with several essays addressing this problem. He paralleled the contemporary situation with the redemption from Egypt. During the exodus, God created a moment of panic at the Red Sea, when the Israelites thought they were doomed. Only when the sea split did the Israelites retrospectively understand God’s plan of redemption. Similarly, the Yom Kippur War initially seemed like a setback, but it resulted in Egypt sitting down to talk peace with Israel for the first time (Asei Lekha Rav 1:6).

Rabbi Halevy observed that the Yom Kippur War was not a challenge to one’s messianic hopes unless one expected a consistently upward progression in redemption. Since we were not privy to God’s plans, we could not assume a trouble-free road to redemption (Asei Lekha Rav 1:7–12, 4:6).

The Role of Peace Talks in the Redemption Process

Rabbi Halevy suggested that peace talks and recognition by Arab nations were essential to the redemption process (Asei Lekha Rav 1:6, end Asei Lekha Rav 9, pp. 395–396). Despite the losses caused by the Yom Kippur War in 1973 and the wave of Arab terrorism in 1987, Rabbi Halevy maintained his belief in the redemption process by appealing to the ensuing peace negotiations.

At the same time, he expressed skepticism about Israel’s so-called peace partners. Egypt entered negotiations only because it concluded that it was unable to annihilate Israel in a war, not from a genuine desire for peace. Rabbi Halevy was troubled about Israel being pressured to make land concessions, a process that threatened Israel’s security. [2] Additionally, he claimed that “the redemption of Israel will not be complete if the Land of Israel will not be complete” (Asei Lekha Rav 1:7–12, 3:62, 4:1). [3]

After expressing his personal reservations about land concessions to Egypt, Rabbi Halevy concluded that the ultimate decision in this matter rested with the Israeli government. Only high officials were expert in the political and security details; they had the halakhic authority to make such decisions (Asei Lekha Rav 3:62, 4:1). [4] Although he did not trust Egypt’s motives for making peace with Israel, Rabbi Halevy expressed the hope that a new generation would arise in Egypt, accustomed to peace.[5]

Is Redemption Contingent on Repentance?

Rabbi Halevy cited the talmudic debate (Sanhedrin 97b) whether repentance is a precondition for redemption or not (Asei Lekha Rav 1:7–12). He quoted a ruling of the Rambam, that repentance was mandatory (Hilkhot Teshuvah 7:5). [6] But elsewhere, the Rambam wrote that the messianic king would encourage repentance, implying that the messianic age could commence prior to a full national repentance (Hilkhot Melakhim 12:1–2). Rabbi Halevy reconciled the two statements by proposing that the messianic process could begin without repentance, but complete redemption required it.

Rabbi Halevy balanced optimism with realism in viewing the religious life of Israel. On the one hand, many Jews were returning to their religious roots; but many others were drifting away from religion. Rabbi Halevy noted that the aliya movement also started as a trickle. Yet, this trickle led to the creation of the State. Moreover, kabbalists predicted that the messianic age would be a time of religious confusion—many Jews would be religiously involved, but many others would be apathetic (Asei Lekha Rav 4:6). Although he appealed for more repentance, he still saw the “positive” aspect of non-religious behavior, that is, it was a characteristic of the early stages of the age of redemption. [7]

Missed Opportunities

Had you made yourself like a wall and had all come up in the days of Ezra, you would have been compared to silver, which no rottenness can ever affect. Now that you have come up like doors, you are like cedar wood, which rottenness prevails over. (Yoma 9b)

The Sages say: The intention was to perform a miracle for Israel in the days of Ezra, even as it was performed for them in the days of Yehoshua bin Nun, but sin caused [the miracle to be withheld]. (Berakhot 4a)

In the above passages, the Talmud taught that messianic opportunities could be squandered if people did not respond appropriately to the initial signs of redemption. The beginning of the Second Temple period could have heralded the messianic age; but since the Jews of the time failed to return to Israel and otherwise sinned, the redemption was postponed.

Rabbi Halevy frequently quoted the Yoma passage in his efforts to encourage aliya. He recognized that most Diaspora Jews remained in exile after the founding of the State and that assimilation among them was rampant. However, he never concluded that the current messianic potential was lost—only that we were missing opportunities to achieve gains within this definite period of redemption. [8]

Noting that many Jews were still not making aliya after the Yom Kippur War, Rabbi Halevy optimistically suggested that perhaps God was giving the Jews living in Israel a chance to establish and consolidate themselves financially. Increased economic stability ultimately would encourage others to come (Asei Lekha Rav 3:62). He further suggested that had the first 30 years of statehood been easier, perhaps the Jewish passion for independence would not have been as strong. Moreover, perhaps the Yom Kippur War would jolt Israelis out of their complacency, and intensify their devotion to the Land of Israel (Asei Lekha Rav 1:7–12).

