One of the striking aspects of the Jewish lifestyle in the ghettos and the camps was that many Jews risked their lives to practice Judaism far beyond the requirements of the halakhah, of Jewish law; indeed, almost against the halakhah. For the question may legitimately be asked whether it was really right for them to defy the Germans by holding communal services, baking matzot, etc., when Jewish law demands “and thou shalt live by them,” by God’s commandments; when in all the six hundred and thirteen commandments there are only three concerning which it is ruled; let a man allow himself to be killed rather than transgress them? 1Idolatory, murder, and adultery (with incest included in this category); see T.B. Sanhedrin 74a. Was the Chencziner Rebbe right in getting himself killed rather than allowing the German soldier to touch him? After all, even in a situation where there is only a possible risk to one’s life, the law is to disregard the commandments.
The answer lies in the uniqueness of the situation. Never before had the Jewish people and Judaism been confronted with a radical onslaught by a mighty state power organized to make war against the spirit. It was not a question of this commandment or that commandment; the very form of life that the Jew represented in human history was to be eliminated. More than anything else, the supreme values of human existence, as maintained by Judaism and affirmed by the existence of the Jew, were to be destroyed. Quite clearly, the goal of these Jews was not survival (although, needless to say, they wanted to survive as much as anyone else). Their longing was expressed in one word, iberleben, “to outlive them.” Especially in the ghettos, Jews “organized” all kinds of activities in order to “outlive them.” Bunkers were built in cellars and attics; there were entire “underground cities,” for hiding during the “selections.” Day and night watches were set up in order to gather information and pass it on when danger was imminent. Food was smuggled in, all kinds of mutual aid organizations were set up to care for children and the elderly, and there were many attempts to cross the borders, to escape to Switzerland, Spain, etc.2HaAmidah ha Yehudit biTekufat haSho’ah, p. 129. The authentic Jew wanted to survive like anyone else, but not at any cost; not at the cost of betraying the meaning of his own life. We have seen how devastating were the consequences of attempting to survive at any cost. It meant the betrayal of all human values and ultimately, as Bettelheim maintains, it brought about the adoption of the SS values by the prisoners themselves.
The survivalists among the students of the Holocaust would condemn the behavior of such authentic Jews as the group of baḥurim who rejected an opportunity to escape from the ghetto to the “Aryan side.” How can we live among Gentiles?” they asked. “How can we pray there, study Torah? And without it how can one live? What value has life without it?”3Prager, Eleh…, I, p. 86. Or think of Janusz Korczak, who walked at the head of the children of his orphans’ home as they were taken to the gas chambers. He himself was not on the list. He went voluntarily. Rachel Auerbach tells us that he was not the only one. There were many others, not as well-known, who acted like him. Teachers, men and women, who did not leave the children entrusted into their care, but walked voluntarily to die together with them. She comments:
“In those days of frightful ruin, there was also present a heroic spirit among the anonymous Jews of the ghetto. On the one side, moral degeneration; on the other, great moral elevation, brotherhood and love of one’s fellow men, love of the people in the midst of the Holocaust.”4HaAmidah…, p. 127.
There was a deep sense of solidarity between teachers and their students, between parents and children, between friends. There were many who would not save themselves because they did not wish to escape without their husbands or wives and their children. One would go along with his brother so that he should not have to face torture and death alone.5Ibid.
