Who Is Yeshua to Me?

Messiah, Rabbi, Tzaddik and Redeemer

After explaining why I do not identify Yeshua as the God of Israel, another question naturally follows, and perhaps it is the more important question: If I do not call Yeshua God, then who exactly is Yeshua to me? Within much of Christianity, we are often presented with what I believe is a false choice. Either Yeshua must be identified as God Himself, or he must be reduced to nothing more than an ordinary rabbi, prophet, or religious teacher who lived approximately two thousand years ago. I do not believe Scripture forces us into either of these extremes, nor do I believe that rejecting the identification of Yeshua as the God of Israel requires us to diminish the extraordinary position Scripture gives him.

My refusal to identify Yeshua as God does not diminish my devotion to him. I believe Yeshua is the promised Messiah of Israel, the righteous servant through whom God accomplished redemption, the prophet whom Israel was commanded to hear, and the Rabbi whose teachings continue to shape the way I understand Torah, repentance, righteousness, mercy, justice, and the Kingdom of God. I do not worship Yeshua as the God of Israel because Yeshua himself worshiped the God of Israel, prayed to Him, submitted himself to Him, received authority from Him, and repeatedly referred to Him as “my God.” Nevertheless, I follow Yeshua as my Rabbi, I was immersed in his name as an expression of identification with him and commitment to his way, I pray to the Father in his name, I believe God raised him from the dead and exalted him, and I believe his suffering and death became part of God's redemptive work for Israel and ultimately for humanity. None of these convictions require me to transform Yeshua into God. They require me to recognize the extraordinary position that the God of Israel gave His Messiah.

Yeshua Is My Rabbi

Long before Christianity developed complicated theological systems concerning the metaphysical nature of Messiah, Yeshua walked through the villages and cities of Israel teaching Torah. His disciples called him Rabbi, traveled with him, listened to his interpretation of Scripture, asked him questions concerning Torah and halakhah, ate with him, observed his conduct, memorized his teachings, and attempted to imitate his way of life. The relationship presented in the Gospels is recognizably Jewish: there is a teacher and there are disciples who attach themselves to that teacher because they believe that walking with him will teach them how to walk faithfully before God.

When Yeshua therefore says, “Follow me,” I hear something much greater than an invitation to accept theological propositions concerning his nature. I hear the invitation of a Jewish Rabbi calling disciples to walk according to his interpretation of the ways of God. This is why, for me, following Yeshua means listening when he teaches about forgiveness, prayer, Torah, justice, mercy, hypocrisy, wealth, marriage, the poor, repentance, love of neighbor, and the Kingdom of Heaven. If I spend my entire life defending theological statements about Yeshua while ignoring the things Yeshua actually taught, I have misunderstood the meaning of discipleship. A disciple is not merely someone who believes something about his Rabbi; a disciple is someone who attempts to become like his Rabbi by learning and practicing his way.

For that reason, when someone asks me who Yeshua is to me, one of my simplest answers is also one of my most meaningful: Yeshua is my Rabbi. I follow his teachings because I believe he was sent by the God of Israel, and I attempt to order my life according to the path he taught.

I Entered the Waters in His Name

My immersion in the name of Yeshua is another important expression of this discipleship, but it should also be understood within its Jewish environment. Immersion did not originate with Christianity. Mikveh belongs to the Jewish world in which Yeshua and his earliest disciples lived, and ritual immersion served various purposes involving purification, restoration of ritual status, transition, and eventually conversion. Archaeological remains throughout Judea testify to the widespread importance of ritual immersion during the Second Temple period, while later rabbinic literature demonstrates how immersion could become associated with a profound transition in a person's covenantal identity.

The discussion preserved in Yevamot 47b, for example, describes the process surrounding a convert who accepts the commandments and enters the waters of immersion. After the immersion is completed, the Gemara describes that person as being “like an Israelite in every respect.” The point is not that Yevamot teaches baptism in the name of a rabbi, because it does not, and we should never force a later rabbinic text to say something that it does not say. The importance of the passage is that immersion could function within Judaism as a visible transition from one status into another, providing a Jewish conceptual background that helps us understand why immersion became so significant within the earliest community of Yeshua's disciples.

When I entered the waters in Yeshua's name, therefore, I did not understand myself to be declaring that Yeshua was God. I understood myself to be publicly identifying with the Messiah and committing myself to his way. My immersion represented allegiance, repentance, discipleship, and entrance into a life shaped by his teachings. I was declaring that I accepted Yeshua as Messiah, that I accepted his proclamation concerning the Kingdom, and that I desired to walk as one of his disciples. The water did not transform Yeshua into God, nor did my immersion represent worship of Yeshua as the Creator. It represented my identification with the Messiah whom I believe the Creator sent.