Rabbi Halevy halakhically justified ascending the Temple Mount, since we know the precise dimensions of the Temple and we can avoid going to those spots that are ritually forbidden. The rest of the Mount is accessible to Jews who ritually immerse themselves and remove their shoes. He added that rabbis should not prohibit observant Jews from going to the Temple Mount out of concern that non-observant Jews will not follow the proper regulations (Asei Lekha Rav 1:15). He recommended that a synagogue should be built atop the Temple Mount (Asei Lekha Rav 6:82).

Two years after the liberation of the Temple Mount, Rabbi Halevy sadly noted that Israel had squandered the opportunity to build a synagogue there. He expressed anguish that Israel allowed our most sacred site to remain in Arab hands. Jews should have created facts on the ground by building a synagogue when we had the chance (Dat uMedinah, p. 117).

After the Sinai concessions and peace treaty with Egypt, he added that Jews were now forfeiting the opportunity to settle Judea and Samaria. Had a million Jews moved in right after the Six Day War, there would not have been any chance of negotiating its return. Rabbi Halevy quoted Yoma 9b, which criticized the Jews’ failure to make aliya during the Second Temple Period. If Jews did not freely come now, perhaps they will be forced to come in order to complete the process of redemption (Asei Lekha Rav 4:1). Elsewhere, Rabbi Halevy added a more ominous note to encourage aliya, observing that neo-Nazi movements continued to thrive all over the world (Dat uMedinah, p. 15).

Rabbi Halevy thought that Jews had erred in not having made aliya after the Balfour Declaration in 1917, a time when the Arabs were largely inactive politically. A large influx of Jews would have changed the reality drastically. Since Jews did not come willingly, then, they were compelled to come in the aftermath of the Holocaust. Perhaps the prophetic prediction of a purging nightmare before the final redemption (Ezek.20) was fulfilled as a result of Jewish reluctance to make aliya earlier in the twentieth century. He again emphasized that we cannot know the workings of God’s mind—but we could offer interpretations after the fact, in order to derive religious inspiration and guidance (Asei Lekha Rav 4:6).

Despite his claims of the forfeiture of individual blessings, though, Rabbi Halevy asserted that God never would abandon Israel (Dat uMedinah, p. 16). He continued to believe that the process of redemption was slowly and irreversibly unfolding, and he interpreted each new event in this light.

Halakhic Rulings

Because of Rabbi Halevy’s belief that we were living in the period of redemption, he reached a number of important halakhic conclusions. He believed that Israel Independence Day (5 Iyyar) and Jerusalem Reunification Day (28 Iyyar) should be observed as formal religious holidays, with Hallel recited (Dat uMedinah, pp. 88–113). Rabbi Halevy criticized those who opposed celebrating these holidays on the grounds that they were primarily military victories. Hanukkah also was celebrated because of military victories (Asei Lekha Rav 5:17). He noted that these opponents were driving less observant Jews to view those events in purely secular terms. If religious Jews refused to acknowledge God’s hand, why should secular Jews (Dat uMedinah, pp. 86–87)?

Rabbi Halevy reevaluated traditional practices pertaining to mourning over the destruction of the Temple. Rabbi Halevy maintained that we still must observe the Fast of the 9^th of Av until the Temple itself is rebuilt (Mekor Hayyim 4:202, pp. 179–180). But after the Six Day War, we should reword parts of the “nahem” prayer into the past tense. Since the prayer laments a desolate Jerusalem without any Jewish inhabitants, it simply would be a falsehood to retain the original text of the prayer (Asei Lekha Rav 1:13–14, 2:36–39).

Likewise, he suggested emending a passage in the Grace After Meals, which currently reads, “We thank You, God for the good and ample land that You gave to our ancestors.” Now that we are living in the age of redemption, we should say, “…that You gave to us” (Mekor Hayyim 2:81, p. 97).

With the settling of the Land, we should again recite the blessing, “Barukh matziv gevul almanah” (blessed is He who establishes the borders of a widowed [nation]). Rabbi Halevy was hesitant to rule that one should recite the full blessing with God’s Name, although he noted that Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak Kook had done so. Rabbi Halevy agreed with his reasoning (Asei Lekha Rav 4:5).

We still should say kinot (prayers of lamentation) on the 9^th ofAv, since the Temple is not yet rebuilt and the majority of Jews still lived outside of Israel. But we may reduce the number of kinot, as he himself did after 1948 (Asei Lekha Rav 4:34).

Although the original practice was to tear one’s clothing upon seeing the desolate cities in Israel, or the ruins of Jerusalem (Mo’ed Katan 26a), Jews now lived in Israel and the Temple Mount was again under Jewish control. Therefore, one no longer should tear one’s garments when going to the Western Wall. However, he thought that the Chief Rabbinate should issue the final ruling on this matter. [9]

The practice in Jerusalem was to don tefillin in the morning of 9^th ofAv at home, and then to come to synagogue for the recitation of kinot. Even one who previously did not observe this tradition should accept it, since we were living at the beginning of the redemption (Mekor Hayyim 1:35, p. 131).

