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The Baal Shem Tov Asked the Messiah When He Would Come

The Baal Shem Tov climbs through the heavens on Rosh Hashana, enters the Messiah palace, and asks when he will come. The answer destroys his certainty.

Curated by Arthur · Told by Maggid ·
Table of Contents
  1. The Ascent on Rosh Hashana
  2. The Question Every Exile Had Wanted to Ask
  3. The Letters That Could Not Climb
  4. What the Letter Said

The Ascent on Rosh Hashana

On the Jewish New Year of 5507, the year 1746 by the common calendar, the Baal Shem Tov performed an adjuration, pronounced the divine name, and went up. He had done this before, climbing through levels of heaven the way other men climbed stairs, but this time was different. This time the wonders he encountered were beyond anything he had previously seen. He moved through chambers he did not know existed and learned things that, as he later wrote to his brother-in-law, could not be expressed in words and could not be transmitted mouth to mouth.

He found his way to the palace of the Messiah. He went in.

The Question Every Exile Had Wanted to Ask

The Baal Shem Tov was not the first Jew to want to ask the Messiah when he would come. Every generation of exile had carried the question. Two thousand years of dispersion, pogroms, forced conversions, expulsions, the destruction of both Temples, and the question had never been answered by anything except silence and more waiting. He was standing in the palace of the one person who actually knew the answer. He asked.

The Messiah told him: "when your wellsprings spread outward. When the teachings you have received flow out to the world beyond your own circle, when the interior paths to divine connection are accessible to people who cannot make the ascent themselves."

This was not a date. It was a condition. And the Baal Shem Tov understood it as a mission rather than a prophecy.

The Letters That Could Not Climb

There was another story about the Baal Shem Tov and the Messiah, and this one ended in failure. He was praying with his Hasidim, pouring his entire being into the words the way he always did, so intensely that the prayer took far longer than anyone else's. His followers waited, then grew restless, then drifted away one by one until he was the only one still standing.

He was constructing a ladder. Each prayer built another rung, letter by letter, until the ladder was tall enough to reach heaven and force open the gates of redemption. He was almost there. And then the last follower to leave the room let the door slam behind him.

The ladder collapsed.

The Baal Shem Tov wept. He had been close enough to touch the end of exile, and a careless door had brought the whole structure down. The Messiah did not come. The age did not end. What he had learned in the palace, the condition about the wellsprings spreading outward, remained unfulfilled.

What the Letter Said

The Baal Shem Tov wrote to his brother-in-law Gershon of Kutow about the Rosh Hashana ascent. The letter was published in 1781 as part of Ben Porat Yosef, a collection of Hasidic teachings. In it, he described the wonders he had seen without being able to name them, described the conversation with the Messiah without quoting it in full, and described his grief at the gap between what he had glimpsed and what existed on earth.

He also described what he had seen in the hall of the heavenly court: accusers and defenders, the balance of merits and failures, the weight placed on moments that seem small from below. The Rosh Hashana he had spent in the divine court had not been a triumph. It had been an education in how far the world still was from what it was meant to become.

The condition the Messiah had stated was not a riddle. It was a description of what had not yet happened. The teachings the Baal Shem Tov had received, the pathways through prayer, the knowledge that God was present in every moment and every place, had so far reached a small circle of disciples in eastern Europe. The world beyond that circle had not yet been touched by them. Until that changed, the condition remained unmet. The Messiah waited in his palace the way he had always waited.

The wellsprings, he understood, would spread only as quickly as the living could carry them. He went back down and kept teaching.


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Ben Porat YosefChassidic Literature

The Ba'al Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism, reportedly did just that.

The story goes that on Rosh ha-Shanah – the Jewish New Year, a day of judgment and profound spiritual significance – in the year 5507 (that's 1746 by the Gregorian calendar), the Ba'al Shem Tov, or Besht as he was often called, performed a special act. He made an adjuration, pronounced a holy name, and then… ascended on high.

The scene! In a vision, he saw wonders he'd never witnessed before, learned things that defied expression. First, he arrived at the Garden of Eden, that idyllic realm where souls of the righteous pause on their way to Paradise. He saw countless souls there, some familiar, others unknown. What's more, he discovered it was a unique time of grace. Many who had lived less than righteous lives had repented, and their sins were forgiven.

Can you picture it? The Besht, witnessing this incredible scene of forgiveness and redemption! These penitents were in a state of utter joy, ready to ascend even higher. They begged him to accompany them, to be their guide on this celestial journey. Overwhelmed by their happiness, he agreed.

But he knew the perils of ascending into the highest heavens. So, he called upon his teacher, the prophet Ahijah, to join them. Together, they entered a column in the Garden of Eden – a pathway to Paradise – and began their ascent.

As they journeyed upwards, the Ba'al Shem Tov led these souls through the hidden palaces of heaven, one after another. These palaces, according to tradition, conceal all the mysteries and treasures of heaven. He rose from level to level until he reached the palace of the Messiah in the highest heaven.

