Roosters or Bats? Opening our Eyes to the Light of Dawn

A few weeks ago, I wrote an article titled “It’s time to talk about redemption.” We are living through events that boggle the mind—events that, if you study the prophets seriously, are unmistakable signs of redemption. Israel’s crushing defeat of Iran in a mere twelve days is only the most recent of these signs. My argument was simple: We need to spend more time studying the prophets and their teachings on redemption so we can begin to understand what God is doing in our time and what He expects of us.

But when I submitted the article to one of the most widely-read Jewish newspapers in the United States, the editor responded curtly: “Thanks. Not looking to publish this.” To him, and to many of his readers, redemption just doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant. Distant. Strange.

Since receiving his response, I keep asking myself: Why are so many Jews – even Torah scholars – utterly unmoved by the signs of redemption unfolding before our eyes? Why does the return to Zion, the rebuilding of the Land, the gathering of exiles, the downfall of Israel’s enemies, stir so little excitement in so many hearts?

At first glance, the verse seems to rebuke those who yearn for redemption. But the Sages offer a much sharper and more revealing interpretation:

Rabbi Simlai taught: What is the meaning of that which is written: “Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord. Why would you have this day of the Lord? It is darkness, and not light” (Amos 5:18)? It is comparable to a rooster and a bat who were both longing for the dawn. The rooster said to the bat: I await the light because the light is my time to act. But you—why do you long for it? For you, day is no different than night.

This teaching draws a sharp contrast between two types of people. The rooster represents those who anticipate and seek signs of redemption. They study the prophets, they try to understand the significance of unfolding events, and yearn to take part in God’s plan. And when the light of redemption begins to shine -when God brings a burst of light to further the redemptive process – they immediately “crow” in joy. This is what they have been waiting for! Immediately, they leap into action and do what they can to partner with God in furthering the redemption. This is what they have been waiting for their whole lives.

The bat, by contrast, represents those who are indifferent to the coming of redemption. They speak of faith, of tradition, even of messianic hope – but only as part of some distant and irrelevant future. And so in practice, they are frozen in place. They are unable or unwilling to recognize that the world has changed. Their instincts have been shaped entirely by exile, and so they treat the redemptive era as if it were no different from the long night that preceded it. They are suspicious of change, frightened by the new responsibilities that redemption demands, and content to remain passive. For them, “daytime”—the era of redemption—is exactly the same as “nighttime”—the era of exile. Why? Because they refuse to open their eyes.

Rabbi Zvi Yehuda Kook, the great spiritual leader of the national-religious movement in Israel, spoke with anguish about this very blindness:

“Do you not see what has been happening to us in the last hundred years?! This is what the prophet Isaiah proclaimed: ‘Hear, you deaf; look, you blind, and see!’ (Isaiah 42:18). There are those who are deaf and blind, lacking spirit, who do not hear what is happening around them—that God has spoken good concerning His people Israel. And who are these deaf and blind ones? ‘Who is blind but My servant, and deaf like My messenger whom I send?’ (Isaiah 42:19) These are not people far from Torah, but Torah scholars themselves.”

The most tragic aspect of this blindness, Rabbi Kook explains, is that it afflicts those who should see most clearly: the Torah scholars, the religious leaders, the guardians of tradition. Like bats, they shut their eyes precisely when the light begins to shine. Instead of teaching the people to awaken, to recognize the hand of God in our generation, they warn that it’s still night. That it’s dangerous to act. That the redemption is still far off.

What accounts for this refusal to see? The answer, in part, lies in a deeper spiritual condition. Many of those who resist the redemptive process point to the pain and suffering still present in Israel. They speak of war, of loss, of moral confusion. And yes, the pain is real.

But here, too, the Sages offer a devastating critique. They taught, “The evil inclination is like a fly” (Berakhot 61a). Rabbi Elijah of Vilna, the greatest Torah scholar of the 18th century, explains: Just as a fly surveys a clean room and ignores all the purity, all the order and cleanliness, and instead lands only on a piece of dirt or rot—so too, there are people who look at the world and see only what is broken. They ignore everything that is beautiful, everything that has been rebuilt, everything that testifies to the hand of God. They focus on corruption, on failure, on sin—because that is all they are capable of seeing. These are the spiritual flies of our generation: those who look at the miraculous rebirth of the Jewish people in their land and see only problems, sin, and darkness.

This was the idolatry of Baal-Zevuv – literally, “Lord of the Flies,” the pagan god worshipped by those who see only decay. They cannot see holiness, even when it unfolds before their eyes. They are too busy pointing out the blemishes.

But the true God is not a God of decay. He is the God of life, of rebuilding, of resurrection. As we say in our morning prayers, “He renews the work of creation every single day.” And in our generation, He has renewed His people. He has brought the dry bones to life. He has returned us to our land.

For those willing to open their eyes, the signs of God’s hand are everywhere. But for those who remain trapped in the mindset of exile, the light will pass them by unnoticed. This is not a question of theology or philosophy. It is a question of vision. Will we see the moment for what it is? Or will we go on pretending it is still night?

The light of redemption is not a metaphor. It is a reality—even with all the pain that still remains. You can see it in the hills of Judea and Samaria. You can hear it in the sounds of Jewish children playing in the streets of Jerusalem. You can feel it in the courage of our soldiers and in the resilience of our people.

The light of redemption is here. We are no longer in the complete darkness of exile; God is fulfilling His promises to bring the light of day. The question for every one of us, Jew and gentile both, is this: Will we be roosters who joyously await the light of day? Or will we be bats who shut our eyes and refuse to see?