Rabbi Halevy complained about the prevalent custom at the end of weddings to break a worthless glass rather than something of real value. After concluding that this was not a major issue worth fighting over, he added that especially now, in the age of redemption, we do not have to be as mournful as we had been in the past—and therefore the current practice may be tolerated (Mekor Hayyim 5:237, p. 36).

Although Rabbi Halevy allowed some room for leniency as a result of this being the period of redemption, he did not permit choir practice during the three weeks between the 17^th of Tammuz and the 9^th of Av. During that period, we should remain mournful (Mayim Hayyim 1:35).

May we accept converts nowadays, given rabbinic traditions that we will not accept converts in messianic times (Yevamot 24b; 76a; Avodah Zarah 3b)? Rabbi Halevy noted that only a minority of Jews, and very few non-Jews, have appreciated that we now have entered the beginning of the messianic era. Thus, no one would convert to Judaism today merely to join the messianic bandwagon. Additionally, several authorities (Rambam, Rashba, Meiri) ruled according to Berakhot 57b, that non-Jews would convert to Judaism even in the messianic age. The Talmud (Avodah Zarah 3b) noted that the Messiah would weed out insincere converts, so there was nothing to fear by accepting converts nowadays (Asei Lekha Rav 3:29).

The Talmud (Berakhot 54a) stated that one should make the blessing “Barukh haTov ve-haMetiv” for rainfall, but that practice stopped while Jews lived in exile. Rabbi Halevy ruled that since Jews have returned to Israel, they should once again recite this blessing— either after a prolonged drought is ended by rain, or if there is unusually heavy rainfall. The final decision on when the community should make this blessing should be left to the Chief Rabbinate (Mekor Hayyim 2:92, pp. 181–182).

Rabbi Halevy discussed whether the original practice of lighting Hanukkah candles outdoors should be restored. He quoted the Hazon Ish, who ruled that we still should light indoors, since (1) people might blow the candles out if they were left outdoors; (2) Israel was surrounded by enemies, and there was no guarantee that Israel would survive. Rabbi Halevy emphatically disagreed. Since this is the beginning of the redemption, one in Israel should light Hanukkah candles outdoors, when possible (Asei Lekha Rav 7:42).

Rabbi Halevy opened Dat uMedinah (p. 9) with an idea from R. Yehudah Halevy’s Kuzari: Redemption will not come until people desperately wanted it. Rabbi Halevy’s life was dedicated to inspire messianic hopes, to encourage people to take an active role in the process of redemption, and to promote a religious awakening (cf. Asei Lekha Rav 8:94–95). He added (p. 26) that the special role of rabbis during this period of redemption was to devote their energy to inspire the hearts of people with an understanding of God’s role in history. It comes as no surprise that he concluded his Mekor Hayyim series with a chapter on the Messianic age. Although the full redemption has not yet come, Rabbi Halevy did his best to hasten the Messiah’s arrival. [10]

NOTES

Introduction

God communicated to people through prophecy for nearly the entire biblical period, from Adam until Malachi. According to a prevalent Jewish tradition, prophecy ceased with Malachi, not to be renewed until the messianic age. In this article, we will consider a few traditional explanations of why prophecy ceased and some spiritual implications for Judaism over the ensuing 2,500 years and counting.

Overview of Malachi

Unlike Haggai and Zechariah, whose prophecies pulsated with messianic potential, Malachi lived a generation or two later—a generation in which that messianic potential appears to have been lost. At that time, the people’s political and economic suffering contributed to:

their feelings of rejection by God (1:2–5),
corruption of the priesthood (1:6–2:9),
rampant intermarriage (2:10–16), and
laxity in tithing (3:8–12).
God-fearing people were losing heart as well. Why remain righteous? Their sinful compatriots were successful, while God-fearing people suffered (2:17; 3:13–21)! All Malachi could answer was that for now, the mere fact of Israel’s continued existence proved that God still loved them (1:2–5). Only in some unspecified future would God bring complete justice (3:13–24).

According to a prevalent Jewish tradition, Malachi was the last prophet (see, for example, Tosefta Sotah 3:3; Yoma 9b; Sanhedrin 11a). That his book is positioned last in the Twelve Prophets does not prove he was the last prophet, since the book is not arranged in chronological order. However, it seems from textual evidence that he likely was the last of the Twelve. Radak and Abarbanel observe that unlike Haggai and Zechariah, Malachi does not mention the Temple construction; it was in use already. Malachi also condemns intermarriage (Mal. 2:10–16), a shared concern of Ezra and Nehemiah (458–432 B.C.E., see Ezra 9–10; Neh. 13:23–28). The widespread laxity in tithing (Mal. 3:8–12) also likely dates to Nehemiah’s time (Neh. 10:35–40; 12:44; 13:5, 10–12).