The Prophet Whom Moses Said We Must Hear

Another category central to my understanding of Yeshua comes directly from Torah. Moses tells Israel in Deuteronomy 18:15 that “the LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brothers. You shall listen to him.” A few verses later, God explains the nature of this prophet's mission by saying, “I will raise up for them a prophet like you from among their brothers. And I will put My words in his mouth, and he shall speak to them all that I command him” (Deuteronomy 18:18).

The relationship described in this passage is extremely important to me because God remains the source of the message while the prophet becomes the faithful bearer of that message. God places His words in the prophet's mouth, and the prophet speaks what God commands. This sounds remarkably similar to the language Yeshua uses concerning himself when he says, “My teaching is not mine, but His who sent me” (John 7:16), and again when he declares, “I have not spoken on my own authority, but the Father who sent me has Himself given me a commandment, what to say and what to speak” (John 12:49).

The book of Acts explicitly applies Moses' prophecy to Yeshua in Acts 3:22 to 23, although traditional Jewish commentators naturally do not interpret Deuteronomy 18 as a prophecy specifically concerning Yeshua. Rashi understands the promise within the context of prophets arising from among Israel's own people, while Ibn Ezra emphasizes the genuine prophet sent by God in contrast with the diviners and practitioners of forbidden arts mentioned immediately before this passage. I consider that distinction important because I am not interested in pretending that Rashi or Ibn Ezra secretly believed in Yeshua.

My Messianic interpretation comes from reading Torah together with the apostolic testimony, which identifies Yeshua with the promised prophetic figure. Torah establishes the category of a prophet who receives God's words and whom Israel must hear, and I believe Yeshua fulfills that role in an extraordinary and final way.

Praying in His Name Without Making Him God

If I do not believe Yeshua is God, someone may reasonably ask why I pray in his name or describe him as an intercessor. My answer begins with Yeshua's own teaching concerning prayer because Yeshua taught his disciples to address “Our Father in heaven.” My prayers are ultimately directed toward the Father, the God of Israel. When I pray in Yeshua's name, I understand myself to be approaching God through the authority, merit, and messianic position of the one whom God appointed.

The concept of asking another righteous person or heavenly being to intercede is not unknown within Judaism, although Jewish authorities have disagreed strongly concerning the boundaries of such practices. One remarkable example appears in Sotah 34b, where the Gemara explains the singular wording concerning Caleb's journey to Hebron by saying that Caleb separated himself from the other spies and went to the graves of the patriarchs. According to Rava, Caleb addressed them with the words, “My fathers, pray for mercy for me that I may be saved from the counsel of the spies.” This is an extraordinary rabbinic tradition because Caleb is portrayed as requesting the intercession of deceased righteous men. Sotah 34b on Sefaria

Taanit 16a preserves another relevant discussion concerning why Jews went to a cemetery during a communal fast. Rabbi Levi bar Hama and Rabbi Hanina offer different explanations. According to one interpretation, the cemetery reminds the people that they are like the dead before God and should therefore humble themselves and repent. According to the other, the purpose is that the deceased should request mercy on behalf of the living. Once again, we encounter a Jewish text in which the righteous dead can be conceived as interceding for the living. Taanit 16a on Sefaria

None of this means that Judaism unanimously endorses prayers directed toward the dead. Deuteronomy 18:11 prohibits consulting the dead, and Jewish authorities have debated the boundary between asking a tzaddik to intercede and improperly treating the deceased as an independent spiritual power. Later Hasidic traditions, including some Chabad teachings, defend requesting the intercession of a departed tzaddik while insisting that the tzaddik is not being worshiped and possesses no power independently of God. Other Jewish authorities have been uncomfortable with such practices precisely because they fear that the distinction can become blurred.

The same theological tension appears in the familiar Friday evening song Shalom Aleichem, where generations of Jews have sung, “Barchuni l'shalom, malachei hashalom,” meaning, “Bless me with peace, angels of peace.” The angels are directly addressed and asked for blessing, yet the Jews singing those words certainly do not believe that the angels are the God of Israel. Some rabbinic authorities have nevertheless objected to such language because they believe requests should be directed only to God. This disagreement is useful because it demonstrates that Judaism itself has wrestled with distinctions between worship, mediation, intercession, and requests for blessing.