In the early spring of 1943 there were three rabbis left in the Warsaw ghetto. The situation of the ghetto was hopeless. Everyone of the few remnants of what had been a community of half a million Jews was expecting the end. For some mysterious reason, the Catholic hierarchy of Warsaw experienced a pang of conscience and decided to do something to help the Jews. They would save the last three rabbis of Warsaw. At the request of an emissary from the Church, the three rabbis — the world-famous Ga’on, Rabbi Menahem Zemba, together with Rabbi Shimshon Stokhammer, and Rabbi David Shapiro, an author and lecturer—assembled to discuss the matter. After a long silence, in accordance with the rule in a rabbinical court Rabbi Shapiro was the first to speak:
“I am the youngest among you. What I have to say does not obligate you in any way. It is clear to us that we cannot help the remaining Jews in the ghetto at all. However, the very fact that we do not leave them, that we stay with them, may give them some encouragement. I cannot leave these people…”
Not another word was said. After a while the rabbis came out of the room and Rabbi Zemba delivered their reply: “There is nothing to discuss.”6Eliav, p. 22. Rabbi Zemba, who called for armed resistance, died in the Warsaw ghetto rebellion. Rabbi Stokhammer perished in Treblinka. Only Rabbi Shapiro miraculously survived.
According to the survivalists, the young ḥasidim should certainly have saved their lives by crossing over to the “Aryan side” of the city; Janusz Korczak and the other teachers were too shortsighted to realize that they could not save any of the children whatever they did. Why then sacrifice your own life unnecessarily! Husbands and wives, parents and children, brothers, sisters, teachers and pupils should have separated for the sake of the possible survival of some of them. The last rabbis of Warsaw, just because they were the last ones, should have thought of the future. Surviving, they could have rendered important service to other Jewish survivors. All these people were rather foolish; typical ghetto Jews, without the ability to act or even to conceive of other possibilities of living open to them.7Cf. Bruno Bettelheim, “Freedom from Ghetto Thinking,” in Midstream, Spring, 1962.
However, to Rachel Auerbach, a survivor of the Warsaw ghetto rebellion, these Jews and their actions were manifestations of the triumphant spirit of man, an exaltation of the moral and spiritual dimensions of life itself. But any discussion between these opposing views would be pointless. Rachel Auerbach, a typical “ghetto Jewess,” belongs to a different world of values from the survivalists in the West. Whether religious or secularist, her roots are in the historic tradition of Judaism. The survivalists belong to the same Western civilization whose decadence spawned Nazism. This is not to suggest that they would accept the faith of the Nazi philosopher that “the best answer to the betrayal of life by the spirit is the betrayal of the spirit by the spirit,” but their suggestion that in extreme situations all human values are to be sacrificed on the altar of the Moloch, survival, is to agree with the first part of that faith — that the values and the demands of the spirit are a betrayal of life.
Thousands of Jews who at great risks went beyond the immediate requirements of the halakhah in realizing at least a minimum form of Jewish living, made the statement with their lives that life is not worth living at all costs; that it is not worth living at the cost of deserting the meaning of one’s life and desecrating the very essence of one’s personal being. Was this a betrayal of life by the spirit?
When the Germans assembled the Jews of Malecz, with their genius for original ideas they ordered them to dance on the bodies of other Jews who had been murdered a short time before. All the Jews, men, women, and children, had been driven from their homes and were to be shot unless the men obeyed the order to dance. Then the daughter of the rabbi walked up to the SS officer and slapped his face. She was shot on the spot.8Unger, Der Geistiker Viderstand…, p. 88. Did she foolishly throw away her life? She did not even sacrifice it, she affirmed its dignity. Her deed is not to be seen as an act of sacrifice, but one of living her life with the greatest intensity; as an act of supreme self-realization. The mother who did not let her child go alone to face German barbarism at its vilest was, on her last walk, living her motherhood more deeply than ever before. The Jew who asked to be put on the list of “selection” in order to accompany his brother who was being sent to Auschwitz, was not throwing away his life. He was guarding it, protecting it. To walk together with his brother, that was him, that was his life, and nothing else could take its place at that moment. Similarly, those teachers in the ghettos, on their last walk with the children, lived the preciousness, the sanctity of all human life. They were alive and they were themselves as they had never been before. The young ḥasidim who would not escape to the “Aryan side” because “what could be the value of life without prayer, without Torah,” were thinking of life, of nothing but life, of the very essence of their lives. The essence of one’s being does not wait; it cannot be postponed till tomorrow.
