In recent years, the word “messianism” has become a derogatory term in Israeli discourse. It is often used negatively to describe positions perceived as overly nationalistic or individuals promoting a religious or national vision while neglecting practical considerations. However, according to many thinkers and scholars, messianism is a fundamental element of the Jewish people’s DNA, transforming and adapting in each era.
At its core, messianism signifies the aspiration for a rectified, moral, and utopian world. However, the nature of this utopia—the nature of ultimate redemption—can vary significantly
At its core, messianism signifies the aspiration for a rectified, moral, and utopian world. However, the nature of this utopia—the nature of ultimate redemption—can vary significantly. For example, some envision redemption as a radical transformation of natural reality into a miraculous, supernatural one,[1] while others believe the world will continue its natural course, with wisdom increasing and society reaching a state of harmony and rectitude.[2] Some see redemption primarily as a political state where the Kingdom of Israel is restored to its former glory, yet humans retain free choice between good and evil, while others perceive it as an elevated state in which evil is eradicated entirely, ushering in “days in which I have no desire”—a time where free will itself is nullified.[3]
Despite these diverse interpretations, the messianic foundation of Judaism, as an expectation and striving for closeness to God and a perfected world, remains a shared element across all eras and Jewish movements, including our own.[4]
This raises the question: Do our sources provide guidance for a “healthy messianism”? Can we identify discussions within Jewish tradition that address the role of messianism—its advantages and dangers? When does messianism transform into dangerous fanaticism, into “forcing the end” or “scaling the wall” (to cite the famous Talmudic Oath), and when is messianism essential for the continued existence of the Jewish people, serving the divine purpose of creation?
By examining Yaakov’s changing perspective on Yosef and his eventual selection of Yehudah as the progenitor of Israel’s monarchy, we can glean insights into the Torah’s position on the appropriate approach to messianism
One of the earliest and most foundational sources addressing the matter of messianism—its advantages and disadvantages—lies in the latter part of Bereishit, in the story of Yosef and his brothers. These narratives present Yosef’s persona juxtaposed with Yehudah’s, alongside Yaakov’s evolving attitude toward Yosef’s dreams. By examining Yaakov’s changing perspective on Yosef and his eventual selection of Yehudah as the progenitor of Israel’s monarchy, we can glean insights into the Torah’s position on the appropriate approach to messianism and the extent to which political leadership should advance the Jewish people’s messianic vision. Through this analysis, we will cautiously engage with the explosive topic of messianism, reflecting on its relevance against the backdrop of the deep social rifts currently afflicting the State of Israel. This inquiry will examine two paradigms: the activist model represented by Yosef and Yehudah’s conservative model.
The Messianic Donkey or Just a Donkey?
In recent years, messianic fervor has intensified within certain groups in the religious-Zionist community. Ideas such as annexing Judea, Samaria (and Gaza), ascending the Temple Mount, and reliance on military strength are driven by an activist messianic vision. This approach gained momentum following significant military successes in the past year, with a growing perception that the Jewish people are no longer “a sheep among seventy wolves” but rather “a wolf among seventy sheep.” Similarly, traditional fears of anti-Semitism, which haunted Jews for centuries, seem (to some) to have diminished in relevance. Certain voices argue that these fears should no longer dictate the policies of an independent Jewish sovereign state. As a result, fundamental questions about our existence in this land have become sharper, further exacerbating the social divide within Israeli society.
The current societal crisis in Israel is not about mundane issues like economy or security but touches the very heart of the state’s national and democratic identity. The pressing question is whether the desired state should have a distinctly religious character, relegating democracy (or “democratic values” as represented by liberal democracies) to a secondary role, or whether the state should remain neutral on religious matters, with its constitutional democratic framework serving as its guiding principle. These questions harken back to the foundational debates of early Zionism.
