When a person’s life is evaluated after his death, the Talmud (Shabbat 31a) describes a series of fundamental questions that are asked: “Did you conduct your business faithfully?” “Did you set fixed times for study?” “Did you engage in building a family?” And then the Gemara famously adds: “Did you anticipate redemption?” (Shabbat 31a)
This question stands alongside the most basic obligations of life. It is not a theological aside. It is a measure of how a person lived. But what does it mean to anticipate redemption?
Anticipation can be understood in two fundamentally different ways. One is passive: to believe that redemption will come, and wait for it. The other is active: to live in a state of readiness — mentally, practically, and spiritually — prepared for the moment when action may be required.
So how are we meant to anticipate redemption?
Mitzvot That Depend on Opportunity
The fulfillment of many mitzvot depends on circumstance. Yet we certainly do not approach them passively. A person who does not have access to the Four Species for Sukkot does not say, “If it is meant to be, it will come.” He searches. He asks. He pursues every reasonable possibility.
A person who is not yet married does not simply wait. He makes efforts, seeks opportunities, and takes responsibility for what lies within his control.
A person who is not yet married does not simply wait. He makes efforts, seeks opportunities, and takes responsibility for what lies within his control.
In such cases, we understand that the absence of opportunity does not absolve us of responsibility. Rather, it creates a different kind of responsibility: to seek, to prepare, and to act when the opportunity arises.
I would like to suggest that redemption should be understood in the same way, only on a far greater scale.
Redemption as Responsibility
For much of history, the Jewish people lacked the ability to act in national terms. Of course, observing Torah and mitzvot is itself also a national vocation, but under the yoke of foreign rulers its expression is confined to the private, non-national sphere. In such circumstances, waiting seemed unavoidable.
But when opportunity appears, the obligation to expand our national horizons — the national realization of Torah — returns at once.
Thus, Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi, in the Kuzari (II:23-24), rebukes the Jewish people for expressing longing for Eretz Yisrael while failing to act on that longing. He sees this inconsistency as a form of collective failure.
Such longing is not merely a matter of aspiration, but of obligation. And it applies not only to returning to the Land, but also to the rebuilding of the Temple, which is a clear and explicit commandment. The Rambam counts it as a positive obligation and formulates it simply: “to build a House for Hashem” (Sefer HaMitzvot, positive commandment 20; Hilchot Beit HaBechirah 1:1).
More broadly, many of the elements associated with redemption — including the establishment of national leadership according to Torah and the restoration of a central judicial system guided by Torah principles — are likewise presented in halachic sources as concrete obligations, not matters of distant, passive anticipation requiring a messianic figure in order to be enacted.
Classical halachic sources do not present the rebuilding of the Temple as something “forbidden” prior to the arrival of a messianic king. On the contrary, the Rambam’s laws of the Temple are presented independently, with no mention of Mashiach as a condition for rebuilding it.
Classical halachic sources do not present the rebuilding of the Temple as something “forbidden” prior to the arrival of a messianic king. On the contrary, the Rambam’s laws of the Temple are presented independently, with no mention of Mashiach as a condition for rebuilding it. The broader process of redemption, moreover, is not described in a fixed or universally agreed sequence.[1]
The role of a future Davidic king includes building the Temple, as described by the Rambam in Hilchot Melachim (Chapter 11). But this describes his function and responsibility, not necessarily a condition that precludes action beforehand. In fact, the Yerushalmi (Maaser Sheni 5:2) states that “this means that the Temple is destined to be built before the Davidic monarchy,” and the Talmud records no contradictory tradition or dispute on this point.
Leading halachic authorities throughout the generations have addressed this issue directly. The Chazon Ish, as a contemporary example, states that if permission were granted in our time to offer the Korban Pesach, we would have no right to refrain from doing so.[2]
This reflects a broader position held by major authorities — including R. Yosef Caro, the Chatam Sofer, R. Akiva Eiger, the Vilna Gaon, and the Minchat Chinuch — that the primary barriers to fulfilling the mitzvot of the Temple are practical rather than conceptual.
There may, of course, be legitimate debate regarding the precise details of implementation. But such questions call for serious, sustained effort to resolve. They are not, in themselves, grounds for assuming that action is impossible.[3]
In practice, the question often becomes whether circumstances — including political or institutional constraints — allow these mitzvot to be carried out.
Readiness for Action
A natural question arises: if such actions are indeed possible, why have leading rabbis not led the effort to renew them?
While many have indicated that these mitzvot remain relevant in principle, it is also understood that matters of this scale cannot be initiated without broader national readiness. Some rabbis have stated this explicitly: in the absence of a genuine demand from the Jewish people, such efforts are not practically viable.
This reflects not only a halachic reality, but a practical one. Matters of such national scale require a level of public readiness and receptivity that cannot simply be assumed or imposed. The absence of action may reflect not a definitive barrier, but a lack of collective preparedness.
