Sanctify His Name ...by Living
Jewish history is soaked in blood. Though we’ve never sought martyrdom, it has forever haunted and hunted us out. Indeed, since Abraham was thrown into a fiery furnace, countless Jews have given up their lives rather than their faith. From those who in Maccabean times were, “for the L-rd’s sake killed all day long,” (Psalms 44:23) through the Inquisition in Spain, those who glorified the name of G-d by their death became role models for all of Israel.
Perhaps the most important feature of martyrdom in Jewish tradition is the marginal role it plays in contemporary Jewish practice. Only twice in our liturgy - eleh ezkerah in the Yom Kippur service and Lamentations from Tisha B’av - is the willingness to die for one’s belief a major focus. Otherwise the subject is only briefly mentioned in prayers. One example: Av Harachamim recited on Shabbat calls on G-d’s mercy for the sake of those “who laid down their lives for the sanctification of the divine name.”
Martyrdom first takes center stage during the Hasmonean uprising against the Syrian Greeks. There we learn of two mothers and their infants who are hurled from the city walls in public view for their observance of the law of circumcision, and of the secret Shabbat observers who are burned to death. (Book of Maccabees) More familiar is the heroism of Channa and her seven sons who withstood torture and embraced death rather than accept the idolatrous cult of Antiochus.
Rabbinic accounts of such courage are also found in the Talmud: the deaths of Pappus and Lulianus during the reign of Trajan; Rabbi Chanina ben T’radyon who was wrapped in a Torah scroll and burned, and of course, the great Rabbi Akiva who was tortured to death. While it is true that their sacrifice has been immortalized, it is by no means celebrated. In fact, the narrative records no joy on the part of Rabbi Akiva or his students in his death. Rather, at the moment of death, Rabbi Akiva is satisfied to have achieved a Jew’s real goal; he fulfilled one more mitzvah while yet alive.
This captures a fundamental difference between Judaism and other religions. In other cultures, such as by Moslems, it’s a great honor to die for your faith. Doing so transforms you into a saint and gets you a ticket to paradise. Indeed, there is no higher calling! But Jews have never stood in line to become martyrs. Though sanctifying G-d’s name is called Kiddush Hashem and a martyr is referred to as a kadosh – holy, a Jew is not permitted to seek martyrdom. His task is to live. At first glance one might imagine that Judaism is sending us conflicting messages. On the one hand, the Talmud says of those who died sanctifying His name, that their place in the World To Come is beyond the reach of any created being, but on the other hand, the same Talmud also teaches that, “One hour of teshuva and good deeds in this world is more beautiful than all the life of the World to Come.”
Yes, “Judaism affirms life,” and “We’re not trying to get to heaven, we’re trying to get heaven down to earth,” are all absolutely true and valid. Nevertheless, within this vibrant enthusiasm for life, you will find that it is the martyr’s valor that has sustained us at every point of our history. Consider this Midrash: Noah had just disembarked from the ark and offered sacrifices to G-d who, “smells the pleasant fragrance” rising up to Him (obviously in a figurative sense). Result: The Almighty vowed never to destroy the world again. At this point, the Midrash makes a stunning assertion: the motivation behind this Divine resolution was not Noah’s animal offerings, but the many human sacrifices yet to come: i.e., the fragrance of Chananyah, Mishael and Azaryah rising from the fiery furnace…the fragrance of the martyrs of the era of forced conversions, etc. (B’reishis Rabba)
Remember the story of Rabbi Akiva mentioned above? Before the Romans caught him, a man named Papus had chided him for teaching Torah in public and openly defying the authorities. Rabbi Akiva replied with a fable: A hungry fox strolled along the river bank and said to the fish, “Why do you flee from place to place?” The fish replied, “Because of the nets that humans cast!”
The fox: “I have an idea. How about you come up here on the dry land and we will live together.”
The fish: “You’re a fool! If we stay in the water we have a chance at survival, but if we leave our way of life (i.e., the river) we will surely die. So too, if we teach Torah, we may or may not be caught (and thus live). But if we don’t have the courage to defy Rome and we abandon Torah, we will surely die!” (Talmud Brachot 61b)
The meaning of this parable is obvious. As soon as Jews give up risking their lives for Torah, they give up their viability as a people. But ultimately, the purpose is life on earth. As Rabbi Sholom DovBer, the fifth Rebbe of Lubavitch wrote, “A Jewish martyr is unique. He would rather stay alive.”
If you believe that when you die you go to a better place, what exactly then is the sacrifice? When I trade in my old phone for a newer model, is that a noble act? If you give up your life because you believe you will get a better one, is that martyrdom or just plain narcissism? It may sound righteous, but if it causes these believers to fly airplanes into large buildings; it’s self-serving, not self-sacrifice!
True martyrdom is when you give up your life precisely because life on earth is important enough to give up your life for it. Heaven is certainly more spiritual, but that doesn’t make it better. We want to remain on earth because this is where we serve G-d. This is where we make a difference.
In the era of Hadrianic persecution, everyday Jewish life under the Romans is dramatically described in a Mechilta: “Why are you to be killed?” “Because I circumcised my son.” “Why are you to be stoned to death?” “I kept the Shabbat.” “Why by fire?” “I studied the Law.” “Why crucified?” “I ate matza on Pesach.” Similarly, during the Crusades, untold thousands of Jews were forced to choose between the cross and the sword: The heroism of the simple Jew of yesteryear is why Jews are still around this year. Throughout much of Jewish history, apostasy and abandonment of our faith loomed seductively as an escape from persecution. In those social climates, martyrdom bolstered the confidence and belief of a beleaguered community. Martyrs addressed this dilemma: If our heroes thought Judaism worth dying for, other Jews would certainly think Judaism was worth living for.
<.em>Thankfully, we don’t often have to make that choice anymore, though it is still thrust upon us: the six million who perished in the Holocaust, Daniel Pearl, Rabbi & Mrs. Holtzberg, and the Jews in Israel who are blown apart by maniacal suicide bombers for no other reason than that they are Jewish. Despite the incredible greatness of the mitzvah of sanctifying G-d’s Name, it seems that we’ve probably ‘overused’ this mitzvah. From now on let us sanctify His holy Name by the way we live, rather than by the way we die.