In various sources one finds a poignantly formulated statement by Rabbi Yizhak Nissenbaum that he often repeated in the years 1940–41 in the Warsaw ghetto. He is quoted as saying:
“This is an hour of Kiddush haḤayyim, the sanctification of life, and not of Kiddush haShem, the sanctification of the Divine Name by death. In former times, when the enemy demanded the soul of the Jew, the Jews sacrificed their bodies for ‘the sanctification of the Name’ (meaning: they guarded their souls, which the enemy wanted to take); now, however, the oppressor wants the body of the Jew; it is therefore one’s duty to protect it, to guard one’s life.”9Saul Esh, Kiddush haḤayyim beTokh haḤurban, in Molad, 5721 (1961).
Thus, people have been speaking of Kiddush haḤayyim, the sanctification of life, the duty of its preservation in these times, as opposed to Kiddush haShem, the sanctification of God’s name in a martyr’s death. It is doubtful that this was Rabbi Nissenbaum’s intention. What he had in mind was to impress upon the Jews in the ghetto the duty of self-defense. Rabbi Zemba is quoted as having spoken in similar terms when he maintained that in those days Kiddush haShem required armed opposition to the enemy.10Cf. Eliav, p. 71; quoted from Seidman, Yoman Ghetto Varsha. Neither Rabbi Nissenbaum nor Rabbi Zemba meant to give a dissertation on the difference between “Sanctification of Life” and “Sanctification of the Name.” That the enemy “wanted the body and not the soul” meant for both rabbis that, whereas in former times one could escape torture and death at the hand of Christians by embracing Christianity, this choice was no longer available. Taken literally, the statement was not, in the historical perspective, a very logical one. For if Kiddush haShem — in the words of Rabbi Zemba — includes, and Kiddush haḤayyim — according to Rabbi Nissenbaum — demands, armed resistance to an enemy, why should it be required only when the body is threatened, and not also when the choice is baptism or death? The fact is that during the crusades and at later times in Christian countries, Jews did defend their ghettos and the cities in which they were located with arms in their hands, fighting heroically till the moment of Kiddush haShem, the moment of martyrdom in the name of God. But the rabbis in the Warsaw ghetto were not discussing either theology or history. They meant to give a popular formulation to the command of the hour, to protect and to defend oneself. Reb Mendele of Pabianice was, of course, right in his moral and religious evaluation of the situation. He, like so many others, saw clearly the nihilistic rebellion that of necessity had to direct itself against those very human values whose potency in history was proved by the mysterious survival power of the Jewish people. It was indeed a time of supreme Kiddush haShem. Yet, to set Kiddush haḤayyim, the sanctification of life, against Kiddush haShem, the sanctification of the Divine Name, is based on a grave misunderstanding of both concepts.
Terrence Des Pres, in The Survivor, pleads the case of the survivor against that of the hero. Quoting from Spinoza’s Ethics that each thing “insofar as it is in itself, endeavors to persevere in its being,” Des Pres concludes that the survival of the body and its well-being take priority over everything else. Those Jews who in these post-Holocaust days propagate the idea of Kiddush haḤayyim as the supreme Jewish responsibility and, in accordance with their understanding of the concept, see it as the opposite of the mitzvah of Kiddush haShem, seem to adopt a position similar to that of Des Pres. One should, however, not overlook the fact that Des Pres has no familiarity with Judaism and makes his point in the context of Western civilization and its history. Seen from this angle, he is right in saying that the images of the hero in Western religion and culture…
“draw their sanction and compelling force from death. Those who for centuries have commanded love and imitation — Christ, Socrates, the martyrs; the tragic hero always; the warrior from Achilles to the Unknown Soldier — all are sacrificial victims, all resolve conflict by dying and through death ensure that the spirit they spoke of or fought for shall not perish. The pattern is so honored and familiar that a connection between heroism and death seems natural.”
