Samson’s Gym Membership Expired — And So Should the Myth of Martyrdom

By Brandon Fante

Let’s talk about Samson. Yes, that Samson—the original strongman of the Old Testament, the guy with killer biceps and even worse judgment. If we’re being honest, Samson wasn’t so much a hero as he was a walking red flag powered by divine steroids. He broke vows like it was a sport, fell for every dangerous woman within a five-mile radius, and when things inevitably went south, he brought the whole temple down in a fit of blind rage. Literally.

And yet somehow, this is the guy people still cite as a model of heroism? Even worse, there are modern defense doctrines named after him—like Israel’s so-called Samson Option, which basically boils down to: “If we go down, we take everyone else with us.” It’s less a strategy and more a temper tantrum with nukes.

Let’s not pretend Samson is some misunderstood statesman. His final act wasn’t a liberation or a carefully executed plan—it was a mass murder-suicide. But because he did it in the name of vengeance and divine justice, we’re expected to clap. Spoiler: just because something’s in the Bible doesn’t mean it makes good policy.


This brings us to the problem of martyrdom—because the Samson story is drenched in it. Somewhere along the way, people decided that dying dramatically is a sign of virtue. As if collapsing a building on top of yourself makes you a visionary instead of someone who just gave up. Martyrdom has become a spiritualized exit strategy, a way to avoid accountability, nuance, or—God forbid—compromise. In reality, it’s not bravery. It’s just bad planning.

And here’s where things get really absurd: try pointing this out, and you’ll likely be hit with that rhetorical nuclear bomb—“antisemitism.” Say the Samson Option is reckless? Antisemitism. Suggest that endless war and occupation might not be sustainable? Antisemitism. It’s as if any criticism of a dangerous policy is immediately rebranded as hate speech, regardless of intent or accuracy.

This move isn’t just intellectually lazy—it’s morally bankrupt. Real antisemitism is a serious, global problem that ruins lives and undermines communities. But when you start using the term to shut down basic geopolitical critique, you’re not protecting anyone—you’re cheapening the concept. Weaponizing victimhood to justify vengeance doesn’t prevent hate; it just breeds more of it.
So let’s be clear: rejecting the myth of Samson is not antisemitic. It’s rational. It’s humane. It’s the bare minimum of responsible discourse. If a country’s survival plan involves invoking the spirit of a man who leveled a building on himself because his enemies made fun of him, maybe it’s time to ask a few questions.
Israel doesn’t need another Samson. It needs wisdom, vision, and—dare we say it—peace. And no, peace isn’t weakness. It’s not surrender. It’s not betrayal. It’s just something stronger than a man pushing apart two pillars because his girlfriend betrayed him.

In the end, the myth of Samson isn’t a strategy—it’s a warning. It tells us what happens when strength is worshiped without wisdom, when vengeance replaces justice, and when mythology is mistaken for policy. So maybe it’s time we stop bench-pressing the past and start building a future.

Before the temple comes down again.