History is a funny thing- things which are truly world-changing rarely hinge on a single man and a single moment. Had Gavrilo Princip, for example, not pulled the fateful trigger that hot summer day in Sarajevo, World War I would have still happened, just triggered by something else. Bismarck had presciently observed, “One day the great European war will come out of some damn foolish thing in the Balkans,” and indeed the flow of events there was inexorable.
But here, I will tell of one of those moments that truly was sui generis, a huge change in the course of the world’s history, determined by one man and one moment. And it was one of the more outre incidents in the history of Jews, who represent a vanishingly small proportion of humanity.
Tisha B’Av is a day of mourning in Judaism, the traditional anniversary of the destruction of the first Temple in Jerusalem. As so often happens, its significance metastasized, and before too long, much in the manner of our national portmanteau of Washington and Lincoln’s birthdays, it became the anniversary of the destruction of the second Temple, the anniversary of the quashing of the Bar Kokhba revolt against the Romans, the anniversary of the Moses-era Israelites being barred from Canaan until their generation had died out, the anniversary of… well, you get the idea. Something bad happens to the Jews, it’s Tisha B’Av. Wanna bet that if Keith Ellison gets promoted to DNC Chairman, it will be on Tisha B’Av?
In any case, Tisha B’Av has an aura of portent. In the year 1626, on Tisha B’Av, a child was born to a former chicken salesman turned British agent in Smyrna (then Greece, later Turkey, then Roman, then Greece, then… anyway, now it’s Turkey) named Mordecai Zevi and his wife Clara. The child was named Sabbatai. As was the custom in the day, L’il Sab Zevi was sent to yeshiva for training in the Talmud (which to the Torah is analogous to case law to the constitution). L’il Sab was about as receptive to this training as I was when I was sent to yeshiva (i.e., not very), but unlike the young me, L’il Sab had a great affinity for the Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism.
As he grew into his teen years, he was married to an arranged bride. There’s no record of what she looked like, but one can only imagine, since they were granted a divorce because of non-consummation. I remind you that this was a teenage boy. So his parents tried again- same result. At this point, he likely came to the conclusion that his parents had no eye for a pretty Jewess and no further attempts in this direction were made.
Two more bits of superstition converged: the British concept of millenarianism fixing the date of the Second Coming at 1666 and the tortuous computations of Kabbalistic scholars that 1648 was the magic year (since you had to have a First Coming to qualify for a Second one, amiright?). Zevi, who no-one could accuse of lack of ambition, announced that he, in fact, was the long awaited Messiah. And he did so in a beautiful troll, the pronouncement of the Tetragrammaton in Hebrew, something only allowed to the High Priest in the (at that point non-existent) Temple. This caused him to be driven out of Smyrna, though some noted that he hadn’t been struck by holy lightning from above.
From Smyrna, Zevi next settled in Constantinople (not Istanbul) and apparently convinced the Kabbalah scholar Abraham ha-Yakini of his divinity. Ol’ Abe, once convinced, did two things to advance the narrative: first, he encouraged Zevi to really publicize his Messiahship. And second, in order to shore up Zevi’s claims, Abe forged some ancient documents which “predicted” that a guy named Sabbatai born in Smyrna would be the Messiah. Abe well understood viral marketing.
As part of the marketing, Abe convinced Zevi to decamp to Salonika, at that time a center for mystical Judaism. Zevi made a big splash there, setting up publicity stunts like marrying the Torah in a public ceremony. The local rabbis were not amused and Zevi found himself on the run. Exactly what his path was is unknown to us, but he ended up in Cairo, where he brought a rich fellow named Raphael Yusef Ḥalabi under his sway. Halabi is a familiar type to us, someone with more money than brains (his money was mulcted from the Turkish treasury, perhaps through the Halabi Foundation?) more than a bit of nuttiness. Halabi was the proverbial pigeon just waiting for the right guy to pluck him, and Zevi was definitely the right guy.
Well funded and with much publicity and buzz, Zevi thought that Cairo wasn’t the place to be for a Messiah, and moved himself to Jerusalem, a more fitting location. Mindful of the two towns who rode him out on a rail, Zevi was more low-profile this time around, but used the quietus to set up the dominos. He groomed himself as a personality, a celebrity, known for singing, religious performance (people were more easily entertained in those days), ostentatious worship, and yes, giving candy to the kids.