Even if Malachi were the last of the biblical prophets, there is no statement at the end of his book or anywhere else in the Bible stating categorically that prophecy had ceased. For example, Nehemiah battled false prophets (Neh. 6:5–7, 11–13) but did not negate the existence of prophecy in principle.

Nevertheless, the tradition that Malachi was the last prophet opened the interpretive possibility that Malachi was conscious of the impending end of prophecy.

A pronouncement (massa): The word of the Lord to Israel through Malachi (Mal. 1:1).

Most commentators understand the book’s opening word massa as another generic term for “prophecy.” However, Abarbanel notes that the term could also mean “burden.” One Midrash similarly understands massa in this vein:

?[Prophecy] is expressed by ten designations…And which is the severest form? ... The Rabbis said: Burden (massa), as it says, As a heavy burden (Ps. 138:5) (Gen. Rabbah 44:6).

Within this interpretation, it is possible that Malachi viewed his mission with additional weight, conscious of his being the last of the prophets.

Similarly, several interpreters understand the book’s closing verses as a self-conscious expression that prophecy was about to end:

Be mindful of the Teaching of My servant Moses, whom I charged at Horeb with laws and rules for all Israel. Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the Lord. He shall reconcile parents with children and children with their parents, so that, when I come, I do not strike the whole land with utter destruction (Mal. 3:22–24).

Kara (on 3:22), Ibn Ezra (on 1:1), Abarbanel (on 1:1), and Malbim (on 3:22) explain that Malachi was aware that prophecy would stop with him. The word of God would henceforth be available only through the written word of the Bible. Malbim links the exhortation to observe the Torah to the prediction of Elijah’s coming. With the end of prophecy, the Torah would sustain the people of Israel until the messianic era, at which point prophecy will resume.

Why Prophecy Stopped

We now turn to three leading trends in traditional Jewish thought as to why prophecy ceased: sin, the destruction of the Temple, or a metaphysical spiritual transition.

Sin

Some sources suggest that the loss of prophecy was punishment for sin. Over 200 years before Malachi, the prophet Amos predicted the cessation of prophecy:

A time is coming—declares my Lord God—when I will send a famine upon the land: not a hunger for bread or a thirst for water, but for hearing the words of the Lord. Men shall wander from sea to sea and from north to east to seek the word of the Lord, but they shall not find it (Amos 8:11–12).

Avot D’Rabbi NathanB:47 explains that prophecy ceased as a consequence of people mocking the prophets.

Radak (on Hag. 2:5) suggests more generally that lack of fidelity to the Torah resulted in the loss of prophecy. A Midrash (Pesikta Rabbati 35) states that many Jews failed to return to Israel after Cyrus gave them permission, and therefore prophecy ceased. Commenting on Yoma 9b, which blames the lack of redemption in the Second Temple period on the fact that many Jews did not return, Maharsha similarly states that prophecy ceased as punishment for the non-return from exile.

Destruction of the Temple

Ezekiel chapters 8–10 describe a vision wherein God shows the prophet the rampant idolatry in Jerusalem. God’s Presence abandons the Temple and goes into exile. Radak (on Ezek. 9:3) explains that the absence of God’s Presence ultimately contributed to the disappearance of prophecy.

Although Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi prophesied after the destruction of the First Temple, a number of sources consider the destruction to have dealt a fatal blow to prophecy.

?In five things the first Sanctuary differed from the second: in the ark, the ark-cover, the Cherubim, the fire, the Shekhinah, the Holy Spirit [of Prophecy], and the Urim ve-Thummim [the Oracle Plate] (Yoma 21b).

As Benjamin is the last tribe, so Jeremiah is the last prophet. But did not Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi prophesy after him? R. Lazar says: they had limited prophecy. R. Samuel b. Nahman says: [Jeremiah’s] prophecy already was given to Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi (Pesikta D’Rav Kahana 13).

The last prophets were diminished or, alternatively, were mere transmitters of Jeremiah’s message. Malbim (on Zech. 1:5–6) presents a more benign form of this approach:

I will not send new prophets, since there is no longer any need for prophets as you have seen all the prophecies of doom fulfilled against you…there is no longer any need for prophecy since you already understand God’s hand in history.

According to Malbim, there no longer was any need for prophecy since the message had already been given through earlier prophets.

Metaphysical Transition

Seder Olam Rabbah30 states that prophecy ceased in the time of Alexander the Great. Based on the rabbinic chronology, the Greek Empire began immediately following the end of the biblical period, so this time frame would synchronize with Malachi. Following this chronological assumption, R. Zadok HaKohen of Lublin observed that a metaphysical transition to an age of reason occurred in Israel and in Greece at the same time:

The proliferation of idolatry and sorcery in the gentile world paralleled divine revelation and prophecy in Israel. When prophecy ceased and the era of the Oral Law commenced, there appeared Greek Philosophy, which is to say, mortal wisdom (Resisei Laylah, 81b, Bezalel Naor translation).

