In 73 C.E., the Romans, in their global conquest, were dealing their last blow to the Judeans. They had them holed up in Masada, and were closing in for their final strike. With this being the end for the Judeans, according to legend, the consensus was for everyone to take their own lives.
The sentiment was that, at least in their own hands, they knew what will happen to them, as opposed to being handed over to the Romans and enduring unimaginable horrors. Husbands did not want to witness their wives being brutally gang raped in front of them. Fathers did not want to see their sons and daughters tortured to death. No; it was better in their minds to die, still free, than to live in chains.
As the Roman-Jewish historian Josephus tells the story, a commander of the fortress, Elazar ben Yair, gave this final speech:
Since we, long ago, my generous friends, resolved never to be servants to the Romans, nor to any other than to God himself, who alone is the true and just Lord of mankind, the time is now come that obliges us to make that resolution true in practice. …We were the very first that revolted… and we are the last that fight against them; and I cannot but esteem it as a favor that God hath granted us, that it is still in our power to die bravely, and in a state of freedom…
Learning about this immediately reminded me of the Africans who jumped from the slave ships in transport to the Americas. They drowned in the ocean, which was what they preferred to a lifetime of slavery.
This mindset—this resolve in the face of endless imprisonment—is one that resonated so much with me, and was another highlight of the spiritual link between Israel, Africa, and both diasporas, that I wrote a song about it. The chorus to the song came right away:
Take my life, you’ll never take my soul.
I will meet my Father face to face,
and see the new Jerusalem,
and see the new Jerusalem.
The melody itself seemed prophetic to me, as I wrote it to another set of words about 10 years before. It was originally a kind of love song. I never recorded it, and only performed it once. My reason for never recording it, and never performing it again, was that it seemed like I was putting the wrong words to the melody.
After about 10 years of the song lying dormant, reading about the Masada defenders brought it all back to the surface with the right words.
May we all strive for freedom, righteousness, and the G-d of both, even unto death.