Herzl’s Zionist enterprise sought a state that was, metaphorically, “just a donkey”—a practical, non-messianic vehicle for Jewish survival
From its inception, Zionism contained diverse factions and conflicting ideologies. For example, Herzl envisioned a socio-democratic state modeled on Western European norms, focusing on Jewish sovereignty in a narrow sense, as reflected in Altneuland. Some argue that Herzl aimed for a state for Jews rather than a “Jewish state,” and even if he intended the latter, it was envisioned in minimalist terms. In contrast, Ahad Ha’am emphasized the cultural-national aspect of the future state, striving to foster Jewish national spirit through education in Jewish and secular values. Religious Zionists, meanwhile, focused their efforts on practical settlement and demanded a state that would at least be overtly religious in its public sphere. Other movements prioritized socialist or even Marxist goals.
These competing visions sparked significant debates, including the Kulturkampf and the Uganda Controversy. Ultimately, Herzl’s pragmatic view prevailed, sidelining ideological conflicts to focus on the practical goal of state-building. Herzl’s Zionist enterprise sought a state that was, metaphorically, “just a donkey”—a practical, non-messianic vehicle for Jewish survival.
Revolutionary-Messianic Transformations
In recent years, we have seen a departure from Herzlian pragmatism, with various groups attempting to impose their ideological visions on the state. This ideological radicalism, amplified by the influence of social media, exacerbates divisions and threatens societal cohesion.
The destruction of the Second Temple, the Bar Kokhba Revolt, and the Sabbatean movement highlight the dangers of leadership detached from pragmatic considerations
Jewish history offers cautionary tales of unrestrained messianism leading to disaster. The destruction of the Second Temple, the Bar Kokhba Revolt, and the Sabbatean movement highlight the dangers of leadership detached from pragmatic considerations. Yet, as noted, messianism is also an intrinsic part of Jewish tradition.
How, then, do we balance the need for a messianic vision with the necessity for practical leadership? When does messianism inspire, and when does it threaten? Exploring this tension through the figures of Yosef and Yehudah provides valuable lessons.
The Charismatic-Messianic Leadership of Yosef
The character of Yosef, as described in the closing chapters of Genesis, portrays a man who treats his dreams with profound seriousness. Typically, people view their dreams as little more than expressions of hidden desires. Yosef, however, treats his dreams as prophecy destined to materialize—perhaps even in the near future. Moreover, Yosef believes (as the Ramban elucidates) that his prophetic dreams are not merely visions of the future but serve as a call to action, compelling him to actively fulfill them. They impose upon him a significant role: to bring them to fruition. Yosef represents a new type of prophet—a prophet who is also a historical activist. He sees his role as implementing the divine plan of history rather than passively waiting for God to orchestrate it. Humanity, in Yosef’s view, is not a passive participant in God’s script but an active player.
Yosef’s actions to realize his dreams raise significant questions. He incites the hostility of his brothers, yet he expects them to cooperate with him in fulfilling his visions. From the very outset of his narrative, the Torah reveals that Yosef would bring bad reports of his brothers to their father. Clearly, his intention was not to sow discord but to correct their behavior. Still, it is difficult to understand how such actions could encourage his brothers to heed his rebukes. Later, Yosef dreams his famous dreams, which he interprets in ways his father and brothers perceive as arrogant and grandiose. He believes these dreams foreshadow his future reign over the entire family.
[H]ow could Yosef expect his brothers to accept dreams that implied they would bow to him and become his servants? Did he truly think this would be well-received?
Beyond his serious attitude toward his dreams and their radical interpretations, Yosef’s behavior in recounting these dreams to his brothers is even more puzzling. How could Yosef share such dreams with brothers who could not even speak peaceably with him? Ordinarily, one shares dreams with friends or loved ones, seeking empathy and validation—not with adversaries likely to mock or resent them. Moreover, how could Yosef expect his brothers to accept dreams that implied they would bow to him and become his servants? Did he truly think this would be well-received? It seems clear that sharing such dreams would only intensify their hatred. From an outsider’s perspective, Yosef’s actions appear socially tone-deaf and devoid of basic emotional intelligence.