There, in this celestial palace, the Messiah teaches Torah alongside all the sages, righteous ones, and the Seven Shepherds. The reception was so joyous that the Besht feared his soul had left his body! But he was assured that his time had not yet come.

Who are these Seven Shepherds? Well, traditions vary. Micah and the Talmud suggest Adam, Seth, Methuselah, David, Abraham, Jacob, and Moses. The Zohar, the central text of Kabbalah, offers another list: Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, together with Moses, Aaron, Joseph, and King David. These figures are often associated with the sefirot, the emanations of God, from Hesed (loving-kindness) to Yesod (foundation).

Finally, the Ba'al Shem Tov asked the Messiah the question that was surely on everyone's mind: "When will my Master come?" And the Messiah answered, "When your teachings are known in the world, and others are capable of ascending on high like you."

This incredible account comes from a famous letter attributed to the Ba'al Shem Tov himself. It was supposedly written to his brother-in-law, Rabbi Abraham Gershon of Kittov, who was in the Land of Israel at the time. The Ben Porat Yosef, where the letter was first published, notes that Rabbi Yakov Yosef of Polnoye, a disciple of the Besht, claimed the Ba'al Shem Tov gave him the letter to deliver, lending further credence to its authenticity.

So, what does this all mean? Is it a literal account? A mystical vision? A powerful metaphor? Perhaps all of the above. The story, as relayed in Tree of Souls (Schwartz) and found in sources like Mikhtavim me-ha Besht ve-Talmidav (a student) and Sefer ha-Hasidut, challenges us to consider the potential for spiritual ascent within ourselves. It reminds us that even on the Day of Judgment, the gates of repentance are open, and that the Messiah's coming is, in a way, dependent on our own spiritual growth and our ability to internalize and spread the Besht's teachings.

Could we, in our own way, also learn to "ascend on high"?

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In Praise of the Baal Shem Tov (Shivhei HaBesht) 1:4Chassidic Legends

The Ba'al Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism, apparently did – and according to one story, he nearly brought the Messiah himself into the world!

The tale goes that the Ba'al Shem Tov was once praying with his Hasidim, his followers. Now, the Ba'al Shem Tov wasn't just mumbling words; he was pouring his entire being into each syllable, each letter. He was so intensely focused that his prayer took far longer than everyone else's. At first, they waited patiently, but eventually, one by one, they drifted away, their attention spans exhausted.

Later, the Ba'al Shem Tov came to them with a story that must have made their jaws drop. "While I was praying," he said, "I ascended the ladder of your prayers all the way into Paradise!" Can you imagine? He wasn't just praying; he was climbing a spiritual ladder built on the collective intentions of his community.

As he ascended, he heard a song, a melody of such indescribable beauty that it permeated all of Paradise. And finally, he reached the palace of the Messiah – a place known as the Bird's Nest. The Messiah was there, peering out of a window, his gaze fixed on a breathtaking tree. And in the top branches of that tree sat a golden dove.

That's when the Ba'al Shem Tov understood. The song wasn't just beautiful; it was coming from the golden dove! The Messiah, it seemed, couldn't bear to be separated from that dove and its song, not even for a moment.

The Ba'al Shem Tov had a flash of inspiration: If he could capture the dove and bring it back to Earth, wouldn't the Messiah follow? He saw a chance, a real chance, to usher in the Messianic era. So, he climbed higher and higher, reaching out, his fingers almost brushing the golden feathers…

But then, disaster struck. "Just as I reached for it," he lamented, "the ladder of prayers collapsed."

What a cliffhanger. This story, beautifully retold in Howard Schwartz's Tree of Souls, is known as "The Ladder of Prayers." It's a powerful illustration of how our collective spiritual efforts can create pathways to the divine. But it also carries a poignant message about communal responsibility.

The failure of the Ba'al Shem Tov's Hasidim to maintain their prayers – to provide the support needed for his ascent – caused him to lose his grasp on the golden dove, and perhaps, on the Messiah himself. It's a stark reminder that even the most spiritually gifted among us rely on the support and dedication of the community.

And what does the dove represent? Perhaps it is the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, often depicted as feminine and associated with song and beauty. Maybe it symbolizes the very essence of the Messiah's connection to the world.

Ultimately, "The Ladder of Prayers" joins a long tradition of Jewish stories about missed opportunities and failed attempts to hasten the coming of the Messiah. It's a bittersweet tale, reminding us that the Messianic era isn't just something to be passively awaited. It requires our active participation, our unwavering dedication, and our collective effort to build those ladders of prayer, strong enough to reach the heavens. As we find in Midrash Rabbah, the deeds of the righteous bring redemption closer.

It makes you wonder, doesn't it? What ladders are we building today? And are we holding them steady for each other?

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