REVIEW: Kabbalah and the Rupture of Modernity

Eli Rubin, Kabbalah and the Rupture of Modernity: An Existential History of Chabad Hasidism (Stanford University Press, 2025), 446 pp.

In 1910, Hillel Zeitlin, a Hasid turned writer and poet, published his introduction to fundamentals of Hasidic thought. In it he explained the kabbalistic concept of tzimtzum or “divine contraction” developed by the sixteenth-century Kabbalist, R. Isaac Luria. Luria pondered the conflict between divine omnipresence and eminence, on one hand, and how this could allow for what we experience as existence, on the other. To simplify a working understanding, a paradox bothered the kabbalists, especially R. Yitzhak Luria. If God’s presence permeated all of existence, then the Divine left no room for anything else. To facilitate creation, God withdrew the divine presence, creating a sort of void in the fabric of existence, whether metaphorically or literally. Within this hole, divine light was either introduced or a vestige remained. From this piercing light, what humans recognize as reality was formed. Many elements of this description are subject to debate and interpretation in the various kabbalistic schools.

Zeitlin described the Hasidic interpretation of Luria’s notion this way:

Tzimtzum is only from our point of view, that of the receivers, the created. Tzimtzum exists only in thought…. The act of cosmic illusion … tzimtzum is nothing other than the imaging forth of being, the act by which it became possible for being itself to appear as a distinct entity, separate from God” [see Arthur Green, A New Hasidism: Roots (Jewish Publication Society, 2019), 38–39].

Here, reality itself is rendered illusory—it has been created by God to allow for the illusion of independent existence. This idea, often described as “acosmism,” bears affinity to pantheistic or panentheistic notions. Zeitlin’s view, deeply influenced by Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi’s Tanya, shaped his understanding of Hasidism as both mystical and existential.

Eli Rubin’s Kabbalah and the Rupture of Modernity is a major scholarly achievement that revisits and reframes these foundational ideas. Rubin—a Chabad Hasid and contributing editor at Chabad.org, with a Ph.D. from University College London—embodies a hybrid role as insider and objective scholar. He brings academic rigor to Chabad thought while remaining deeply embedded in the tradition he studies. This dual perspective allows him to write with exceptional sensitivity and authority.

Structured into five parts—“Being as Rupture,” “Being as Nothing,” “Being as Infinity,” “Being as Innovation,” and “Being as Humanity”—the book traces the theological and historical development of Chabad from the eighteenth century to the present. Rubin covers the foundational writings of the movement’s founder, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi, through the teachings of the seventh and final Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson. His experience writing for popular audiences enables him to convey complex ideas in a generally clear, digestible fashion. Similarly helpful is his bookending of the entire work and of each section with introductions and conclusions, and defining terms for less academically inclined audiences. Kabbalah and the Rupture of Modernity succeeds in simultaneously speaking to novice and professional scholars.

The scope is breathtaking. Rubin traverses subjects ranging from Lurianic Kabbalah and Cartesian dualism to Hasidic politics, the Vilna Gaon, Freudian psychoanalysis, Wissenschaft des Judentums, postmodernism, social and feminist history, and even modern art. The book’s greatest strength lies in the author’s close readings of Chabad texts, particularly the Tanya, and the writings and theological innovations of successive Rebbes. A remarkable sensitivity to literary form and historical context complements his philological precision. Rubin delivers for readers who want to understand how to read Chabad works, view them in historical context, and understand the authors’ personalities.

One of Rubin’s most provocative claims is that Lurianic Kabbalah and seventeenth-century philosophy addressed similar metaphysical problems. What is radical here is that early modern philosophy developed by thinkers such as René Descartes (1596–1650), known for “I think, therefore I am,” and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (1646–1716), sought to ground human knowledge in rational principles rather than inherited authority or religious dogma. When they were influenced by prior religious structures, one might have thought Jewish influence was insignificant.