The purpose of all this is to give the rest of mankind “an illusion of grace” by means of “symbolic systems” that dulls man’s awareness of what is terrible. It is achieved through the death of the hero who takes upon himself the condition of victimhood. This can only function in normal times, but not when death and terror continually surround man, as was the case in the concentration camps. He correctly maintains that “when men and women must live together against terrible odds, when mere existence becomes miraculous, to die is in no way a triumph.” In such circumstances mere survival is the imperative that surpasses all other considerations. Describing the stance of the hero, he rightly states that
“the tragic hero finds in death a victory. Thereby he places himself beyond compromise, beyond the erosion of time, and the truth for which he stood is solemnized, pressed deep in the hearts of his audience through the drama of his sacrifice. He is proof of spirit’s contempt for the flesh, and death itself becomes the confirmation of greatness.”11The Survivor, pp. 5–6, 9–10.
Because Des Pres sees the spirit as the antagonist of the flesh, he also interprets civilization as the “symbolic superstructure” and, quoting Nietzsche, he has to say that “the problem with these symbolic superstructures is that they redeem life by negating it.” The split between mind and body characterizes the structure of civilized existence. It follows from such a position that all things “higher” are not concerned with life itself; “not, that is, with life in its physical concreteness.” The enhancement of life is achieved “by denigrating actual life processes.” All this, however, cannot stand the test of the “plague,” of the terror of the concentration camp. Des Pres understands that this image of the hero, the elevation of life to “higher” things that denigrate actual life processes, is at the heart of the “Christian worldview” and it also has its parallels in Plato and in Homer’s Iliad.12Ibid., pp. 164–5.
Whereas Des Pres’ insights are born out by the nature and history of Western civilization, they have no meaning within the context of Judaism. Some of the key passages of the Torah affirm the ultimate value of life. For instance: “See I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil…I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before thee life and death, the blessing and the curse. Therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed.”13Deuteronomy 30:15–19. Or, in another passage: “Ye, shall therefore keep My statutes, and Mine ordinances, which if a man do, he shall live by them…”14Leviticus 18:5. The rabbis in the Talmud interpret the last words to mean that one must live by God’s commandments, and not die because of them.15T.B. Sanhedrin 74a.
At times it would seem that the Torah intentionally debunks the sacrificial hero as the model who “draws his sanction and compelling force from death” (Des Pres’ formulation). We read in Deuteronomy:
“For this commandment which I command thee this day, it is not too hard for thee, neither is it far off. It is not in heaven, that Thou shouldest say: who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it? Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou shouldest say: who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it? But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it.”16Deuteronomy 30:11–14.
In other words, do not wait for a superman. The task is yours, and you can do it.
Even Moses is not a sacrificial hero in Judaism. His death is not wrapt in the mantle of the tragic so that it should inspire and be revered by future generations. There is no death stance of Moses. He went up to the mountain of Nebo from where God showed him the land into which he was not to enter. He died there in the land of Moab as God had spoken. “And he buried him in the land of Moab…and no one knows his burial place to this day.”17Ibid., 34:5–7. According to a midrashic commentary,18See Rashi’s commentary ad. loc. Moses died by a kiss of God, by which the rabbis meant to say that death was not only the end of Moses’ life, but its conclusion. The legacy he left behind is his life, not his death. Even the Akedah, the near-sacrifice of Isaac by Abraham, which has a place in Judaism similar to the sacrifice of Jesus in Christianity, ends with a celebration of life. Abraham is being tested, but Isaac is to live, an indication that while to obey God’s command should be the ultimate concern of the Jew, the purpose is not death but life.
That life itself is a fundamental value, that it should be defended even at the risk of losing it, need not be argued. That life is holy and that therefore it must not be destroyed but should be protected, is essential Jewish teaching. However, Kiddush haḤayyim is not just the acknowledgment of the holiness of life, but the deed of its sanctification. Life as such is given to man; its sanctification is the task of man. In what, then, does life’s sanctification consist and how does it relate to Kiddush haShem, the sanctification of “the Name”?
