Unexpected Messengers
Is there prophecy today?
In this week’s Torah portion of Re’eh, we are warned against believing a false prophet.
At first glance, the warning seems almost irrelevant. Who among us has ever personally met a prophet, whether false or real? It would seem that prophecy belongs to another age. We are far more likely to encounter financial advisors and podcasters, than fortune tellers and visionaries. We live in an age of self-appointed experts, influencers, commentators, and gurus of all sorts.
We have never had more voices competing for our attention. We are surrounded by so many people that claim to possess a secret we seek, claiming to know what everyone else has missed.
This touches upon one of the deepest sources of anxiety for modern man: Not whether God speaks, but whether we still know how to recognize His voice if He does. If someone in this world is truly speaking for God, how would we even know it?
Before we can recognize a false prophet, we must first know what a true prophet looks like.
So just what is prophecy?
The prophet is a human being who has refined himself so completely that he becomes a transparent vessel for the Divine will. His own ambitions, fears, prejudices and desires no longer cloud his vision. Through him, Heaven speaks to earth.
Most people imagine prophecy as the ability to predict the future. The Torah presents something altogether different. A prophet is not primarily one who sees tomorrow. A prophet is one who sees the reality of today, unfiltered.
This is why our sages describe prophecy as the highest level of intimacy between God and man. It was never magic or mysticism. It about a real relationship.
According to Torah tradition, prophecy demanded extraordinary preparation. Wisdom. Moral refinement. Humility. Joy. A life immersed in living righteously. Entire generations devoted themselves to this sacred discipline. There were even special schools in ancient Israel where students trained under established prophets, hoping that one day they might become worthy of receiving the Divine spirit.
And then...the Temple was destroyed.
Silence.
The prophets disappeared. The voice that had guided Israel for centuries fell quiet.
Or did it?
The Talmud makes a statement so surprising that it almost sounds like a riddle:
“From the day the Temple was destroyed, prophecy was given to children and fools.”
What could this possibly mean? Surely our sages are not suggesting that children became prophets. Nor are they recommending that we seek esoteric wisdom from fools.
They are inviting us to rethink what it means to hear the voice of God.
Children possess something most adults spend a lifetime working to lose. They have not yet learned how to edit reality to please others. They speak before calculating the risks. They ask the questions everyone else has stopped asking. Sometimes they notice the obvious truth that every sophisticated adult takes great care to ignore.
And the fool? Perhaps not the fool we imagine. Perhaps the one who is foolish enough to tell the truth. Foolish enough to refuse to parrot the comfortable lie. Foolish enough to point at the emperor and quietly observe that he has no clothes.
Both groups – children, and marginal people whom society brands as ‘fools’ – say things as they see them. They have no filter, no sense that what is acceptable in society has to be politically correct, and in line with popular thinking.
Children, in their innocence, and fools, in their simplicity, might tap into sparks of the Divine voice, unintentionally, without guile, precisely because they are closer to a state of pure potentiality. Divine messages may be hidden in the innocent or direct perspective of children, or the seemingly irrational speech of those others brand as ‘simpletons.’ Due to their lack of inhibitions, both groups are more open vessels for the flow of Divine influence. These ones are not encumbered by intellectual pride or sophisticated complexities; they are not burdened by allegiance to societal norms, which can obstruct the clarity of Divine communication. So they may, even inadvertently, tap into these hidden streams of Divine wisdom.
The Baal Shem Tov teaches that Divine awareness is obscured above all by the ego. The more occupied we become with ourselves—with our image, our cleverness, our need to appear wise—the less capacity remains, the less ability we have for hearing God’s voice in our lives.
But the deepest secret is this. Torah teaches that Godliness is being revealed to us all the time…nonstop. All day and all night; at every moment. Ever since Creation there has been continuous revelation. On rare occasions, the revelation is direct: you know that you are being called. Your eyes are opened and you sense God’s presence in your life and are filled with a genuine yearning.
But usually the revelation is indirect. And yet it’s everywhere. Even in our negative thoughts and feelings, even when we are depressed or unenthusiastic or confused, even if we feel like we are spiraling out control with doubts and material impulses…it’s all from Hashem, beckoning us to find the Divine voice within the cacophony. There are unique, personalized message hidden in all the noise, even in all the distractions.
The great masters teach that the important thing to know is that whatever you hear, or see, or experience, whether from someone near to you or from a stranger, all are words of God calling you, broadcasting messages on a special frequency just for you, to let you know the things that you need to address in your life.
So it’s not that God has stopped speaking. The problem is that we have forgotten how to listen. We search for dramatic revelations. We’re looking for thunder and lightning. But God occasionally chooses the most unexpected messengers, and in the meantime the quiet voice passes unnoticed.
A child’s innocent remark. An unexpected encounter. A sentence that pierces the heart. A truth spoken by someone the world dismisses.
No, these are not examples of prophecy in what is thought of as the dramatic Biblical sense. These are echoes; fragments. The faint reverberations of Hashem’s conversation with each and every one of us, that has never ended.
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I worked with children most of my life. One of my children I call the “Philosopher.” He was the cutest little 8 year old with huge glasses on his tiny face. One of those skinny kids that could outrun everyone in class. He was a very angry young man so I took him for a daily morning walk. He told me lots of things that were bothering him and then we would return inside and we would role play. One day he looked up at me and said, “ It’s a weird world, right Ms S?” I replied“Yes, J it is.” When my husband and I listen to the media he often says, “What did your philosopher say?” All I can do is nod.
A profound reflection on the quiet nature of Divine communication. Perhaps the greatest challenge of our age is not the absence of revelation, but the noise that prevents us from hearing it.
The idea that truth may arrive through unexpected messengers — a child’s innocence, a stranger’s words, or even a moment of inner struggle — reminds us that humility is the beginning of wisdom.
When the ego becomes silent, the world itself becomes a place of listening. The question is not whether God speaks, but whether we have preserved the awareness to recognize the voice.