What If Moshiach Lives Down the Street?
Acharei Mos - Kedoshim 5785
For as long as I can remember, I envisioned Moshiach in the same way many others do: an older, perhaps Yemenite man with a long white beard, riding on a donkey and blowing a massive shofar. He suddenly shows up one day, and that’s that.1
Lately I’ve been questioning this assumption and wondering, why do we all imagine the same thing? Who decided that Moshiach must be old? Who says he has to be alone?
Why can’t Moshiach be someone with a spouse and children? Maybe he is a regular guy down the block, the guy you nod to when you walk to the other shul, the guy people go to for advice or the guy who is folding the tablecloths in shul on Motzei Shabbos. We can only guess his family situation. He might have young children, grown children, or even grandchildren. It's also possible that he is actually an older single, divorcee or widow who isn’t married. We simply don't know.
The fact that we rarely even consider the question is telling in itself. When was the last time we actually thought about what kind of life Moshiach might live? Have we ever pictured what his home feels like on a Friday night? What kinds of conversations he has or what kind of exhaustion he feels at the end of a long day?
Really this question is more than about Mashiach, it’s actually about the guy down the block as well.
How often do we assume that true greatness means being removed from regular life? We imagine that spiritual leadership requires isolation, that those destined to lead must exist on a different plane of reality. Without equating the two, we tend to think about our Gedolim in the same way - alone, surrounded by sefarim, far away from the noise of daily living.
Parshas Kedoshim gives us an idea of what it means to be holy. After stating “Kedoshim tihyu,” the Torah does not describe abstract ideals or isolatory practices. Instead, the Torah outlines how we speak to one another, how we treat workers, how we avoid gossip, and how we create space for others. It places kedushah squarely in the middle of everyday life.
It is interesting that the very first item listed within the framework of Kedusha, is the commandment to fear or revere your parents. One cannot help but wonder why this mitzvah is repeated here. Afterall it was already mentioned in the most key area of the Torah in the fifth of the ten commandments, so why is it repeated here? Perhaps the Torah is reminding us that holiness begins with values, and those values are passed down through family. Before aspiring to spiritual ideals, we are asked to root ourselves in reverence for those who came before us. To pursue holiness, we must begin by honoring where we come from.2
Only after we establish how the framework of kedushah will be transmitted through the generations, does the Torah proceed with a list of mitzvos. Many of them are practical, seemingly mundane, and deeply interpersonal. For example, do not cheat your workers. Do not gossip. Do not place stumbling blocks in front of the blind. Judge fairly. Rise before the elderly. Leave the edges of your field for the poor. The framework for Kedusha is grounded, present and clear.
To be a holy person is not decided by vote, mass election or even by being born to the right family. Nor does it only manifest in certain places, such as a shul or yeshiva. Living a holy life means infusing the ordinary with purpose. We should elevate our speech, our spending, our eating, our listening. Our kedusha is infused in that which we value and how we express it. It is often seen in the challenge, or in a moment of frustration, or how we act when there isn’t anyone watching.
The Admor HaChalutz teaches3 that a person can adhere to every halachic detail and still miss the essence of holiness if those actions aren’t shaped by heart and inner integrity. A truly kadosh life is measured by the kind of person we become through our practice, patient, humble, generous, grounded. The mitzvah of Kedoshim Tihyu is to become holy people, not only do holy things.
Perhaps that is also the deeper message about Moshiach. The one who brings Geulah is fully immersed in this world. He navigates daily challenges and setbacks. He responds to messages, goes shopping, helps a neighbor in need, attends minyan between deadlines, helps with bedtime, and still tries to be present, for his family, his friends, his community, and not to mention himself. Mashiach can’t be someone who is apathetic and detached from society.
This understanding elevates our expectations, of our leaders, and more importantly, of ourselves. The Tiferes Shlomo writes that Nadav and Avihu didn’t die as a punishment. Rather they died because their spiritual intensity became unsustainable for this world. They soared so high that they lost their grounding. Had they paused to daven for the people, remembering the needs of others, they could have remained. Even the Kohen Gadol, standing in the Kodesh HaKedoshim on Yom Kippur, is reminded not to forget the world outside. Judaism defines holiness as responsibility, not separation.
