Today is Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat before Purim. Zachor is a word you may know. It means to remember. It is the root of the word Yizkor, the service of remembrance that we have on Yom Kippur and then again on Sukkot, Passover and Shavuot, the three pilgrimidge holidays. Zachor is the first word you see when you walk into Yad V’shem, the Holocaust Museum in Israel.
“And it will be, when the Eternal your God has given you rest from all your enemies round about, in the land which the Eternal your God is giving you for an inheritance to possess it, that you shall blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven, you shall not forget” (Deuteronomy 25:17)
This is very interesting construction. Remember not to forget. This must be serious. Very serious. And you ask, why are we reading this portion as the maftir just before Purim? Tradition teaches us that Amalek was the ancestor of Haman. The idea that we are to blot out even the remembrance of Amalek is the reason given for drowning out Haman’s name during the megilah reading. Thus we are commanded to make all that noise tonight.
But before we can get to the fun and hoopla and noise of tonight—and trust me, I hope we really will have fun tonight, this part is the serious stuff.
Remembering is important in Judaism. Many of our holidays are about remembering— Each festival is marked, sanctified, made holy with Kiddush over wine that links the festival to two themes—remembering the Exodus from Egypt and Creation. “Remember that you were slaves in the land of Egypt.” “Remember what the Lord did for me when I went forth from Egypt.” We remember the miracles of the parting of the Red Sea, the giving of the law at Sinai, we remember being strangers in a strange land, the destruction of the Temple(s), the victory of the Macabees. We remember being in the land of Israel and we mourned our exile for 2000 years. There is a haunting song for Tisha B’av that I learned my very first trip to Israel, “We remember, we remember, we remember thee Zion.”
Back to Amalek. What was his crime? Why is it so important to remember not to forget him? He surprised the Israelites and attacked the rear, the women and children, the weakest link. It was a surprise attack and the word here is interesting. It is karcha, which also has the meaning of cold. Perhaps this is the first recorded evidence of PTSD because one of the root causes of PTSD is being shocked, which sometimes has the symptom of being cold. In any case, we are told remember not to forget. Some said his crime was to not provide food or water to the fleeing Israelites. A big crime in a desert society, no question.
As we will read in this morning’s haftarah, tied to the Deuteronomy passage, when Saul was king, Saul was commanded to wipe out the Amalekites. All of them. And he did, Almost but not quite. He chose to spare the King of the Amalek’s life and a few cattle. For this Saul loses his kingship.
Now to our modern ears, this chapter in the Israelites story can seem quite troubling. Four Questions that emerge include: (1) Why does God order the annihilation of entire nations in the first place including the innocent children and cattle? (2) Why are the Amalekites specifically named as those to be wiped out? (3) Why is a later generation of Amalekites punished because of the sins of an earlier generation? (4) Why is Saul’s sparing of one man and a few cattle such a serious offense to God?
Let’s go one level deeper. Tonight we will read the Book of Esther. One of two books in the Bible that never mentions G-d. The other one is Song of Songs. The rabbis were not even sure that they wanted to include either in the cannon. The Catholic Bible actually adds chapters to the Book of Esther so that G-d is fully present and visible.
Where is G-d in Esther? Can we find evidence at all that G-d was present? Where was G-d during the Holocaust? Can we find evidence at all that G-d was present? Where was G-d during 911? Can we find evidence at all that G-d was present? Where is G-d in our own lives? When we experience loss or trauma? Can we find evidence that G-d is present?
Scribbled on a wall in Cologne during World War 2, a Jewish victim wrote this poem:
“I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
And I believe in love,
even when there’s no one there.
And I believe in God,
even when he is silent.
I believe through any trial,
there is always a way.
But sometimes in this suffering
and hopeless despair
My heart cries for shelter,
to know someone’s there
But a voice rises within me, saying hold on
my child, I’ll give you strength,
I’ll give you hope. Just stay a little while.
I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
And I believe in love
even when there’s no one there
But I believe in God
even when he is silent
I believe through any trial
there is always a way.
May there someday be sunshine
May there someday be happiness
May there someday be love
May there someday be peace….”
How do we find that surety? For me, I typically find it in the Psalms. The Psalmist struggled with his own doubt. We read about it in Psalm 30 about G-d who turns our mourning to joy, our sackclothe and tears into dancing. It then begs G-d, “Hide not Your face from me.” Psalm 81, the Psalm for Thursday is a particular favorite of mine. Even when I can’t feel G-d I know that G-d was there, I need this reassurance.
“Then I heard a voice I never knew, ‘I removed the burden from your shoulders, your hands were set free from the load. In your distress you called and I rescued you,
I answered you out of a thundercloud;
I tested you in the wilderness.”
A rabbi in England, Sylvia Rothschild pointed out this week on her blog, we Jews really only fear one thing today—disappearing entirely so that no trace of us is found. In my own confirmation class all those many years ago we did a radio play entitled The Last American Jew. The premise was that the last Jew was held in a cage in a museum for all to see. It was haunting and I can still see my classmate on the bimah in that cage we built for the event. I am pleased to report that the reports of the death of Judaism have been greatly exaggerated.
Rabbi Rothschile continued, The text this morning begins with a future time “It will be”. This reminds us of one very important lesson – we don’t have to worry yet about what we might erase or forget, that will be for the unspecified future. Right now our task is to remember and to document and to keep alive, it is not, absolutely not, to do anything else.And yet, despite all the dire warnings and the attempts of Amalekites in every generation, we have not died out. We are here. In some places we are thriving.
So yes, I will remember. I will remember not to forget. Like Abraham Shlonsky “I have taken an oath: To remember it all, to remember, not once to forget! Forget not one thing to the last generation when degradation shall cease, to the last, to its ending, when the rod of instruction shall have come to conclusion. An oath: Not in vain passed over the night of the terror. An oath: No morning shall see me at flesh-pots again. An oath: Lest from this we learned nothing (Council 49).”
For me that means that I work for a time where we do not have to remember these kind of travesties, where the vision of Isaiah can be fulfilled, that everyone can sit under their vine and fig tree and none shall make them afraid.
There is one more piece of hope from today’s parsha. After this long, rather bizarre description of the ordination of Aaron and his sons, nothing at all like my own ordination, Aaron is commanded to light the light. The ner tamid. The same concept that every synagogue still uses today. A light that will never go out.
Perhaps Anne Frank said it best…It’s really a wonder that I haven’t dropped all my ideals, because they seem so absurd and impossible to carry out. Yet I keep them, because in spite of everything I still believe that people are really good at heart.
I believe in the sun, even when feeling it not. I believe in God, even when God seems hidden.