This idea meshes with a talmudic statement that at the beginning of the Second Temple period, the temptation for idolatry ceased being the force it had been during the First Temple period (Yoma 69b). R. Yehudah HeHasid argued that once the urge for idolatry vanished there no longer existed the need for prophecy to counterbalance magic (Sefer Hasidim, Wistenetzky ed., p. 544; cf. R. Elijah of Vilna, commentary on Seder Olam Rabbah 30; R. Zadok, Divrei Soferim, 21b).

Similarly, a certain spiritual intensity was lost. Once the urge to idolatry had declined, prophetic revelation would have too much power if left unchecked. To preserve free will, prophecy had to cease as well (R. Eliyahu Dessler, Mikhtav me-Eliyahu III, pp. 277–278).

Religious Implications

According to the sin approach, the deprivation of the supreme gift of prophecy was a devastating punishment that has diminished the connection between God and humanity for the past 2,500 years since Malachi. Within the destruction of the Temple approach, the disappearance of prophecy was a necessary corollary of that cataclysmic event.

Although the loss of prophecy was a spiritual catastrophe, there still are some spiritual benefits to its suspension particularly within the approach that there was a divinely ordained metaphysical shift from prophecy-idolatry to human reason. In 1985, Professor Yaakov Elman published two articles analyzing the position of R. Zadok HaKohen of Lublin in reference to the transition from the age of prophecy to the age of Oral Law. According to R. Zadok, the end of prophecy facilitated a flourishing of the development of the Oral Law, a step impossible as long as people could turn to the prophets for absolute religious guidance and knowledge of God’s Will. Sages needed to interpret texts and traditions to arrive at rulings, enabling them to develop axioms that could keep the eternal Torah relevant as society changed.

Although the decline of revelation distanced people from ascertaining God’s Will, it simultaneously enabled mature human participation in the mutual covenant between God and humanity. This religious struggle is captured poignantly by the talmudic passage:

And they stood under the mount: R. Abdimi b. Hama b. Hasa said: This teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, overturned the mountain upon them like an [inverted] cask, and said to them, ‘If you accept the Torah, it is well; if not, there shall be your burial.’R. Aha b. Jacob observed: This furnishes a strong protest against the Torah. Said Rava, Yet even so, they re-accepted it in the days of Ahasuerus, for it is written, [the Jews] confirmed, and took upon them [etc.]: [i.e.,] they confirmed what they had accepted long before (Shabbat 88a).

Rather than explaining R. Aha’s question away, Rava understood that revelation in fact crippled an aspect of free will. He proposed Purim as the antidote, since that represents the age when revelation ceased.

Although prophecy was the ideal state—and we pray for its return—its absence enables the flourishing of human reason, as we no longer have access to absolute divine knowledge. We must take initiative in our relationship with God or else the relationship suffers. R. Zadok applied this human endeavor to the realm of Torah study. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik understood prayer as replacing prophecy, precisely with the imperative of our responsibility to keep the lines of communication between God and humanity open:

In short, prayer and prophecy are two synonymous designations of the covenantal God-man colloquy. Indeed, the prayer community was born the very instant the prophetic community expired and, when it did come into the spiritual world of the Jew of old, it did not supersede the prophetic community but rather perpetuated it…If God had stopped calling man, they urged, let man call God (The Lonely Man of Faith [New York: Doubleday, 1992], pp. 57–58).

Institutionalizing prayer rescued intimacy with God by creating a new framework for this sacred dialogue.

Although prophecy disappeared some 2,500 years ago, the underlying spiritual struggle continues to be manifest in contemporary society. Many people long for absolute knowledge of God’s Will. Consequently, there exists a compelling pull toward holy men (rebbes, kabbalists) or the over-extension of a da’at Torah concept that accords near-infallibility to Torah scholars. Though that appeal may be understandable, it must be remembered that (a) these individuals are not prophets and therefore do not have the certain divine knowledge that many accord to them; and (b) in an age lacking prophecy we have a far greater responsibility to learn Torah and pray, and to take that spiritual energy to infuse every aspect of our lives with sanctity. This requires a healthy dose of human reason and effort, coupled with an ongoing consultation with spiritual guides who can help us grow.

For further study, see:

Hayyim Angel, “The First Modern-Day Rabbi: A Midrashic Reading of Ezra,” in Revealed Texts, Hidden Meanings: Finding the Religious Significance in Tanakh(Jersey City, NJ: KTAV-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2009), pp. 217–226.
Hayyim Angel, “The Theological Significance of the Urim VeThummim,” in Through an Opaque Lens (New York: Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2006), pp. 195–214.
Gerald Blidstein, “In the Shadow of the Mountain: Consent and Coercion at Sinai,” Jewish Political Studies Review 4:1 (1992), pp. 41–53.
Yaakov Elman, “R. Zadok HaKohen on the History of Halakha,” Tradition 21:4 (Fall 1985), pp. 1–26.
Yaakov Elman, “Reb Zadok HaKohen of Lublin on Prophecy in the Halakhic Process,” in Jewish Law Association Studies I: Touro Conference Volume, ed. B. S. Jackson (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), pp. 1–16.
Lawrence Kaplan, “Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority,” in Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. Moshe Sokol (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc., 1992), pp. 1–60.
Bezalel Naor, Lights of Prophecy (New York: Union of Orthodox Congregations, 1990).