Anticipating redemption cannot mean waiting for these obligations to become relevant. It must mean preparing for the possibility that they may become relevant at any time.
If this is so — if the obstacles are largely practical, and action depends on readiness — then anticipating redemption cannot mean waiting for these obligations to become relevant. It must mean preparing for the possibility that they may become relevant at any time.
This includes not only conceptual and practical preparation, but also taking responsible steps to ensure that, when possible, these mitzvot can be carried out — whether through engaging those in positions of authority, addressing practical barriers, or any other appropriate form of action.
Anticipation, in this sense, is expressed not only in thought, but in a willingness to act even today, where action is called for.
We need to invest energy and resources in serious thought and research about what a Torah-based system of governance, justice, and national life would look like in practice. Questions often treated as theoretical are, in fact, part of practical preparation.
Opportunity may arise suddenly. When it does, it does not wait.
A Test of Mindset
Recent public discourse illustrates the gap between passive expectation and active anticipation.
In early 2026, media personality Tucker Carlson suggested that a Jewish movement — specifically Chabad — was connected to geopolitical developments such as the war in Iran, and ultimately to a supposed plan to rebuild the Temple following a regional conflict.
The claim was widely rejected as baseless and inflammatory. Chabad representatives themselves emphasized that their focus is on religious life and the encouragement of mitzvot, not political or military action.
In that sense, the accusation was clearly false. But the response raises a deeper issue.
In rejecting the claim, many framed the rebuilding of the Temple as something entirely deferred to a future messianic stage — something not to be considered in practical terms at all. The Rambam’s mention of Mashiach’s building the Mikdash was often cited, without any accounting for the broader context of his formulation.
A well-known source often cited in this context appears in the Talmud (Sukkah 41a), in a halachic discussion concerning the permissibility of the new grain following the Omer offering, where the Gemara raises the possibility that the Temple might become operative suddenly, even within a single day.
In explaining how such a scenario could arise so suddenly — even at a time when construction would normally be prohibited, such as on a festival or at night — Rashi writes that the future Temple we await is “already built and perfected, and will be revealed and come from Heaven,” as it is stated: “The Sanctuary, Hashem, that Your hands established” (Shemot 15:17).
Taken at face value, this seems to suggest that the Temple will descend fully formed from Heaven, leaving no role for human action.
However, Rashi himself elsewhere makes clear that this cannot be the whole picture. On the vision of the future Temple (Yechezkel 43:11), he writes that the measurements must be taught so that “They will learn the matters of the measurements from you, so that they will know how to carry them out when the final time comes.” The knowledge is given in order to be acted upon.
If the structure must be learned in order to be built, then its construction cannot be understood as entirely independent of human action.
Rashi’s comment in Sukkah must therefore be read more carefully. He is addressing a specific halachic difficulty — how the Temple could become operative immediately, even at a time when construction by human hands would not be permitted. His answer is that it may come about in a manner not bound by those constraints. In other words, he is explaining how it could happen, not defining how it must happen.
A miraculous possibility does not define halacha.
Even if the Temple could be revealed miraculously, that does not remove the obligation to build it when we are able. The possibility of Divine intervention does not exempt human responsibility.
This reading is reinforced by the very verse Rashi cites — “The Sanctuary, Hashem, that Your hands established” — which the Sages (Ketubot 5a) interpret as referring to the work of the righteous themselves, whose actions are attributed to Hashem. The Divine act is thus carried out through human hands.
If anything, it sharpens the opposite conclusion: if the Temple could become a reality at any moment, even unexpectedly, then the responsibility to be prepared becomes more urgent, not less.
Whether or not one agrees with any particular course of action, this response — dismissing any practical consideration of rebuilding the Temple as premature or inappropriate — reflects a broader mindset: that redemption is something to be awaited passively rather than requiring serious, practical preparation. At the very least, one must be willing to think concretely about what readiness would entail, rather than assuming that no such preparation is relevant.
I am aware that “preparing for Mashiach” is often understood in terms of religious growth and devotion. “Doing mitzvos,” sings Mordechai Ben David, is equivalent to “adding precious stones” in our building of the Mikdash. “The Third Temple will not be built with stones,” goes another famous song, “but with tears.” And, with no lack of pathos, the song concludes with a prayer: “If all You need is another tear, take mine.”
The Mikdash is not built of tears; it is built of concrete stone and human effort. Spiritual growth and religious achievement are certainly essential parts of our national character. But what happens when Hashem hears our prayers and gives us the opportunity to build the Mikdash?
All this is untrue and misleading. The Mikdash is not built of tears; it is built of concrete stone and human effort. Spiritual growth and religious achievement are certainly essential parts of our national character. But what happens when Hashem hears our prayers and gives us the opportunity to build the Mikdash? Are we ready for it? The Chafetz Chaim was concerned about this and established a study hall devoted to the laws of the Temple service. What about us?