The sanctification of life is achieved through a certain kind of human conduct. We find an indication of its meaning in the biblical injunction, “thou shalt be holy, for I the Eternal your God am holy.”19Leviticus 19:1, see the entire chapter, as well as chapter 20. Holiness derives then from Israel’s relationship to God and from the awareness that God is holy. The laws that follow this introductory injunction describe the behavior that is the sanctification of life, comprising responsibilities toward God and toward one’s fellow men. Other laws of the Torah, all aiming at the sanctification of life, include legislation concerning man’s behavior in nature towards all creation. Sanctification of life means living in the world with the awareness that all life is God’s creation and all life is living in His presence. Seeing the world as God’s creation excludes the possibility of seeing spirit and matter as antagonistic to each other. The stance of the hero who, in the face of death, proves the “spirit’s contempt for the flesh” would be heresy in Judaism. The flesh is no less God’s creation than the spirit, and the spirit, as God’s creation, is no less real than the flesh. Together they are life within man, and not only within man, but in all creation. According to a midrash, at the time of creation God used the Torah as the blueprint for the world.20Midrash Rabbah, Bereishit 1:2. This, of course, is not meant to be taken literally. Rather it expresses an important Jewish idea about the nature of reality. Creation, as a work of God, cannot be alien to the Torah as the word of God for man. Both make manifest the will and wisdom of God vis-à-vis man. One might perhaps say that the sanctification of life means living in the presence of God, striving for integrated harmonization of spirit and flesh as the wholeness of human life and giving this striving potent expression in responsible human behavior towards all creation.
What then is Kiddush haShem, sanctification of God’s name? The concept is charged with deep emotion for the Jew, as it carries within itself both the tragedy and the glory of Jewish martyrdom through the ages. It is with great hesitancy that one dares undertake even only a cursory discussion of this awesome subject. Because of the idea of martyrdom has become so closely attached to it, Kiddush haShem is commonly understood to mean dying a martyr’s death as a Jew. But this does not appear to be its original meaning. For example, the phrase occurs in the talmudic interpretation of the biblical story of Tamar who, disguised as a prostitute, had been made pregnant by her father-in-law, Judah. Accused of harlotry by Judah, but not wanting to put him to shame, instead of naming him she sent him the pledges that he had left in her hands with the words: “I am pregnant by the man to whom these belong…Recognize, I pray thee, whose are these, the signet, and the cords, and the staff.”21Genesis 38:25. The teachers in the Talmud considered the Hebrew hakker, na, “recognize, I ask you,” rather too strong a phrase for the identification of such objects as a signet, cords, and a staff. Usually, the root hakker (to recognize) in the Bible implies personal recognition. Therefore, here too, the midrashic interpretation attaches a personal form of acknowledgment to both phrases. Thus Tamar was asking Judah: “Please, acknowledge the presence of your Creator and do not hide your eyes from me.” The Bible then continues: Vayakker Yehudah, “And Judah recognized.” This phrase supports the midrashic interpretation for if the act of recognition referred to the objects before him, the syntax would have required the phrase: Va’yakirem Yehudah, “And Judah recognized them.” As it stands, it is better rendered “And Judah acknowledged,” i.e., acknowledged “the presence of his Creator” and confessed. By his acknowledgment, the Talmud says, Judah “sanctified the Divine Name.” This deed of Judah is then compared to the conduct of Joseph who withstood temptation by the wife of Potiphar and thereby also “sanctified the Divine Name.” Yet Judah’s deed was greater than that of Joseph, for he performed the act of Kiddush haShem in public, whereas Joseph did so in private.22T.B. Sotah 10b.