Framing the Conversation

One of the most dramatic episodes in the Torah describes the Israelites in a state of panic when their leader, Moshe, doesn’t return from Mount Sinai as early as they expected him. In their haste to fill the void in leadership, the Israelites embark on the theologically disastrous venture of building a golden calf to serve as Moshe’s replacement.

Using this story as a philosophical springboard, Ibn Ezra[1] notes that some “empty-minded” people wondered why it took so long for Moshe to descend from the mountain.[2] What could he possibly have been doing for 40 days and 40 nights? Should it really take that long to receive a list of 613 commandments?

In Ibn Ezra’s view, the people who asked such questions were “empty-minded” because their wonderment was based on a faulty premise. They erroneously assumed that God’s mitzvoth (commandments) are simply a list of rules to be observed solely out of a commitment to divine obedience. As a result, it should not have taken Moshe so long to receive a list of arbitrary statutes. They failed to realize, of course, that mitzvoth are not a random list of actions that the Jewish people are intended to follow simply by virtue of God’s authority. On the contrary, mitzvoth are complex regulations that represent the physical actualization of a divine set of values and ideals.[3] In theory, Moshe could have spent a lifetime on Mount Sinai learning the secrets of divine providence, as well as the philosophical and theological meanings that underlie God’s commandments.

In the view that Ibn Ezra criticizes, observance of the law is an end in itself. Obedience and compliance are God’s ultimate goals for humankind. The spiritual meanings of the mitzvoth are at best secondary, or at worst irrelevant. Ibn Ezra, on the other hand, argues passionately that the primary concern of halakha (Jewish law), is that our hearts are affected by the physical performance of mitzvoth. Performance of mitzvoth without an awareness of the larger philosophical vision of the commandments may be legally effective, at least ex post facto. However, in its ideal vision, Jewish law demands that a person understand the rationale behind the mitzvoth, and therefore be spiritually transformed by the divine messages embedded in mitzvah observance.

The Preference for an Obedience-Based Model

The tension that Ibn Ezra highlights is not new. The question of whether Jewish law should be observed primarily from a place of obedience, or from a vision of halakha that is rooted in deeper meaning and understanding, has been debated since the talmudic period. In the medieval era, for example, rabbinic scholars engaged in vigorous debates about the religious appropriateness of searching for rationales behind divine legislation. Some rabbinic voices expressed strong condemnation of this quest, while others conveyed enthusiastic support. Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak HaKohen Kook,[4] however, notes that although many rabbinic scholars have strongly encouraged the search for ta’amei haMitzvoth (reasons for the commandments), throughout Jewish history, there has been an asymmetry between the small number of books devoted to the meaning behind the law, and the amount of published scholarship devoted to outlining the legal and practical contours of the law itself.[5] This trend has continued into the twenty-first century, which has seen a literary explosion of books dedicated to detailed discussion of practical areas of Jewish law that were rarely given such extensive treatment in earlier eras in Jewish history.[6]

The Disadvantages of Excessive Focus on Obedience

While the increased focus on practical halakha certainly helps to make halakhic observance more accessible and facilitates greater commitment to halakhic detail, it generates its own set of challenges as well. After all, a commitment to Jewish law without a parallel commitment to the meaning behind Jewish ritual runs the risk of turning halakha into a formulaic set of laws without any larger spiritual vision. Moreover, overemphasis on authority without a corresponding focus on meaning creates a fundamental disconnect between the practitioner of the law and the law itself. How can we truly feel a sense of pride in our observance of God’s commandments if we cannot articulate and appreciate the underlying messages of the halakha?

This attitude can also have serious effects on the way in which people observe Jewish law. After all, blind obedience can feel burdensome, and there is a natural tendency to look for ways to lighten the burden. When the focus of halakha is heavily tilted in the direction of obedience, practitioners of Jewish law will naturally seek out ways to avoid the technical violation of halakhic mandates while neglecting to keep in mind the law’s spiritual purpose. One example of this is the current effort to create gadgets that circumvent Shabbat laws. Certain trends in contemporary synagogue life, such as talking throughout services or leaving early for “kiddush clubs,” may also be reflections of this disconnect.