Was Yosef truly emotionally detached and lacking in basic social awareness? Was he so self-absorbed that he failed to perceive the growing animosity of his brothers? It seems unlikely. The Torah describes Yosef as a successful man who found favor in the eyes of all who saw him. His exceptional social and political skills are evident in his meteoric rise: first as Potiphar’s trusted steward, then as the overseer of Pharaoh’s prison, and finally as the viceroy of the Egyptian empire. A person lacking in social or political understanding could not have achieved such remarkable successes. Yosef was, by every measure, a highly capable and accomplished individual.
It seems more plausible to view Yosef’s behavior as representing a powerful new model of leadership: the “prophetic leader.” His actions were not born of emotional detachment but of visionary conviction. Yosef viewed his dreams not as personal aspirations but as divine revelations meant not only for him but for his entire family. In Yosef’s perspective, God’s plan for the future was clear and unequivocal: he was destined to become king over the descendants of Jacob. This was not a personal ambition but a divine decree. Therefore, Yosef believed it was his duty to inform his brothers of their roles in this divine plan, even if doing so provoked resentment. Yosef lived with a historical, transcendent consciousness, perceiving his prophetic vision not merely as a promise but as a call to action—a mission he was obligated to fulfill.[5] In Yosef’s eyes, he was not acting on his own behalf but as God’s emissary, implementing the divine redemptive plan for the world.
Yosef believed he had a prophecy to fulfill and knew precisely how it was meant to unfold. Notwithstanding the pain and suffering it would cause his family, fulfilling the divine will transcended all
This perspective also sheds light on Yosef’s seemingly harsh treatment of his brothers when they descended to Egypt. His accusations of espionage, Shimon’s imprisonment, the demand to bring Binyamin, and the episode of the goblet planted in Binyamin’s sack—all these were not acts of vengeance. On the contrary, Yosef’s emotional vulnerability is evident in the Torah’s repeated mention of his weeping—no fewer than eight times. His reveal a deep love and sensitivity toward his brothers. Instead, his actions were driven by his messianic vision. Yosef believed he had a prophecy to fulfill and knew precisely how it was meant to unfold. Notwithstanding the pain and suffering it would cause his family, fulfilling the divine will transcended all.
Yosef saw himself as God’s emissary in the world. When he spoke to Pharaoh before interpreting his dreams, he declared, “It is not I; God will give Pharaoh an answer of peace.” (Genesis 41:16) Likewise, after revealing his identity to his brothers, he told them, “It was not you who sent me here, but God.” (Genesis 45:8) These statements reflect a long-term divine plan in which the brothers were unwitting participants. This reflects a kind of paternalism on Yosef’s part: he saw himself as the one who understood how redemption should unfold.
Messianic Exceptionalism
Yosef’s activist-messianic approach contrasts with the dominant stance of most Jewish sages and leaders throughout the generations. Generally, the prevailing view has been that humans should not concern themselves with mysteries or speculate about the details of the Messianic era. Instead, they should focus on their present responsibilities. As the Talmud states: “What concern is it of yours to probe the secrets of the Almighty?” (Berachot 10a)
The prophetic leadership model represented by Yosef is thus an extraordinary phenomenon in Jewish history. Typically, Jewish tradition has maintained a clear distinction between the role of the prophet and the role of the king. The king’s function is to govern realistically and pragmatically, while the prophet provides a long-term, transcendent vision that often challenges the king’s policies.
Yet, at rare moments in Jewish history, figures arose who blurred this distinction—prophet-leaders who enacted concrete political policies based on their messianic vision
Yet, at rare moments in Jewish history, figures arose who blurred this distinction—prophet-leaders who enacted concrete political policies based on their messianic vision. These were not always formal prophets but could also be ideologues or visionaries who believed it was necessary to subordinate practical politics to the pursuit of a messianic ideal.