An action of Abraham is interpreted in the same manner. The Bible relates that after Abraham vanquished the kings who had defeated the confederation around the king of Sodom and saved his nephew Lot, he returned the entire war booty to Sodom and its allies. The rabbis declared that when Abraham returned all of Sodom’s property he sanctified the name of God.23Tanna de Vei Eliyahu Rabbah, chapter 25. However, is not Kiddush haShem, understood thus, also Kiddush haḤayyim, the sanctification of life by acknowledging the Creator as the source of one’s responsibility toward all creation, thus making him known in the world by one’s conduct that results from such acknowledgment? The words of Tamar to Judah, “Acknowledge your Creator and do not hide your eyes from me,” may be expressing the identity between Kiddush haShem and Kiddush haḤayyim. Indeed the rabbis interpret the words in Leviticus in which we recognize Judaism’s call to the sanctification of life, “Ye shall be holy for I the Eternal your God am holy,” by saying: “If you sanctify yourselves on earth, I shall account it unto you as if you had sanctified Me on high.”24Sifra, Kedoshim 2. Behavior that aims at the sanctification of life also sanctifies the name of the Creator of life. Thus the Jew prays three times daily for the establishment of the world as the kingdom of God. Whereas Jesus spoke of the kingdom of God that was not of this world, arraying the spirit against the flesh, whereas atheistic humanism aims at establishing this earth as the exclusive kingdom of man by setting the flesh against the spirit, Judaism strives for a time when this earth is established as God’s kingdom, through the harmonious integration between the flesh and the spirit, in the act of sanctification in which the name of God and the life of man are hallowed together.
There still remains, of course, the form of Kiddush haShem that demands the sacrifice of one’s life, the sanctification of the Divine Name through martyrdom. But is this really different from Kiddush haḤayyim? It may very well be that the sacrifice of the martyr has its origin in his love of life, not in its purely material and biological manifestation, but in its material and spiritual interrelatedness as a gift of God. This is how Maimonides formulated the commandment of Kiddush haShem in a desperate situation:
“The entire house of Israel is commanded to sanctify His ‘Great Name,’ as it is written: ‘and I will be sanctified in the midst of the children of Israel.’25Leviticus 22:31. They are also warned not to desecrate it, as it is written: ‘and ye shall not desecrate My holy name.’26Ibid. How is this to be understood? If some idol-worshipper should arise and force a Jew to transgress any of the commandments of the Torah or else he would kill him, he should transgress and not be killed, for it is said regarding the commandments, ‘which a man should do and live by them’27Ibid., 18:5. — ‘live by them,’ that is to say, ‘but not to die by them’…This is the law regarding all the commandments except idolatry, adultery [and incest], and murder. Regarding these three, if it is said to one: “Transgress or be killed,’ he should be killed rather than transgress…This is the law in ‘normal’ times. However, in times of an ‘official decree,’ when — for instance — a wicked ruler arises, one like Nebuchadnezzar and others like him, and will decree against Israel that its religion, or even a single one of God’s commandments, be destroyed, then one should die rather than transgress any one of the commandments of God.”28Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Yesodei haTorah, 5:1–3; cf. Maimonides’ source, T.B. Sanhedrin 74a.
It is noteworthy that the verses of the Bible upon which the commandment is based make no mention either of the three exceptional commandments nor of an exceptional situation when all of Judaism is threatened with destruction. The teachers of the Oral Tradition singled out three individual commandments as representing values to be guarded at all cost. Of the three exceptions only one refers to the explicit acknowledgment of God, i.e. the rejection of idolatry. The other two are taken from the area of man’s relationship to his fellow men and his obligations toward them. The law against murder recognizes life as an ultimate value. The law against adultery and incest protects the purity of life, or in the talmudic understanding, life itself.29See, for example, T.B. Sanhedrin 74a, for the inclusion of Gilu’i Arayot among the three exceptional laws. But if a person chooses to die rather than to violate the life of another human being, is this not an act of life’s sanctification? Yet, it is called Kiddush haShem. Once again, we have encountered the equation between the sanctification of life and the sanctification of the Divine Name. The same might be said about the times of general persecutions that aim at the destruction of Judaism in its entirety. For the Jew, Judaism is not a “symbolical superstructure” imposed upon basic life processes that loses its meaning in the “valley of the shadow of death.” Judaism is the life of the Jew and its sanctification. Not to surrender it is the highest affirmation of life itself. But what of the sacrificial death in the refusal to commit the sin of idolatry? Is this not the stance of the tragic hero, of whom Des Pres spoke? Is this not a denigration of life in favor of an abstract truth; and may not this form of Kiddush haShem rightly be contrasted to Kiddush haḤayyim? The question would be justified if Judaism’s faith in God were an abstract truth, a theological idea, affirming the existence of a First Cause. But the God that the Jew acknowledges is the Creator who has remained in continuous contact with His creation, who is mysteriously present in history; the personal God whose word is directed to man and in whose presence all life takes place. Only because of that is life capable of sanctification and only because of that is man called upon to sanctify himself because He is holy. Deny Him and life loses its meaning, its value, its dignity. Deny Him and all sinks into nihilistic absurdity. The martyr’s sacrifice in his rejection of idolatry is the supreme affirmation of life itself in its created reality.