There may be legitimate debate about where such efforts should begin — whether the priority lies in questions of the Temple, systems of justice, or the structure of national leadership, including how a monarchy would function in practice and what limits would define a king’s authority. But the existence of debate does not remove the responsibility to engage these questions seriously.
Anticipation, in its practical sense, requires that they be taken seriously. Without such preparation, even a moment of opportunity would find us unready to respond.
History, it is important to note, does not move in a straight line, and moments of unusual opportunity can arise with little warning. The aftermath of the Six-Day War is a telling example, presenting us with a rare and extraordinary moment of opportunity. We cannot know what might have been possible, since the scope of that opportunity in terms of building the Mikdash was not even considered.
The absence of any serious attempt reflects not only a lack of ability, but a lack of readiness. And it is precisely in such moments that our anticipation of redemption is tested.
Pesach: A Model of Readiness
This distinction is embedded in the foundational experience of the Jewish people.
Matzah represents readiness. It is prepared quickly, without delay, because the moment cannot be missed. It reflects a state of constant preparedness — acting even when conditions are not ideal. The Jewish people were commanded to be ready to leave at any moment, walking stick in hand. In those conditions, only what could be prepared immediately was suitable; anything requiring time was set aside.
Leavened bread represents delay: the comfort of waiting, of allowing time, of preferring ideal conditions before acting. Redemption belongs to the world of readiness and action, not of delay and passive hope.
The original Pesach offering required more than obedience. It required courage. It marked a public break from the surrounding culture and demanded action under conditions of uncertainty. In that sense, it expressed a deeper principle: a people that understands its identity and its relationship with Hashem develops the courage to act when the moment demands it. Redemption is not only granted. It is entered through decisive and courageous action grounded in trust.
Even when destructive forces are unleashed in the world, they are not simply subject to blind fate. They are seen by Hashem, chosen by Him, and preserved for His service — as expressed in the command to offer the Korban Pesach itself.
But the meaning of Pesach goes deeper still.
Pesach is the festival of being marked out by Hashem for preservation. On a night of destruction, when the firstborn of Egypt were struck, Israel was passed over and spared. This was not merely an act of rescue from danger. It was an act of distinction and closeness. It taught the Jewish people that even when destructive forces are unleashed in the world, they are not simply subject to blind fate. They are seen by Hashem, chosen by Him, and preserved for His service — as expressed in the command to offer the Korban Pesach itself.
That knowledge creates a particular kind of courage. A people that knows it is loved by Hashem, chosen for His worship, and entrusted with a destiny can act with unusual boldness when history opens. It enables us not only to respond appropriately when opportunity arises, but also to work toward creating that opportunity, propelled forward by the deep awareness of Hashem’s love and by our desire to worship Him in His Temple.
Readiness for Redemption
“Did you anticipate redemption?” is not a question about belief alone. It is a question about readiness — about whether we see ourselves as active participants in redemption, prepared to act in partnership with Hashem and to fulfill the mitzvot we have long awaited.
The history of the modern State of Israel offers a clear example. When the moment arrived, its leadership did not begin preparing. The essential structures were already in place. The Declaration of Independence required not only recognition of the opportunity, but prior readiness and the courage to act upon it.
To anticipate redemption means to live in a state of preparedness: to think seriously about what would be required, to develop the necessary frameworks, and to remain alert to the possibility that the moment for action may arrive. It means understanding that redemption may come not only as a miracle, but as an opportunity — and that when that opportunity comes, much may depend on whether we are ready to act.
The history of the modern State of Israel offers a clear example. When the moment arrived, its leadership did not begin preparing. The essential structures were already in place. The Declaration of Independence required not only recognition of the opportunity, but prior readiness and the courage to act upon it.
Anticipation, in its fullest sense, means living with that same readiness.
This may also shed light on the teaching that we were redeemed in Nissan and will be redeemed in Nissan. The obligations and themes of this time do not merely recall past redemption; they are meant to awaken a readiness to act. It may be precisely this readiness — and the heightened impulse toward action that defines Nissan — through which redemption will once again come in Nissan.
When we say, “Next year in a rebuilt Jerusalem,” it is not only an expression of hope, but a call to action.
[1] Rambam, Laws of Kings and Their Wars 12:2: “All these matters and those like them, no person knows how they will unfold until they occur, for these things are concealed even from the prophets. The sages have no received tradition regarding these matters, but only what can be inferred from the verses.” It is therefore difficult to claim that he establishes a fixed sequence requiring a king to precede all else. The prophets state no such order, and the Talmud, as noted, indicates the opposite.
[2] Even HaEzer, Siman 2, Ot 7.
[3] This view is also attributed to Rabbi Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, who is reported to have stated that the practical halachic challenges involved in offering the Korban Pesach — such as determining the location of the altar, establishing valid priestly genealogy, and preparing priestly garments — are capable of resolution. While the exact source is unclear, the point reflects a broader principle: that such questions call for serious effort, not resignation.
Picture: Bigstock