My own practice regarding Yeshua is straightforward. I pray ultimately to the Father, but I pray in the name of His Messiah. I do not need to believe that Yeshua is God in order to believe that the Messiah can intercede before God, just as the existence of intercessory categories elsewhere in Jewish tradition does not transform angels, patriarchs, or tzaddikim into God.

Yeshua as the Tzaddik

Another Jewish category deeply shapes my understanding of Yeshua, and that is the category of the tzaddik, the righteous one. The apostolic writings repeatedly present Yeshua as righteous, faithful, obedient, and innocent in suffering, which naturally brings us to one of the most disputed passages in the entire Tanakh, Isaiah 52:13 through Isaiah 53. Isaiah describes a servant who suffers in connection with the sins of others, declaring that “he was wounded for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities,” and later describing him as “My righteous servant” who will “justify many” and “bear their iniquities” (Isaiah 53:5, 11).

Christian interpreters commonly read this passage as an obvious prophecy concerning Yeshua, while Jewish interpretation is considerably more complicated. Some Jewish sources identify the servant with Messiah, while others identify the servant collectively with Israel or particularly with the righteous among Israel. An honest Messianic discussion must acknowledge both traditions rather than selectively quoting Jewish literature as though all rabbis agreed with us.

One particularly important witness is Targum Jonathan, the ancient Aramaic interpretive translation of the Prophets. Isaiah 52:13 begins in Hebrew with “Behold, My servant shall prosper,” but the Targum makes the identity of the servant explicit by rendering the expression as “Behold, My servant the Messiah shall prosper.” The Aramaic expression is “ha yatzlach avdi Meshicha,” explicitly identifying the servant as Messiah. Targum Jonathan on Isaiah 52:13

This does not mean that Targum Jonathan interprets every subsequent verse exactly as Christianity later did. As the Targum proceeds through Isaiah 53, some of the suffering imagery is redistributed and interpreted in relation to Israel and the nations. We therefore should not claim that Targum Jonathan gives us a Christian interpretation of Isaiah 53. What it does demonstrate beyond reasonable dispute is that identifying the servant at the beginning of this passage with Messiah existed within Jewish interpretation.

Rashi, writing centuries later, takes a different position and interprets the servant collectively in connection with Jacob and the righteous of Israel. This difference is valuable because it demonstrates precisely why saying “the rabbis interpreted Isaiah 53 as Messiah” without qualification would be misleading. Some Jewish traditions applied the passage messianically, while other influential Jewish interpreters understood it corporately. Rashi on Isaiah 52:13

Sanhedrin 98b and a Suffering Messiah

The Babylonian Talmud provides another significant piece of evidence in Sanhedrin 98b. During a discussion concerning the identity and name of Messiah, different rabbinic schools propose different names and support them through biblical verses. Within that discussion, Isaiah 53:4 is quoted concerning Messiah: “Surely he has borne our illnesses and carried our pains, yet we considered him stricken, struck by God and afflicted.”

The importance of Sanhedrin 98b is not that the rabbis believed Yeshua was Messiah, because obviously they did not. Its importance is that rabbis discussing Messiah considered the suffering language of Isaiah 53 appropriate language with which to describe him. Therefore, the association between Messiah and Isaiah's suffering figure cannot simply be dismissed as a concept invented outside Judaism. The Babylonian Talmud itself preserves such an association. Sanhedrin 98b on Sefaria

Later Jewish Midrash becomes even more striking. Pesikta Rabbati, particularly the material surrounding chapters 34 through 37, develops traditions concerning Ephraim, the Messiah of righteousness, who accepts extraordinary suffering associated with the sins and redemption of Israel. In this tradition, Messiah willingly accepts the suffering that will come upon him so that Israel will not be destroyed, and the imagery eventually includes intense physical suffering connected with biblical texts such as Psalm 22. We should again resist the temptation to pretend that Pesikta Rabbati is secretly telling the story of Yeshua. It is later Jewish Midrash with its own historical and theological context. Nevertheless, it demonstrates that Jewish imagination could conceive of a righteous Messiah voluntarily suffering in connection with the sins and redemption of Israel. Pesikta Rabbati 36 on Sefaria

Messiah Ben Yosef and the Possibility of a Dying Messiah

Another remarkable tradition appears in Sukkah 52a, where the Gemara discusses the great mourning described by Zechariah. Rabbi Dosa and the other sages disagree concerning the cause of the mourning. According to one interpretation, the mourning is for “Mashiach ben Yosef she'neherag,” Messiah ben Yosef who was killed, while another interpretation associates the mourning with the destruction of the evil inclination.