The idea that the martyr’s sacrifice might be the actual fulfillment of his life’s ultimate meaning was clearly expressed by Rabbi Akiva in the hour of his death. He explained to his disciples that the commandment: “And thou shalt love the Eternal your God with all your life,” means even if he takes your life. All his days Rabbi Akiva longed for just such an opportunity. To die? Certainly not. The commandment is not to die but to “love the Eternal your God with all your life.” In order to love with all one’s life one must be in possession of all one’s life. In that ultimate moment Rabbi Akiva lived as he had never lived before, because he acted out of his love for the source of all life as he had never been able to do it before.30T.B. Berakhot 61b. At such moments people do not think of survival. They are engaged in the fullest realization of living. The question was often asked in the ghettos and the camps whether the fulfillment of the mitzvah of Kiddush haShem was still available to the Jews. During the Middle Ages the Jew had been given a choice. He could save himself by embracing Christianity or he could choose martyrdom for the sake of God. But during the Holocaust there was no such choice so could one still be sanctifying God’s name by one’s unchosen death?31The question was reported as having been asked by one Dr. Lenski of Hillel Zeitlin who referring to a statement of Maimonides according to which any Jew who is murdered because he is a Jew is kaddosh, holy; he died for Kiddush haShem. See HaAmidah…, p. 373. It would seem that even during the Holocaust the situation was not essentially different in this respect. Kiddush haShem is not achieved in death, but in living out the meaning of one’s life at its most intense level as a Jew facing death. The number of Jews who actually achieved this kind of human greatness during the Holocaust is untold.
Jews in their masses, as well as individuals, faced death with dignity, living the moment in the full realization of their Jewish existence. We know of entire congregations who, under the leadership of their rabbis, clothed themselves in their prayer shawls, put on their tefillin, and in quiet dignity walked to meet the barbarous furor of the Germans. Individual Jews would put on their Sabbath clothes when they were forcibly taken from their homes and driven to places of execution in the woods and fields outside the cities. In one of the death camps, Rabbi Ben-Zion of Bobov walked to the gas chambers with thousands of Jews all singing Ani Ma’amin, “I believe with perfect faith,” and calling in a heaven-splitting choir the last words from the Yom Kippur liturgy: “The Eternal, He is God” and the Shema, “Hear, Israel, the Eternal, He is our God, the Eternal is one.”
Even a sub-human like Rudolf Hess, the notorious commander of Auschwitz, has to tell with respect of an old Jew who, as he was taken to be murdered, called out to him: “Murderer of so many Jews. Germany will yet dearly pay for this.” Then, paying no attention to anyone, he walked on courageously to the gas chambers. It is reported of a Dr. Goldblum of Kolomea that a few minutes before he was shot, he turned to the German guards with these words:
“Listen you murderers, you scum! If you should now offer me life and happiness on condition that I give up my faith and ‘become an Aryan,’ I should spit you in the face. Because you are murderers, the meanest animals on earth, and we are Jews.”
