Most Jews know Han­nah Senesh as the author of the poem and song ​“Eli, Eli.”

But, as this book makes clear, Han­nah Senesh was far more than a poet. She was a sol­dier and a spy — a woman who chose to para­chute into Hun­gary in an attempt to res­cue her people.

Dou­glas Cen­tu­ry retells Han­nah Senesh’s sto­ry with a vital urgency and rel­e­vance for today. The result: a page-turn­er of a book that reads almost like a novel.

Anna Szenes was born in Budapest in 1921 to an assim­i­lat­ed, cul­tured fam­i­ly. As Hun­gary became increas­ing­ly anti­se­mit­ic, Han­nah joined a Zion­ist youth move­ment. She wrote: “… Anti-Semi­tism is an ill­ness that can nei­ther be fought against with words nor cured with super­fi­cial treat­ment. It must be treat­ed and healed at its very roots.” She learned Hebrew, and at eigh­teen left Hun­gary for Manda­to­ry Pales­tine, set­tling at Kib­butz Sdot Yam.

“Eli, Eli” was writ­ten in Cae­sarea, the ancient Roman cap­i­tal of Judea, where ancient sages were mar­tyred. Han­nah drew inspi­ra­tion from those sto­ries. ​“Those proud rab­bis had nev­er cow­ered, nev­er bro­ken under tor­ture, nev­er renounced their faith. Instead, they had cho­sen to die al Kid­dush Hashem.” It is almost as if she could fore­see her own mar­tyr­dom. When the British sought vol­un­teers from the Yishuv for a secret mis­sion into Nazi-occu­pied Europe, Senesh stepped for­ward. Han­nah para­chut­ed into Hun­gary, and was quick­ly captured.

The rest of the sto­ry is well-known, and simul­ta­ne­ous­ly heart­break­ing and inspi­ra­tional (it has also become a Broad­way show). The author does not tell this sto­ry as a tragedy. Han­nah Senesh was not a vic­tim. Rather, she was a war­rior who believed that Jew­ish dig­ni­ty required Jew­ish strength. Her gen­der is also sig­nif­i­cant. Much of the his­to­ri­og­ra­phy of the Holo­caust focus­es on men, and when it tells women’s sto­ries, they tend to be vic­tims. We can­not only know about Anne Frank’s attic. We must also know of Han­nah Senesh’s parachute.

This book comes out close to the sec­ond anniver­sary of Octo­ber 7. New York, 2025 is not Budapest, 1938. But, Jews are under assault. Jew­ish courage — espe­cial­ly female courage — is like a match that is con­sumed in flame. Crash of the Heav­ens con­veys a pow­er­ful les­son: Jew­ish hero­ism coex­ists in both verse and valor.