It did not escape Zevi’s notice that 1666 was rapidly approaching, so it was time to make his move. As usual in Progressive communities, a financial crisis reared its head in Jerusalem. Zevi said, “No worries, I got this,” and went back to Cairo to hit up his old sugar daddy, Halabi, for fundage. Halabi coughed up. I mean really, the Messiah asks you for money, you’re gonna say no? While he was back in Cairo, he spotted some jailbait named Sarah, who apparently was a hottie and a slut. Zevi sensed another marketing opportunity, as well as a way to drain the decades of back-up, and he married her. In fact, he married the hell out of her, and with high-profile trim at his side, his fame increased yet again. Every Jim Bakker needs a Jessica Hahn.
Zevi brought the riches and his 16 year old hottie back to Jerusalem and on the way, stopped in Gaza and met the man who would be the John the baptist to his Jesus. This fellow, by the name of Nathan of Gaza, styled himself as the reincarnation of Elijah and started proclaiming Zevi’s messiah-hood.
On Zevi’s arrival in J-town with the loot, he instantly became a celebrity, a savior of Jerusalem as it were. Having the trophy bride with him didn’t hurt. Not unexpectedly, Nathan’s proclamations and Zevi’s assent royally pissed off the Jerusalem rabbis and, you guessed it, Zevi found that discretion is the better part of valor and got out of Jerusalem more or less intact to head back to Smyrna.
His fame and his supporters preceded him. Traveling through Gaza, Aleppo (“What’s an aleppo?”), and finally Smyrna, Zevi picked up thousands of followers, and in Smyrna, modestly declared himself Messiah in a most public way. And just in time, it was 1665, only a year to go. Zevi was a sharp operator and very quickly became the boss of Smyrna, usurping the incumbent rabbinate and replacing them with his cronies. His following increased rapidly, with people getting rid of their possessions, and making the trek to Smyrna from all over Europe and Asia Minor. Even luminaries like Spinoza heard of this phenom and touted the return of the Jews to their restored kingdom.
This was serious shit and Zevi’s popularity was exploding. And when that happens, you know there will be a reaction from those already in power who could possibly feel threatened. Zevi had displaced important rabbis, declared that, with his coming, the rituals and obligations of rabbinic Judaism were ending, and that the rule of political authorities over Israel would soon be replaced by his spiritual authority. Zevi’s publicist released the following statement:
The first-begotten Son of God, Sabbatai Zevi, Messiah and Redeemer of the people of Israel, to all the sons of Israel, Peace! Since you have been deemed worthy to behold the great day and the fulfilment of God’s word by the Prophets, your lament and sorrow must be changed into joy, and your fasting into merriment; for you shall weep no more. Rejoice with song and melody, and change the day formerly spent in sadness and sorrow into a day of jubilee, because I have appeared.
This did not go unnoticed by the Sultan, who “suggested” that Zevi come to Constantinople (not Istanbul) to discuss the matter. This was aw-reet with Zevi, since he had prophesied that the Sultan would crown him by placing the Sultan’s own crown on his head, so off to Constantinople (not Istanbul) he went.
Now, you don’t get to be Sultan without having a streak of deviousness and ruthlessness, and this Sultan was no exception. Zevi landed in Constantinople (not Istanbul) and was almost instantly arrested. You don’t get to be a Messiah without similar deviousness, and through use of bribes, Zevi managed to get the country club treatment, and during that time, his publicists spread tales of miracles performed. Sort of the Streisand Effect- trying to suppress him only made him bigger. Zevi milked the publicity by continuing to troll in a high profile way (for example, a very public violation of the Paschal sacrifice).
At this point, the Sultan thought, “Enough.” He had been tipped off about Zevi’s viral marketing and decided to do a bit of a high profile troll himself. Zevi was brought to him in a very public manner, and when he arrived at the Court, it was filled with what passed for VIPs and the media in those days.
“Zevi,” said the Sultan, “I’m giving you a choice here. You can put a turban (not mine!) on your head symbolizing your conversion to Islam. Or we could bypass all that and just take off your head. Which is it?”
Now here is that moment. If Zevi had decided to sacrifice himself, he would be, in the words of John Lennon, bigger than Jesus. He would be martyred, sacrifice himself for the world, spawn resurrection stories, and be the founder of what could be the world’s biggest religion, supplanting much of Christianity and Islam. One man, one moment.
And the fact that we’re not surrounded by Zevi-ists and that he’s not exactly a household name in the 21st century kinda gives away what he chose. Zevi, always looking out for Zevi, decided that maybe the turban would be a good look for him. He kept his head on his shoulders, and was “retired.” He of course spread the rumor that this was all part of the plan, but his career was over, his followers were disgraced, and the sultan was barely talked out of killing all the Jews just to prevent any more of this nonsense. Zevi was eventually banished to Albania, where he died shortly after from causes that are lost in the same obscurity where Zevi ended.
One man. One moment. If the choice had been martyrdom, every football player who scored a touchdown would be making beheading gestures instead of the sign of the cross.