Beyond dignity of conduct, there was also the spiritual exaltation emerging from this ultimate validation of the meaning of one’s life. We know of a transport of distinguished Jews that had arrived at a death camp during Pesaḥ in 1944. Among them was Reb Moshe Friedman of Boyan, a highly regarded personality in pre-war Poland, a patriarchal figure, well-known especially in the circles of talmudic learning. As they were about to undress prior to the “bath,” an Oberscharführer entered. Moshe Friedman walked up to him, grasped the lapel of the Nazi’s jacket, and said to him:
“You, the most despicable murderers of the world, do not imagine that you will succeed in destroying the Jewish people. The Jewish people will live forever. It will not disappear from the stage of history. You will be erased and disappear…The day of vengeance is approaching. Our blood will be demanded of you and it will not find peace until our burning anger will be poured out over you and destroy the animal blood within you.”
He spoke with a deep and strong voice. Then he covered his head and called with great fervor, Shema Yisra’el, “Hear, O Israel.” All those present joined in with him, echoing also the other traditional words of affirmation. This story, which is told in a diary that was found near Auschwitz in November 1953, concludes with the diarist’s comment: “This was a moment of spiritual exaltation, the like of which is not found in all life…”
Then there was Reb Heshil Rappaport, a Jew like so many others. During the last days of the Warsaw ghetto, when most of the houses in the ghetto were enveloped in flames, about forty people assembled in one apartment on the night of the seventh day of Pesaḥ. The Germans were approaching and the Jews thought that their building would be the next to be set on fire. One of the survivors tells:
“It was then that Reb Heshil started his gripping speech on Kiddush haShem. Who can remember everything he said?…He wanted to encourage us. Every word he spoke gave us strength. ‘Brothers,’ he said, ‘the time has come. Nothing that was before now is as important as this moment. Especially in this last hour one has to be strong and not allow a false thought to pass through one’s mind, as if the Holy One, blessed be He, had forsaken us. God forbid! It is not for us to control the accountings of our Father in Heaven. That is not our affair. We want very much to live that we may continue serving Him, blessed be He. However, it is His will that we sanctify His Name. We accept it with joy and enthusiasm.’”
Perhaps the most striking example of Kiddush haShem as the ultimate act of life’s sanctification comes from the mouth of a Jewish Kapo in the Plaszow camp:
“As the camp commander took a number of young Gerer ḥasidim to be put to death, one, Israel Eisenberg, asked for permission to say a few words of farewell to his friends. I stood opposite them and heard every word. He did not speak many words. He said to his friends that they should rejoice for they were going to die for Kiddush haShem… Kiddush haShem. He got hold of the hands of another baḥur and started singing. They were calling to each other: ‘The most important thing…let us rejoice!’ They all began to sing and to dance as if a fire had been lit within them. Their sidelocks, which till then were hidden under their hats, they now pulled out and let them hang down their faces. They paid no attention to what was going on around them. They were dancing and singing. And I thought I would lose my senses…that young people should go to their death as one goes to a dance! Thus dancing, they jumped into the pit as a rain of bullets was pouring down on them.”
It may well be that the young ḥasidim were at that moment happier than any group of young people ever were going to a dance. At that moment they lived their lives as Jews with an intensity and meaningfulness never before experienced. Could it not be that even this ultimate form of Kiddush haShem is a mitzvah by which the Jew lives as he does by all the others, as it is written: “Ye shall keep my statutes and my laws that a man will do and live by them.”32For the sources of the material gathered in the last section of this chapter see HaAmidah…, p. 128; Bezalel Landau, Kiddush haShem beTorat haḤasidim, in Maḥanayim, Ḥanukkah, 5720 (1959), p. 90; Eleh Ezkerah, II, p. 209; Esh, op. cit.; Unger, p. 25; Prager, I, p. 61, II pp. 102–3; and BeẒa’arot haReẓaḥ, diary found near Auschwitz.