The Tiferes Shlomo quotes the Gemara in Berachos4
תניא, אמר רבי ישמעאל בן אלישע: פעם אחת, נכנסתי להקטיר קטורת לפני ולפנים, וראיתי אכתריאל יה ה׳ צבאות, שהוא יושב על כסא רם ונשא, ואמר לי: ״ישמעאל בני, ברכני!״ אמרתי לו: ״יהי רצון מלפניך, שיכבשו רחמיך את כעסך, ויגולו רחמיך על מדותיך, ותתנהג עם בניך במדת הרחמים, ותכנס להם לפנים משורת הדין״. ונענע לי בראשו. וקמשמע לן, שלא תהא ברכת הדיוט קלה בעיניך.
Rav Yishmael ben Elisha, the Kohen Gadol, entered the Kodesh HaKedoshim on Yom Kippur and, according to the Gemara, experienced a vision of the Shechina. At that moment, Hashem made an unusual request:“Yishmael b’ni, barcheni”, My son, bless Me. Rav Yishmael responded with a tefila that Hashem’s mercy should override strict justice, and that He should treat His children with kindness. Hashem nodded in agreement. From this, the Gemara teaches us never to take lightly the blessing of an ordinary person.
Even in the holiest moment, the message is simple: don’t forget the people. Don’t forget the humdrum of daily struggles, the quiet requests, the small kindnesses. Holiness must remain human.
The challenge, then, is to become more deeply ourselves, with awareness, discipline, and purpose, rather than trying to become someone else.. Living in the world doesn’t mean blending into it completely and losing our identity. It means revealing our identity through how we live. Being kadosh isn’t about escaping to some remote mountaintop to spend your life in solitary meditation. Kedusha is about walking through life with integrity and being a force of light that brightens dark paths and leads the way, for ourselves and all of humanity.
Rav Moshe Dovid Vali begins Parashas Kedoshim with a general rule, אין לבא אל הקדושה אלא בקדושה. We don’t arrive at holiness by withdrawing. We enter holiness by walking through life with holiness.
I have a few friends who call everyone “tzaddik.” This isn’t said in jest or flattery, rather as their default mode of address. For a long time, I found it a bit much. It felt like empty inflation, how can everyone be a tzaddik? Yet at some point, I realized they weren’t using the word carelessly. They mean it. They see the people around them, flawed, striving, complex people, as individuals sincerely trying their best. They don’t mean tzaddikim in the halachic sense, or the next gadol hador. My friends see every Jew as a decent Jew doing the work of living with purpose. As the song goes, “Every Yid’s a big tzaddik.” There is something quietly special in choosing to view others this way.
There are core values that shape who we are and we are meant to carry with us. Shabbos, kashrus, emunah, bris milah, compassion, justice, honesty are some examples of those values. They are the framework of a sacred life. As Ray Dalio notes5, values are the deep-seated principles that define how we behave and where we’re going. Skills can be taught. Abilities can evolve. Values shape who we are. That is why the Torah begins there. Holiness doesn’t start with what we do, it begins with who we choose to become.
If we want the world to recognize us as Jews, we must live like being Jewish means something. Living with conviction fosters clarity, while hesitation breeds confusion. Clarity earns respect; confusion undermines identity.
This is a bigger situation than an individual’s personal gain. In a culture where “everyone has their own truth” is often considered a virtue, the idea of a shared framework may feel outdated. It is precisely that framework that anchors us. When truth is reshaped by personal preference, values lose their impact, and definition becomes blurred.
The Torah provides guidance for growth and meaning. It prioritizes progress and respect. The Torah emphasizes objective truth as a structure for living, even when that truth is difficult or unpopular.
If we let go of that, we lose the integrity of what we’re trying to protect. We can’t demand the world respect us as Jews, while we hesitate to live like it means something. The world may not always like us, yet it should never be confused about who we are.
Jordan Peterson writes6 that people require structure, rules, standards, and values, because without them, we collapse into chaos. Meaning, he argues, isn’t found in extremes, but at the intersection between structure and flexibility. This is where life unfolds, and where identity forms.
This as well was a common theme in the thought of Rav Sacks. He wrote “Communities of faith are where we preserve the values and institutions that protect our humanity.”7 In 2010 when he welcomed the late Pope to England he summed it up clearly: “In our communities we value people not for what they earn or what they buy or how they vote but for what they are, every one of them a fragment of the Divine presence. We hold life holy. And each of us is lifted by the knowledge that we are part of something greater than all of us, that created us in forgiveness and love, and asks us to create in forgiveness and love. Each of us in our own way is a guardian of values that are in danger of being lost, in our short-attention-span, hyperactive, information-saturated, wisdom-starved age. And though our faiths are profoundly different, yet we recognize in one another the presence of faith itself, that habit of the heart that listens to the music beneath the noise, and knows that God is the point at which soul touches soul and is enlarged by the presence of otherness”8
Rabbi Sacks described faith as a response to the world, rather than a retreat from it. He viewed it as the music beneath the noise, the space where one soul encounters another and expands in the presence of that encounter.