The existence of the disagreement is itself significant. The Talmud preserves as a legitimate rabbinic interpretation the possibility that Zechariah's pierced and mourned figure is a messianic figure who has been killed. This certainly does not prove the claims of the New Testament, nor should it be used dishonestly as though the rabbis were describing Yeshua. It does, however, demonstrate that the categorical statement sometimes made in Jewish polemics that “Judaism has no concept of a Messiah who dies” is historically too broad. Rabbinic Judaism unquestionably preserves a tradition concerning a Messiah ben Yosef who is killed. Sukkah 52a on Sefaria

Can the Death of a Tzaddik Bring Atonement?

This brings me to one of the most important questions in my understanding of Yeshua. If I believe that Yeshua died as the righteous Messiah and that his death became part of God's work of redemption, have I adopted a concept completely foreign to Judaism? The Babylonian Talmud contains a statement that deserves considerably more attention in this discussion.

In Moed Katan 28a, Rabbi Ami asks why the Torah places the account of Miriam's death next to the passage concerning the red heifer. His answer is expressed through a rabbinic comparison: just as the red heifer brings atonement, so the death of the righteous brings atonement. Rabbi Elazar then makes a similar observation concerning the placement of Aaron's death near the discussion of the priestly garments, reasoning that just as the priestly garments bring atonement, so does the death of the righteous.

The Hebrew expression underlying the teaching is:

מיתתן של צדיקים מכפרת

Mitatan shel tzaddikim mechaperet.

“The death of the righteous atones.”

This is not a statement from Paul, the Gospel of John, the book of Hebrews, or a later Christian theologian. It is a rabbinic principle preserved in the Gemara of the Babylonian Talmud. It should also be identified correctly: this saying is not from the Mishnah itself, but from the later Gemara discussion that together with the Mishnah constitutes the Talmud. Moed Katan 28a on Sefaria

The rabbis arrive at this principle through the juxtaposition of biblical passages, and therefore we should not simply import the entire Christian doctrine of substitutionary atonement into their words. Nevertheless, neither should we weaken what the rabbis actually say. They explicitly connect the death of righteous individuals with kapparah, atonement. This means that the basic theological category in which the death of a tzaddik possesses atoning significance for others exists within rabbinic Judaism itself.

The Zohar and Atonement for a Generation

The Zohar later develops this idea even further. In its discussion of Acharei Mot, it connects the deaths of righteous individuals with atonement and uses language to the effect that the death of the righteous atones for the sins of the generation. The discussion is associated with the deaths of Aaron's sons and their remembrance in the context of Yom Kippur, producing a mystical interpretation in which the suffering and death of the righteous can possess significance extending beyond the individual who died. Zohar, Acharei Mot on Sefaria

The Zohar is medieval Jewish mystical literature and should never be represented as though it were part of the Mishnah or the earliest rabbinic period. Nevertheless, it demonstrates the continuing development of an idea already present in the Babylonian Talmud. Jewish tradition possessed theological categories in which the death of righteous people could have atoning significance for others, even for an entire generation.

This does not mean that Judaism and Christianity developed identical doctrines of atonement, nor does it mean that the rabbis would have accepted the Christian explanation of Yeshua's death. It means something more precise and historically defensible: the proposition that “the death of a righteous person can bring atonement” is not intrinsically foreign to Jewish thought because Jewish sages themselves used that language.

Atonement Does Not Turn the Tzaddik Into God

This distinction is crucial to my understanding of Yeshua because atonement does not transform the righteous person into God. Miriam's death can be associated with atonement without Miriam becoming God, Aaron's death can be associated with atonement without Aaron becoming God, the righteous can intercede without becoming God, a prophet can speak God's words without becoming God, and a Messiah can suffer for Israel without becoming God. Therefore, if I believe that the death of Yeshua the Tzaddik accomplished redemption, the necessary conclusion is not that God Himself died. My conclusion is that God's righteous Messiah died and that God, in His sovereignty and mercy, accepted the faithfulness and suffering of His Messiah within His redemptive purpose.

For me, Isaiah's righteous servant, the Talmudic principle that the death of the righteous atones, the rabbinic traditions concerning a suffering Messiah, and the apostolic testimony concerning Yeshua belong within a larger Jewish theological world in which God can accomplish extraordinary things through His chosen representatives without those representatives becoming God Himself. God remains the source of redemption, while Yeshua is the righteous servant through whom I believe God accomplished that redemption.