Increased focus on the spiritual substance of halakha will hopefully help to address some of these challenges. If we were to truly understand the religiously transcendent messages that prayer and the Torah reading convey, would we be tempted to talk during the service or leave early in order to gain an additional few minutes of socializing with friends? If we had clarity about the spiritual goals of the details of Shabbat observance, would the possibility of an iPhone app that claims to permit the use of a smartphone on Shabbat sound religiously appealing? Readjusting the delicate balance between meaning and authority, with an added focus on understanding the religious messages of halakha, will not only facilitate a more mindful and meaningful observance of Jewish law, but will also promote a more intense commitment to the details of halakha.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth as the Source of Jewish Pride

Maimonides (the Rambam),[7] one of the most important thinkers of his time, affirmed the need to understand the reasons for God’s commandments (ta’amei haMitzvoth). He argues forcefully that all mitzvoth have some rational basis and serve some ethical, societal, or personal religious function.[8] To substantiate his view, he cites the verse from Deuteronomy that tells of the Gentile nations when they “hear all those statutes (hukkim),” they will respond by saying, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people!” (Deut. 4:6). The Rambam notes that if a significant number of the 613 mitzvoth have no rational basis, what would compel the Gentile world to find beauty in a life dedicated to God’s commandments?

The Maharal[9] goes one step further, utilizing the same proof-text cited by the Rambam to argue that not only do the general categories of mitzvoth have some clearly explicable inherent meaning, but even the seemingly arbitrary details of Jewish practice are rooted in divine ideals.[10] According to the Maharal, just as God has a specific reason for instituting the laws of sacrifices, for example, there must similarly be some religious message inherent in the obligation to use certain animals for specific sacrifices.

According to this model, the quest to find the rationale behind the laws facilitates a greater identification with the divine messages that the laws attempt to convey. The Torah imagines that the gentile world will look at the laws of the Torah and marvel at its wisdom. Understanding the transcendent values that the law embodies affirms this vision of the Torah’s self-identity and allows the Jewish people to similarly understand how their God-given set of laws transforms them into a “great nation.”

Ta’amei haMitzvoth as the Vehicle for Accessing the Spiritual Messages of the Law

Articulating a sophisticated vision of ta’amei haMitzvoth affirms the spiritual significance of Jewish law and the critical function of mitzvoth in actualizing these values in the real world. This position is eloquently expressed by the Shela.[11]

In order to fully understand the position of the Shela, let’s imagine what Jewish law would look like if certain physical objects simply never came into existence. For example, Jewish civil law deals with injury cases involving pits, animals, and fire. Imagine for a moment that these things were never created. What would happen to their accompanying halakhot? The Shela answers that the spiritual messages of the halakha exist independently of their physical manifestations. In such a scenario, therefore, these divine ideals would simply find expression through some other physical medium.[12]

The Shela takes this idea even further, arguing that the spiritual substance of the law existed even during the time of Adam and Eve. Since they lived in the spiritual bliss of the Garden of Eden, halakha expressed itself at that time exclusively in spiritual terms. However, as humanity moved away from the intense spirituality of that time towards a more physically-oriented existence, the expression of Jewish law shifted and the practical performance of mitzvoth became the most effective medium to experience divine values in a physical space. The laws themselves thus serve as “spiritual entry points” to experience God. Since halakha is rooted in transcendental divine virtues, each time we observe Jewish law, we also act as a conduit for bringing divine energy into the world.

Interestingly, Rabbi Yehuda Amital[13] argues that the requirement to experience the eternal values of the law through the physical medium of practical halakha is the result of a historical shift that occurred after the Jewish people received the Torah at Sinai. Because of the spiritual greatness of our forefathers, they were able to tap into the religious messages of the Torah even without observing the practical halakha itself.[14] Rabbi Amital notes that “the avot did not observe the mitzvoth in the sense in which we observe them. They did not put on tefillin or shake the lulav. But they understood and appreciated the underlying messages of the mitzvoth.”[15] After the giving of the Torah, by contrast, God insisted that the spiritual messages underlying the law could be accessed only through firm commitment to halakhic detail.

Thus, Rabbi Amital writes:

Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov were able to intuit these basic notions, which Chazal understand as being comparable to performing the mitzvoth in the time before the Torah was given. In the time after the giving of the Torah, these underlying ideas need to be integrated with practice.[16]

Beyond connecting us to the ideals rooted in God Himself, searching for the profound messages that the mitzvoth convey also ensures our connection to the world of the patriarchs and matriarchs and affirms our commitment to seeing our own halakhic identity as a natural outgrowth of their spiritual worldview.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth and the Legal Framework of Halakha

In addition to expressing the themes and messages that underlie observance of the law, analyzing the rationale behind the commandments also helps us to grasp the unique legal framework of Jewish law. For example, in multiple instances, the Torah refers to the requirement for the Jewish people to “be holy.” What is the legal force of this directive? Is this simply a biblical homily, or is there some halakhic consequence associated with this command? The Rambam writes that some codifiers erroneously counted the imperative to “be holy” as its own positive mitzvah.[17] In reality, the Rambam claims, “kedoshim tehiyu” is not an independent commandment, but is rather the meta-value that drives the entire system. The goal of halakhic living is to be holy, and the quest for holiness requires us to perform mitzvoth as if they are meant to be transformative.