That kind of life begins with each of us with the willingness to ask real questions: What do I truly believe? What do I want to pass on? What defines my life as a Jew, and what values am I actually living by, even when no one sees?
This journey begins individually by identifying core beliefs and values. My rebbe, Rav Gerzi, encourages us to take a piece of paper, sit down with your spouse, a mentor, a friend, or even just on your own, and ask: what are my core values as a Jew? What do I really believe in? What do I stand for? Write down a list that belongs on your fridge, not only what sounds good in theory, in your head. Keep it somewhere visible. Revisit it. Talk it out with people you trust.
We often speak about waiting for Moshiach. And again I wonder, perhaps the real goal isn’t a sudden moment of redemption. Perhaps the goal is for all of us to start becoming worthy of being Moshiach ourselves.
The parashah could say, “Some of you shall be holy.” or “You should do holy things”. Instead though, it says, “Kedoshim tihyu”, you, all of you, shall become holy. In a recent powerful article in Mishpacha Magazine, Rabbi Aryeh Kerzner explains that the Geulah doesn’t come from perfection or uniformity. It comes from those who remain loyal to Torah while navigating the complexity of real life. Holiness isn’t about waiting for Moshiach to arrive, it’s about becoming the kind of people who are ready to receive him.9
I don’t know exactly how Moshiach appears. I imagine he doesn’t descend fully formed from the heavens. He emerges from real life, from challenge, from resilience, from those who choose to live by their core values even when everything around them suggests otherwise. Our tradition10 tells us that Moshiach comes riding on a donkey, the animal that quietly bears the weight of the world, often unnoticed or even dismissed. Many people go through pain, and they’re surely deserving of blessing, yet some remain stuck in the heaviness. Then there are those rare individuals who when faced with difficulty, somehow find the light in it, and use that moment to double down on what matters most. They use difficulty as a reminder, not of what’s broken, but of what they believe in.
That’s how the Geulah begins.
One of these people is a family friend, Efryim Shore. You might know him as Barry. Efryim is one of the happiest people I know. Years ago, he became completely paralyzed overnight from a rare neurological disease. Instead of sinking into despair, he built a global movement rooted in joy, meaning, and giving. Through his Keep Smiling campaign, he’s handed out hundreds of thousands of cards, completely free, encouraging people to hold on to joy, even in the darkest times. He calls himself the “Ambassador of Joy,” not because life has been easy, but because he chose to let his suffering refine, rather than define, him. Today, he walks again, swims two miles a day, and is a thriving entrepreneur.
Efryim lives a life of Kedusha. His life is proof that living with purpose, even when it’s hard, changes you and the world around you.
That’s what Geulah looks like.
I’m not saying Efryim is Moshiach (though I wouldn't be surprised...) . I’m saying he lives with the kind of values that make Geulah possible. And maybe that’s the point.
What if we take this a step further? Who says Moshiach has to be one person? Perhaps Moshiach is the collective result of people who choose to live with kedusha, quietly, consistently, and with conviction. There is a possibility that Geulah doesn’t start with someone arriving. Could be that it starts with us becoming.
Kedusha is the quiet force that transforms reality. It is the decisions throughout each day to live with conviction, to hold onto truth when it would be easier to let go, to lift someone else’s burden even when we are carrying our own.
Instead of asking when Moshiach will come, we need to ask ourselves whether we are willing to start becoming him.
Likely influenced by Sender Zeyv’s classic Aleph Shin - If I would have know it would become such a valuable book, I prob would have preserved my copy rather than leaving in my highschool dorm - https://amzn.to/433L6hM
Based on an idea from Rav Moti Elon, quoting the Meshech Chochma
quoted in Techeiles Modrechai Vayikra page 127
Berachos 7
Principles pg 407
12 Rules For Life
Celebrating Life p. 60
Opening address for Papal Visit, Twickenham, 17 September 2010; Chiefly Quotes Pg 28
See Zechariah 9:9, Rashi
Wow, this was beautiful. Aside from an inspiring message you also gave me a new author to look into. Thank you!
I believe the Rambam actually wrote that we all potentially have the mochiach inside us.