For example:
- King Yoshiyahu of Yehudah eradicated the priests of Baal worship, defied warnings, and went to battle against Pharaoh Necho, a decision that led to his downfall.
- Matityahu and Yehudah the Maccabee sparked a revolt against the mighty Greek army, disregarding all practical calculations.
- The false messiah Shabbetai Tzvi, influenced by Nathan of Gaza, introduced a distorted form of Judaism while openly defying the ruling empires, leading to catastrophe for the Jewish people.
More modern examples include:
- Theodor Herzl established a revolutionary vision of a Jewish state, an idea that many of his contemporaries dismissed as a fantastical dream.
- Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook and his disciples (e.g., Rabbi Zvi Tau) see the current State of Israel as the foundational stage of God’s throne in the world.
These are individuals who took the history of the Jewish people upon their shoulders and reshaped it, sometimes leading to redemption (as in the case of Yehudah the Maccabee) and sometimes to ruin (as with Shabbetai Tzvi or, in a different way, Yoshiyahu). In other instances, such as Herzl and Rav Kook, their achievements or visions remain in progress, awaiting final resolution.
Yehudah’s Realistic Leadership and its Davidic Application
Yehudah’s leadership model offers a stark contrast to Yosef’s activist-messianic approach. Yehudah embodies a realist perspective, encapsulated by the Talmudic phrase mentioned above, “What concern is it of yours to probe the secrets of the Almighty?” (Berachot 10a). In the intense conflict among Yaakov’s sons—described by some commentators as a “holy dispute” over the nature of leadership—Yehudah adopts a pragmatic and non-messianic approach. He refuses to resolve the conflict by eliminating Yosef, even when the fate of the family and future nation hangs in the balance. Instead, Yehudah insists on addressing the immediate human reality, treating Yosef as a younger brother rather than as an obstacle to a grand vision.
Yehudah’s leadership is characterized by humility, responsibility toward those around him, and a refusal to seek lofty, abstract goals at the expense of present needs. His humility is most evident in the story of Tamar. Faced with the exposure of his sin, Yehudah openly admits his guilt, declaring, “She is more righteous than I” (Bereishit 38:26). He chooses to humiliate himself publicly rather than allow Tamar to be executed unjustly, thereby modeling repentance for future generations. Yehudah’s greatness lies not in being a “perfectly righteous person,” like Yosef, who withstood the test of Potiphar’s wife, but in being a “penitent” who acknowledges his human failings and takes responsibility, even at the cost of his own reputation.
Redemption, in Yehudah’s view, cannot be achieved through manipulative political maneuvers or ideological dogmatism. It is dictated by God alone, contingent on human merit
For Yehudah, leadership is not about implementing a predetermined historical narrative. Instead, it is about making the people worthy of their destiny. Redemption, in Yehudah’s view, cannot be achieved through manipulative political maneuvers or ideological dogmatism. It is dictated by God alone, contingent on human merit. Yehudah believes that some questions and decisions are beyond the scope of human authority and must be left to God. As the Rambam writes, “We do not know how things will unfold until they unfold” (Hilchot Melachim 12:2).
King David, the quintessential representative of Yehudah’s monarchy, offers a powerful example of this realistic leadership. Although David is considered a messianic figure, his approach to governance was fundamentally pragmatic. David focused on the immediate challenges facing the nation and avoided messianic interventions that relied on divine providence. He refrained from imposing a particular historical trajectory, choosing instead to act appropriately for the time and place.
David’s reluctance to assume messianic authority is most evident in his refusal to harm King Saul, even when given the opportunity. Twice, David could have killed Shaul but declared, “Hashem forbids that I should lay a hand on Hashem’s anointed” (I Shmuel 26:11). Similarly, David condemns the Amalekite who claims to have killed Shaul, asking, “How were you not afraid to lift your hand to destroy Hashem’s anointed?” (II Shmuel 1:14). This attitude reflects David’s deep conviction that the question of messianic leadership belongs exclusively to God.