Similarly, Rav Kook notes that one of the most distinct features of Mosaic legislation is its ability to link specific commandments to a larger spiritual vision that motivates the legal conversation.[18] According to Rav Kook, the prophets, by contrast, focused nearly exclusively on the overarching vision of the halakha, while neglecting to place a parallel emphasis on the mechanics of the law and how the details serve as an application of the larger vision. Reacting to the failure of the prophetic model of the law, the rabbis of the Talmud placed extraordinary emphasis on the details of halakha in order to ensure the preservation of Jewish identity and society. It is for this reason that the Talmud states, “A sage is preferable to a prophet.”[19] After all, while the prophet can clearly articulate the vision and message that governs the law, it is the sage who is able to guide the people and safeguard the observance of the law itself.

According to Rav Kook’s conception, the ideal model of adjudication is the Mosaic one. This paradigm places the details of the law in context and, as a result, presents a holistic vision of what the law is meant to facilitate. Nahmanides (the Ramban)[20] offers a powerful example of this model, noting that after listing details of biblical monetary law, the Torah concludes by stating that the overarching principle is “to be good and just in the eyes of God.”[21] Similarly, after delineating many of the details of the laws of Shabbat, the Torah articulates the larger directive of Shabbat as “a day of rest.”[22]

What these examples indicate is that the search for the larger religious messages inherent in traditional Jewish observance is not some external exercise imposed on the law itself. Rather, Jewish law is predicated on viewing the mitzvoth as the medium for religious transformation. Therefore, the search for additional clarity regarding the spiritual substance of halakha furthers the Torah’s self-declared goals.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth and the Balance of Meaning and Authority

While this book attempts to shift the contemporary conversation of halakha back toward an increased focus on the search for meaning in halakhic detail, this reorientation still validates the critical role of obedience and submission in forming a holistic commitment to halakha. Viewing halakha from a place of both meaning and authority is crucial in order to facilitate commitment to Jewish law in its entirety. On a pragmatic level, exclusive focus on the world of meaning can create challenges regarding mitzvoth whose rationale is simply not known. In a model devoted solely to the transformative messages of halakha, how are we supposed to be religiously moved by rules whose meaning we do not understand? It is precisely in these moments that our broader commitment to obedience becomes critical.

Understanding the rationale behind the commandments is crucial to ensure that Jewish law facilitates its goal of religious transformation. Nonetheless, the reasons themselves are not why we observe the law. In fact, despite being one of the greatest proponents of ta’amei haMitzvoth, the Rambam declares, “If [one] cannot find a reason or a motivating rationale for a practice, he should not regard it lightly.”[23]

Beyond the pragmatic problem, a halakhic approach that is exclusively committed to meaning is fundamentally compromised from a philosophical perspective. While excessive focus on obedience can create an observance paradigm that is formulaic and dry, overemphasis on meaning can generate a halakhic model that is self-centered and ultimately rooted in the ego. If we were to observe only those rituals that we fully understand and find personally meaningful, we would effectively be engaging in a commitment to ritual in which the self is the primary object of worship. Embracing the need for periodic submission by observing even those commandments that we do not understand ensures that our observance of halakha is truly a self-transcendent exercise.[24] As Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik[25] (“the Rav”) notes, “The religious act begins with the sacrifice of one’s self, and ends with the finding of that self. But man cannot find himself without sacrificing himself prior to the finding.”[26]

The quest to understand the rationale that underlies the mitzvoth assumes that we should strive to articulate the spiritual messages of the halakha. Ideally, we attempt to minimize the number of times that we need to invoke the submission model. Nonetheless, the presence of some laws whose meaning remains mysterious serves an important religious purpose. Such laws provide a periodic opportunity for us to surrender our intellectual capacities before the divine command and remind ourselves that halakha allows us to find our true selves by connecting to values that transcend our own egos. Moreover, by affirming our commitment to those laws whose reasons we may find personally or ethically challenging, we ensure that the Torah is, in fact, the source of our value system, and not simply an ancient text that validates the contemporary zeitgeist.

Additionally, a commitment to halakha that is exclusively rooted in meaning fails to affirm the central roles of trust and confidence in developing a meaningful relationship to God. It is possible to articulate the meaning and rationale behind the overwhelming majority of mitzvoth. The awareness of these ideals should ensure that a practitioner of Jewish law feels confident and proud of the divine values that the halakhic system represents. It is against this philosophical background that we approach those mitzvoth whose rationale is still a mystery. Here, a commitment to an ethic of submission and the observance of these currently inexplicable laws affirm our trust and confidence in God’s benevolence. After all, the same God who is the source of those mitzvoth that we understand is also the source of the mitzvoth that we do not yet fully comprehend. Refocusing our efforts on understanding the transcendent messages of the law, while ensuring that our commitments are not contingent on understanding these values, most authentically captures the spiritual vision of halakha.