A Reflection on Torat Edom
The image of the Messiah sitting at the gates of Rome, binding his wounds one by one, is one of the most evocative and theologically rich passages in rabbinic literature. Found in Sanhedrin 98a, it presents a paradox: the Messiah, the anointed one who is destined to redeem Israel and the world, is depicted not as a triumphant king but as a suffering healer, patiently tending to wounds that are both his own and those of humanity. This image does not merely describe a historical waiting; it encapsulates an enduring reality—one that affirms Torat Edom as a theological lens for understanding both the exile of Israel and the role of Christendom within divine history.
The image of the Messiah sitting at the gates of Rome, binding his wounds one by one, is one of the most evocative and theologically rich passages in rabbinic literature. Found in Sanhedrin 98a, it presents a paradox: the Messiah, the anointed one who is destined to redeem Israel and the world, is depicted not as a triumphant king but as a suffering healer, patiently tending to wounds that are both his own and those of humanity. This image does not merely describe a historical waiting; it encapsulates an enduring reality—one that affirms Torat Edom as a theological lens for understanding both the exile of Israel and the role of Christendom within divine history.
Edom and the Hidden Messiah
In Jewish thought, Edom is more than a nation; it is a concept, an enduring structure that represents empire, exile, and theological corruption. Rome, as the inheritor of Edom, stands as the dominant force in history that both preserves and distorts divine revelation. From the ashes of the Second Temple’s destruction to the formation of Christendom, Rome transformed from an imperial persecutor into a paradoxical custodian of the Jewish Messiah, albeit in a form unrecognizable to those who preserved the Torah.
In Jewish thought, Edom is more than a nation; it is a concept, an enduring structure that represents empire, exile, and theological corruption. Rome, as the inheritor of Edom, stands as the dominant force in history that both preserves and distorts divine revelation. From the ashes of the Second Temple’s destruction to the formation of Christendom, Rome transformed from an imperial persecutor into a paradoxical custodian of the Jewish Messiah, albeit in a form unrecognizable to those who preserved the Torah.
The Messiah at Rome’s gates signifies this paradox. He is within Edom, but not of it. He sits at its threshold, not enthroned in its palaces. He is close enough to redeem, yet remains hidden. This speaks to the very nature of Torat Edom—a recognition that Christian theology, even in its distortions, carries fragments of truth. Christendom is the carrier of a revelation that it often fails to understand, but within its very structures, the Messiah remains. He is not fully absent, nor fully revealed. This is the tension in which we live.
Binding the Wounds of the World
The Talmud describes the Messiah as binding his wounds one by one. Unlike other sufferers, who would remove all their bandages at once to heal quickly, he tends to each wound individually so that, at any moment, he can rise and bring redemption. This is not simply an image of patience; it is a theological statement about the nature of messianic redemption. The healing is ongoing, never abandoned, but also never fully complete until the appointed time.
This affirms Torat Edom in two ways. First, it acknowledges that the world remains wounded. The exile is not a single moment in time but an ongoing condition, affecting both Israel and the nations. Second, it demonstrates that the Messiah is already at work, not in an abstract or distant sense, but in the immediate reality of history. The wounds he binds are the wounds of exile, of misunderstanding, of distorted theology, of oppression and longing.
The Messiah in Christendom
For Christians, the Messiah is Jesus of Nazareth, but Christendom has often placed him on the throne of empire rather than at its gates. The shift from the suffering Messiah to the imperial Christ is one of the most significant theological transformations in history. It is precisely in this shift that Torat Edom becomes necessary—Christendom took the name of the Jewish Messiah but recast him in the image of Rome. It declared victory where there was still exile, and it substituted power for suffering. Yet, even within this, the Messiah was never absent.
The gates of Rome, then, are not just a physical or historical location. They are the threshold between the truth of the Jewish Messiah and the distortions of empire.
Christendom remains wounded because it has not fully understood the one it claims to follow. The Messiah binds the wounds, waiting for Christendom to recognize that it, too, is in exile—that its power, its theologies of triumph, and its historical dominance have obscured the very one it claims to worship.
The Unveiling of Redemption
The Messiah sits at the gates, and the question posed to him in Sanhedrin 98a is, “When will you come?” His answer: “Today—if you will hear my voice.” This is the condition of redemption. It is not about power, empire, or forceful revelation. It is about hearing. The exile ends not when Christendom conquers, nor when it collapses, but when it listens—when it recognizes the hidden Messiah at its threshold, binding the wounds of a broken world, waiting to be truly known.
Torat Edom teaches that Rome has preserved, yet distorted, the revelation of the Messiah. The Messiah at its gates signifies that even in the midst of exile, the divine work continues. This is both a critique and an invitation. If Christendom can hear, if it can see its own exile, if it can acknowledge the wounded healer at its gates, then the day of redemption may yet be today.