Building on the pioneering research on the intersection of philosophy and religion in that period by University of California Davis professor emerita Allison Coudert, Rubin writes:

The dialectical resonance between Lurianism and Cartesianism upends the lazy assumption that modernity and disenchantment are synonymous. Coudert reminds us that “even the most apparently rational of seventeenth-century intellectuals, such as Newton, Descartes, Spinoza, and Leibniz, turned variously to the Scriptures, prophecy, mystical or occult texts … in formulating and supporting their theories.” Indeed, Lurianic Kabbalah was part and parcel of philosophic and scientific discourse throughout this formative period” (12).

Here, Rubin claims that major non-Jewish philosophers were influenced not only by the questions addressed by R. Luria but even by Lurianic formulations. Skeptical at first, I found Rubin’s argument surprisingly compelling. His historical account of Anne Conway (1631–1679) —who bridged Lurianism and Cambridge Platonism through her debates with her teachers Henry More and Francis Mercury van Helmont—is one of several episodes demonstrating Kabbalah’s unexpected influence on early modern Western thought.

The title page of [Conway’s] posthumously published treatise, The Principles of the Most Modern and Ancient Philosophy, proclaimed that it drew on the “Ancient Philosophy of the Hebrews” to resolve “all those Problems or Difficulties, which neither by the School nor Common Modern Philosophy, nor by the Cartesian, Hobbesian, or Spinosian could be discussed.”… Conway’s biographer, Sarah Hutton, has written that her Principles should be read as a “philosophical interpretation, if not defense, of kabbalah” (12).

Rubin argues that the later Hasidic debates about the nature of tzimtzum – should God’s removal of essence be taken literally or not – seems to have been a question debated by seventeenth century Christian philosophers and informed subsequent intellectual trends. In the subsequent discussion, Rubin attempts to flesh out how the ideas of various thinkers, such as Conway and Cambridge Platonist Henry More and Conway, dovetail with the same debates within schools of Kabbalah.

Ttzimtum lies at the heart of Rubin’s discourse. He devotes sustained attention to the doctrine in Chabad and its philosophical echoes in Spinoza. He notes:

The question of whether God exists, and the question as to whether the world exists, might usually be treated separately. But in the reception of the teachings of Hasidism, and also in the reception of Spinoza’s philosophy, these questions became dependent on one another. If God exists infinitely, then perhaps nothing else can exist at all? This line of thought might lead to acosmism, the conclusion that the world isn’t real. If the physical world—or universe—truly exists, perhaps all that exists is circumscribed within its materiality? This line of thought might lead to atheism.

Acosmism, in fact, is a term that [philosopher Solomon] Maimon coined to underscore his contention that Baruch Spinoza was the very opposite of an atheist. “The atheistic system,” Maimon wrote, “denies the existence of God; Spinoza’s denies the existence of the world. Thus, it should really be called acosmic” (49–50).

He ultimately argues that Chabad theology affirms the reality of the world, and hence is not “acosmic” even though the divine source of that reality remains hidden:

A systematic reading of early Chabad literature, including the words of [R, Shneur Zalman] himself and those of his immediate disciples and successors, yields the unequivocal conclusion that he believed the world to be real. To the degree that divinity is unfolded within the world, and to the degree that the world is enfolded within the divine, the world is existentially effaced. But this should not be mistaken for the effacement of the world’s existence. [Tzimtzum] likewise, is not illusory, but rather creates the illusion of divine transcendence or absence, which is itself the ontological basis for a world in which God’s inherent presence is obscured (103).

Rubin’s point is that Chabad theologians consistently believed that the material world as experienced is real. While some accused Chabad as denying – and hence devaluating the meaning of actions in the experienced world – he argues that this is a gross misreading of Chabad texts.

Rubin readily acknowledges textual ambiguity and the long-standing confusion among scholars has led to the misinterpretation of Chabad theology, yet he insists that a systematic reading of the corpus supports his interpretation that the material world and activities which take place in human experience are very much “real” and significant:

Admittedly, only a few texts make this conclusion [that what humans experience as real is indeed valid and real] explicit, a point that can hardly be dismissed as insignificant. Indeed, many scholars who perused the early Chabad corpus concluded that acosmism is inescapable. At the very least, we must acknowledge that there is not only complexity at play but also ambiguity (103).

Rubin discusses this ambiguity throughout the work, which he argues understandably creates confusion.

