When a Skeptic Met the Righteous: The Maggid’s Unmistakable Inspiration

Belief in the wisdom of tzaddikim, righteous spiritual leaders, and in the reality of divine inspiration has been a cornerstone of Jewish life for centuries. The Jewish people have long regarded these leaders as channels of holiness through whom heavenly insight is revealed.

Yet there have always been skeptics, people who prefer to explain away miracles and divine knowledge with purely human reasoning. And sometimes, it is from the words of a skeptic himself that we hear the clearest testimony of the truth.

Such is the case with Solomon Maimon, an “enlightened” man of the 18th century, a declared opponent of the growing Hasidic movement, and a non-believer in divine inspiration. In his autobiography, The Life of Solomon Maimon, he describes an encounter with the Maggid of Mezritch, the famed disciple of the Baal Shem Tov.

Maimon recalls first hearing about the Hasidim:

“The things that the man informed me about regarding the ‘Hasidim’ greatly ignited my imagination, and I burned with the desire to join the new sect.”

Determined to see for himself, he traveled for weeks on foot to Miedzyrzecz, the Maggid’s town. Upon arrival, he was told the Maggid could not see him immediately, but he was invited to join the Shabbat meal:

“During the meal, I was promised that I would see his holy majesty and hear exalted words of Torah from his mouth, which would contain messages specifically for me.”

Maimon paints a vivid picture of the Maggid:

“He was a man of appearance that stirred awe and respect in all who saw him, all dressed in white satin, even his shoes.”

The atmosphere was deeply reverent:

“Throughout the meal, a sacred silence prevailed among the guests.”

Then came the moment that left Maimon astonished. After the meal, the Maggid began to sing.

“The melody elevated and stirred the spirit. Afterward, he placed his hand on his forehead and reflected for some time, then began to call out to all the guests by their names and the names of their cities.”

Maimon admits:

“Naturally, we were all greatly astounded by this.”

The Maggid then asked each guest to give him a verse from the Torah, after which he delivered an extraordinary sermon:

“He masterfully weaved together all the different verses… and further astounded us by making each of us feel… references to personal matters and the thoughts of our hearts.”

Even Maimon could not deny:

“This profoundly amazed our hearts.”

Yet, true to his skeptical nature, Maimon refused to attribute the Maggid’s knowledge to divine inspiration. Instead, he insisted it was all due to “information they receive from their circle and secret spies scattered everywhere… along with physiognomy and the questions they ask.” He claimed that these tools made the righteous appear prophetic to “the naive masses.”

But this explanation feels forced and implausible. How could “spies” know the private thoughts of each guest and pass them on in real-time, unnoticed? The Maggid did not merely know names and cities; he revealed the inner feelings of their hearts, something no secret note could provide.

Ironically, it is Maimon’s own account that serves as powerful evidence for what he sought to deny. His words, meant to refute, only highlight the extraordinary moment he witnessed. The Maggid of Mezritch, a vessel of holiness, revealed a depth of insight that even a determined skeptic could not fully explain away.