A Promise Fulfilled

This is ultimately who Yeshua is to me. He is not another god beside the God of Israel, nor is he a replacement for the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He is the Messiah through whom I have come to understand and follow that God more deeply. Yeshua is my Rabbi because I follow his teachings and attempt to order my life according to his interpretation of righteousness and the Kingdom. He is the promised prophet because I believe the apostolic witness correctly identifies him with the prophet whom Moses said Israel must hear. He is the Messiah because I believe the hopes scattered throughout Torah, Prophets, and Writings find their fulfillment in him. He is the Tzaddik because I believe he remained faithful to God through suffering and death, and he is my intercessor because I approach the Father in his name while recognizing that the concept of righteous intercession has genuine precedents within Jewish tradition.

I believe his death is redemptive because I believe God accepted the suffering of His righteous Messiah within His work of reconciliation and redemption, and I do not need to remove that belief from its Jewish environment when the Babylonian Talmud itself can speak of the death of the righteous bringing atonement, when Sanhedrin can apply Isaiah's suffering language to Messiah, when Pesikta Rabbati can imagine Messiah suffering in connection with Israel's sins, when Sukkah can preserve a tradition concerning Messiah ben Yosef being killed, and when the Zohar can speak of the death of the righteous atoning for the sins of a generation. None of these sources proves Yeshua is Messiah, and I would never claim that they do. What they demonstrate is that the theological categories through which I understand Yeshua are far more Jewish than many people have been led to believe.

I believe the God of Israel raised Yeshua from the dead, exalted him, appointed him, gave him authority, and commanded us to listen to him. None of this requires me to address Yeshua as the God of Israel. When I pray, my prayer ultimately rises to the God of Israel, and when I worship, I worship the God of Israel. When I recite the Shema, I confess that the God of Israel is One, and when I speak of Yeshua, I confess him as the promised Messiah whom that One God sent.

The distinction does not weaken my faith in Yeshua; it defines it. I do not need Yeshua to be God in order for him to be my Messiah, nor do I need him to be God in order to follow his teachings, to have entered the waters in his name, to pray to the Father through his name, or to believe that God worked through his suffering and death to accomplish redemption. What I need Yeshua to be is what I believe God promised: my Rabbi, the prophet whom we must hear, the righteous Tzaddik, the suffering servant, the risen Messiah, and the one whom the God of Israel sent.

For me, Yeshua is not another God. He is the promised Messiah of the One God of Israel, and that is more than enough.

Primary Jewish Sources and References

The primary biblical foundation for the prophet like Moses is Deuteronomy 18:15 to 19, with the apostolic identification appearing in Acts 3:22 to 23. Traditional Jewish commentary should be consulted alongside this interpretation because Rashi and Ibn Ezra do not identify this prophet specifically with Yeshua.

The Jewish background of immersion and conversion is discussed extensively in Yevamot 46a through 47b, with Yevamot 47b describing the status of the convert following immersion.

The tradition of Caleb requesting the patriarchs to intercede appears in Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 34b. The discussion concerning the deceased requesting mercy for the living appears in Babylonian Talmud, Taanit 16a.

The Messianic identification at the beginning of Isaiah's servant passage appears explicitly in Targum Jonathan on Isaiah 52:13, while Rashi on Isaiah 52:13 provides an important contrasting interpretation identifying the servant collectively with Israel or the righteous of Israel.

The application of Isaiah 53:4 to Messiah appears in Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 98b. Traditions concerning the suffering of Ephraim, the Messiah of righteousness, are preserved in Pesikta Rabbati 34 through 37. The tradition concerning Messiah ben Yosef being killed appears in Babylonian Talmud, Sukkah 52a, within a dispute concerning the interpretation of Zechariah 12.

The explicit rabbinic principle that “the death of the righteous atones,” מיתתן של צדיקים מכפרת, appears in Babylonian Talmud, Moed Katan 28a, in connection with the deaths of Miriam and Aaron. The later mystical development of the principle that the death of the righteous can atone for the sins of a generation appears in the Zohar's discussion of Acharei Mot.

These sources do not demonstrate that the rabbis believed in Yeshua, nor should they ever be represented that way. They demonstrate something historically different and, for my argument, extremely important: the Jewish world possesses categories for a suffering Messiah, a dying messianic figure, righteous intercession, immersion marking transformation, and the death of a tzaddik possessing atoning significance. My belief in Yeshua therefore does not require me to abandon Jewish theological categories in order to explain who I believe him to be.