What We Owe Our Martyrs

Yom Kippur 5787 may be in the rearview mirror, but it continues to confront us with soul-searching questions of faith and peoplehood. And I’m not talking about who shall live and who shall die in the year to come. For me, the most lingering question is whether each of us will truly honor the memories of those who died for the sin of being Jewish by being more Jewish.

An overlooked portion of Yom Kippur’s marathon service is the reading of the liturgical poem known as Eleh Ezkerah (roughly translated as “These I Will Remember”), aka the “Martyrology”. It is a somber chapter within the High Holiday machzor, traditionally read during the Musaf service. Eleh Ezkerah recounts in gruesome detail the harrowing torture and execution by the Roman Empire of ten legendary Mishnaic-era rabbinic sages. It is not rated PG but here’s a bitter taste:

The martyred victims include spiritual giants like Rabbi Akiva, whose flesh was torn with iron combs while his final breath uttered the Shema with full conviction, and Rabbi Hanina ben Teradion, who was burned alive wrapped in a Torah scroll and wet wool to prolong his suffering. Each martyr’s offense was having the temerity to keep the mitzvot, learn Torah in public, and preserve Jewish tradition in the face of our enemies’ edicts.

Eleh Ezkerah is typically read after the Avodah service which recounts the ancient Temple rituals. This juxtaposition links the ultimate sacrifice of human life with the sacrificial service conducted at the altar. Many contemporary prayer books have expanded the Eleh Ezkerah reading beyond the Roman persecutions to include reflections on the Spanish Inquisition and the Holocaust – and some congregations have incorporated October 7’s tragedy and other incidents of Jewish persecution (we have plenty from which to choose). The tragic truth is that our enemies continue to hunt us down, from Bondi Beach to Colorado, and even to the streets of New York City. Judaism survives within a perpetual martyrdom, leaving precious little time for mourning, as our tiny timeless tribe faces the masses gone mad about Jews.

But we should never become numb to Jewish pain. In the face of these seemingly insurmountable odds, Eleh Ezkerah forces us to confront whether we have done enough in the past year to prove ourselves worthy of the martyr’s profound sacrifices. What have we done to affirm that the victims of Jew hate did not die in vain? We must account for whether we honored their memories by affirming our personal commitment to Judaism, no matter the headwinds, no matter the sacrifice of time and treasure. Did we leave it all out on the field, pushing ourselves to do more for Israel and the Jewish people, or is there more gas in the tank? Did we give an inch to those who perpetuate modern-day blood libels against the Jewish State, spewing words like “genocide” and “ethnic cleansing”? Or did we push back –relentlessly—against the babbling bobbleheads who falsely prosecute Israel for the crime of daring to fight against terrorist states and their proxies. For our enemies the only acceptable reaction to October 7 was for Jews to accept their fate and die. They will never accept the warrior Jew.

The rabbis of the martyrology gave their lives to be Jewish, dying as a kiddush hashem (sanctifying G-d’s name). Thankfully each of us is not asked to make such a sacrifice, but we can honor their sacrifice by committing ourselves to purposeful Jewish lives. History has taught us that, despite our enemies’ endless attacks, insults, and attempts to delegitimize our people, the only way for the People of Israel to be defeated is for Jews to stop caring about being Jewish. Accordingly, every Jew must wholeheartedly shoulder the sacred responsibility to perpetuate our tradition and to ensure that our children are proud and Jewishly literate. It’s not about me or you; it’s about honoring those who came before us through living unabashedly Jewish lives, undeterred by half-wits’ cancellation, unserious condemnation, or the judgments of those who trivialize Jewish suffering.

The cruel deaths of these Jews— including their devoted cries of Shema Yisrael, refusal to disavow their faith, and gutsy courage — echo across the generations. Their pain, along with the screams of our six million brothers and sisters, run through my veins, simultaneously paralyzing and powering me to commit my soul to their memories. I pray I survive to pound my chest next Yom Kippur, not only in repentance for another year’s inevitable sins, but also because each beat of my fist is an act of defiance against those who wish for a world without Jews. I, an unapologetic Jew, still lives, breathes, repents, and cries out for divine justice in the name of our martyred tzadikim. Z”l.