“AMEN SONGS”: Eli Eli (Halicha LeKesarya)

“Eli Eli (Halicha LeKesarya)” is one of the most iconic and hauntingly beautiful songs in modern Jewish history. With lyrics penned by Hannah Senesh and music by David Zahavi, the song expresses a deep, almost timeless yearning for the enduring beauty of life: “May these things never end—the sand and the sea, the rustle of the water, the lightning in the sky, the prayer of man.” Written in a moment of growing darkness during the Holocaust, the poem finds hope not in denial of suffering but in the eternal elements of the world and the spiritual resilience of humanity. That this text was written by a 22-year-old woman who would soon sacrifice her life trying to save Hungarian Jews under Nazi rule makes it all the more powerful. Across the Jewish world, Eli Eli is sung with reverence. Its melody is simple, yet it pierces the heart—echoing in ceremonies, memorials, and moments of silent reflection. It reminds us that even in the darkest moments, beauty and faith endure.

This message resonates deeply on Yom HaShoah, when we pause to remember the six million Jews murdered in the Holocaust. Senesh’s words stand in stark contrast to the horrors she sought to resist—but that contrast is what gives the poem its lasting power. Her prayer is not only for physical survival but for the survival of the soul—the continuation of awe, of beauty, and of humanity’s connection to God. This is the essence of our theme, “Amen – Be a Blessing”: to insist that in a world threatened by cruelty and indifference, we will still choose to see wonder, to pray, and to sanctify life. Eli Eli is not merely a lament; it is a quiet act of defiance. It blesses us with a reminder that the soul of a people cannot be extinguished when it holds fast to hope, to nature’s wonder, and to God.

In Parashat Shemini, we read of the death of Aaron’s sons, Nadav and Avihu—a moment of sudden tragedy and divine mystery. Aaron’s response is silence, and in that silence, Torah invites us into the space where grief and faith meet. Like Aaron, Hannah Senesh lived and died within that sacred tension—where loss does not erase belief, and tragedy deepens, rather than destroys, the human spirit. Eli Eli gives voice to that sacred silence—not with answers, but with longing. On this Shabbat, paired with Yom HaShoah, we are reminded that holiness is not found only in victory or clarity, but in remembering, in singing, and in praying that the things which make life beautiful—the rustle of the water, the prayer of humanity—may never end.