David’s restraint extended to his treatment of other rivals for the throne, such as Avner, the commander of Shaul’s army, and Ish-Boshet, Saul’s son. Even when others sought to remove these contenders, David consistently refused to take matters into his own hands. His remarkable restraint in the face of challenges to his rule demonstrates his commitment to leaving messianic decisions in God’s hands.
Balancing Activism and Realism: Yaakov’s Dual Leadership Model
What, then, is the appropriate form of leadership for the Jewish people? How can we balance the dangers of utopian-messianic activism with the risks of stagnation inherent in overly conservative realism? The answer may lie in Yaakov’s final blessings and his decision to divide leadership between Yehudah and Yosef.
Yaakov’s choice to appoint Yehudah as king, rather than his beloved son Yosef, reflects a preference for pragmatic leadership. Yehudah represents a more moderate, humble approach, one that prioritizes addressing present challenges over pursuing unattainable ideals. Yet Yaakov does not diminish Yosef’s role entirely. Instead, he elevates Yosef to a unique status, granting him a special blessing and recognizing his unparalleled qualities.
Yosef is described as “a prince among his brothers” (Bereishit 49:26) and receives the double portion of inheritance typically reserved for the firstborn. […] This dual leadership model ensures a balance between the grounded realism of Yehudah and the visionary idealism of Yosef
Yosef is described as “a prince among his brothers” (Bereishit 49:26) and receives the double portion of inheritance typically reserved for the firstborn. Yaakov’s blessings to Yosef’s sons, Ephraim and Manasseh, establish Yosef’s legacy as both a spiritual and charismatic leader.[5] This dual leadership model ensures a balance between the grounded realism of Yehudah and the visionary idealism of Yosef.
In this way, Yaakov creates a dual framework for Jewish leadership: Yehudah provides political and practical governance, while Yosef represents the nation’s messianic aspirations. Yehudah’s role is to navigate the challenges of the present, ensuring the nation’s stability and survival. Yosef’s role, by contrast, is to inspire the nation with a vision of its ultimate purpose.
This duality is reflected in Yechezkel’s prophecy of the two sticks: “The stick of Yosef, which is in the hand of Ephraim… and the stick of Yehudah” (Yechezkel 37:16-24). These two forces are destined to unite under the leadership of a descendant of David. Together, they represent the complete and balanced leadership that the Jewish people require.
Conclusion
The tension between messianic activism and political realism is as old as the Jewish people themselves. By examining the leadership models of Yosef and Yehudah, as well as their integration in Yaakov’s blessings, we can better understand how to navigate this tension in contemporary times. Neither messianic idealism nor pragmatic realism can stand alone; only their integration can provide the Jewish people with the balanced leadership they need to fulfill their historical mission.
[1] Abarbanel, Yeshuot Meshicho, Ch. 27.
[2] Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Melachim, Ch. 11-12.
[3] Ramban on Deuteronomy 30:6.
[4] Ben-Gurion: “Israel is the creation of messianic faith… We need this faith to continue our struggle.”
[5] On the significance of charismatic leadership, see Max Weber’s famous work, On Charisma and Institution Building.
Thank you, Mr. Omer, for your thoughtful essay. I agree that we B’nei Yisrael must balance the religious idealism of Yosef’s messianism with the mundane practical leadership of Yehudah. The question, however, whenever the concept of “balance” arises in any context, is where to place the fulcrum. I think you should develop your thoughts much more on this topic. The essay abruptly ends with an anodyne reminder that B’nei Yisrael needs both messianism and pragmatism. Few would demur.
At what precise points do religious Zionism or Charedi Zionism become extreme? At what point does secular practicality become morally compromised? A related question: if one’s extremism harms no one who does not subscribe to it should we care? The answer to that question might demonstrate what makes religious Zionist extremism violent but makes traditional Charedi Zionism rigidly insular.
I hope we are treated to follow on essays that develop your valuable insights on this topical debate. Thank you, again, Sir.