Rubin’s methodology weaves together close textual analysis, manuscript study, and broader philosophical reflection. The chapter on Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson is demonstrative of Rubin’s approach throughout the book. He contends that R. Schneeson’s exposure to Wissenschaft des Judentums during his time in Berlin, particularly through figures like Rabbi Chaim Heller and Alexander Altmann, informed his methodical and scholarly approach to Jewish thought. Rubin writes:

Orthodox rabbinical scholars were applying modern techniques of research and knowledge production including the critical apparatus of footnotes, indexes, and bibliographies—crafting a Wissenschaft des Judentums of their own. Wide-ranging analysis across large textual corpora could provide the basis for encyclopedic works or yield ambitious new theorizations, marked by clearly defined categorical schema [R. Schneerson] clearly appreciated the value of these techniques, and would develop them himself within the Chabad context. Beginning in the 1930s, he wrote terse notes tracing the sources of [the] Tanya, and also created the first indexes and bibliographies of classical Chabad texts. Beginning in the 1940s, as editor-in-chief of Kehot, he would integrate these modern features into the official publications of Chabad (242–243).

Here Rubin sees R. Schneerson as a pivotal figure in Chabad’s modern intellectual evolution, harmonizing traditional mystical teaching with modern academic methods. One senses that Rubin views the Rebbe as a forerunner to his own academic synthesis.

Rubin’s historical accounts of succession disputes and the evolving personalities of other Chabad leaders give background to the theological. He does not treat later Rebbes as mere custodians of tradition, but as original thinkers. The entire book is organized on the two foci of history and theology. This approach allows the reader to see how, in Rubin’s presentation, the historical backdrop influences aspects of theology.

The elegant and gripping prose in these sections reads almost novel-like:

The story of Chabad in the second half of the nineteenth century opens with a tale of two brothers [Yehudah Leib and Shmuel Schneersohn]. As brothers, they shared the same storied pedigree: they were great-grandsons of [R. Shneur Zalman], grandsons of Rabbi DovBer, and beloved sons of [the Tzemah Tzedek]. Yet they were as different from one another as it is possible for two brothers to be (111).

His treatment of internal splits is both theologically and historically rich offering the reader deep insight into the personalities of various rabbis. The book is thus both a theological odyssey and a work of institutional history.

Rubin’s admiration for the many scholars on whose shoulder’s he stands, such as Elliot Wolfson and fellow insider-academic Naftali Loewenthal, is evident. And yet, he is bold—even defiant—in his critique of those with whom he disagrees. He challenges Gershom Scholem, Moshe Idel, Rachel Elior, Dov Schwartz, and especially Samuel Heilman and Menachem Friedman, whose biographical claims about the Rebbe he finds reductive:

Some would be biographers of [R. Schneerson] have pointed to his Parisian period—together with his earlier stint at Berlin’s Friedrich Wilhelm University—as evidence of his detachment from his father-in-law’s activities, and from the Chabad community as a whole. On this score, they portray his eventual emergence as [his father-in-law’s] successor as something of a surprise. “By 1951,” [Heilman and Friedman] write, the “would be French engineer and student … would be reinvented and remade.” This assessment, however, can only be upheld if [the Rebbe’s] correspondence and personal notebooks from this period are ignored (241).

Rubin’s willingness to correct even towering figures in the field is a testament to his scholarly confidence, but it occasionally, as the above quote suggests, borders on partisanship. To be sure, there are moments when Rubin’s passion for Chabad colors his scholarly detachment. Still, these moments are rare and do not detract from the overall brilliance of the work.

In sum, Kabbalah and the Rupture of Modernity is among the most insightful and original contributions to the study of Hasidism I have read. It deepens our understanding of Chabad’s intellectual trajectory while offering a compelling model for integrating religious commitment with academic rigor. For scholars of Jewish mysticism, theology, and modern religion, or anyone interested in deepening his or her understanding and appreciation for the profound theology and history of Chabad, Rubin’s work is essential reading.

Rabbi Todd Berman is the Director of Institutional Advancement at Yeshivat Eretz HaTzvi where he teaches Jewish Thought and Halakha.