Remembering Amalek

 

At the very end of this week’s reading comes a well-known commandment, “Remember what Amalek did to you along the way as you were leaving Egypt.” The reference is to the battle fought between the Amalekites and the people of Israel (Exodus 16:8-13) shortly after the crossing of the Red Sea. This week’s reading explains what in particular Israel is to remember: the Amalekites had ambushed them from behind, hitting the weakest in the population at a time when they were exhausted from their journey. This unfair and cowardly tactic had to be avenged. The Torah concludes: “Wipe out the memory (zekher) of Amalek from beneath the heavens—do not forget!”

 

These last words have always struck some readers as strange. How could Israel be commanded to wipe out the memory of Amalek while at the same time being ordered not to forget him and what he did.

 

Actually, there is no contradiction here. While it is true that the word zekher can mean “memory” or “memorial,” it has another meaning: “name.” Thus, for example, when Moses meets God on Mount Horeb and asks to know God’s special name, God tells him and then says, “This is My name (shemi) forever, and this is My name (zikhri) for all generations” (Exod 3:15). Similarly, the expression zekher tzaddik librakhah comes from Proverbs 10:7. It means: “The name of a righteous person will become a blessing,” so that people will invoke So-and-so’s name in blessing someone, saying of a newborn child for example, “May he grow up to be like So-and-so.” (This was God’s promise to Abraham in Genesis 12:2.)

 

In the case of Amalek, the Torah commanded Israel to wipe out Amalek’s name. To wipe out someone’s name means to destroy him and all his descendants, so that his name will no longer be attached to any human being (see, for example, Deut 9:14, 2 Kings 14:27, Psalm 9:6). This is what God ordered the Israelites to do in this week’s reading.

 

But apparently, they didn’t do as they were told, at least not right away. During the reign of King Saul, the Amalekites seem to have been altogether alive and well. But then the prophet Samuel, speaking of God’s behalf, instructed Saul and his army to at last carry out the decree against the Amalekites and “wipe out their name.”

 

Saul obeyed—but only partially. “Saul destroyed the Amalekites from Havila all the way to Shur” and captured their ruler, King Agag, alive” (1 Samuel 15). But for some reason (honor among kings?) Saul decided to let Agag live; he also thought it was a pity to destroy all the Amalekite flocks and herds, even though they were supposed to be wiped out as well. As a result, Saul was condemned to lose his kingship (as well as his life), and the prophet Samuel personally carried out God’s decree, executing Agag himself.

 

Did this spell the end of the Amalekites? So it would seem. And yet, the villain in the book of Esther is called “Haman the son of Hammedatha the Agagite.” (How exactly the descendant of a nomadic tribe from the Negev area could end up being an official in the far-off Persian court is not explained, but certainly stranger things have happened in history. Note, however, that while he is called “Haman the son of Hammedatha the Agagite” in the traditional Hebrew text, the Old Greek translation gives a slightly different name: “[H]aman the son of [H]ammedatha the Bougaean”—no Agagite here!) In any case, the book of Esther recounts that Haman and all his sons ended up being executed, so surely this was the end of Amalek’s progeny.

 

If so, then why do we act as if the commandment to wipe out Amalek’s name is still in effect? It seems that with time, this commandment has acquired a typological dimension: Amalek became the archetype of all those who, at various periods in history, have sought to destroy the Jewish people. As the passage in this week’s reading begins, “Remember what Amalek did to you along the way as you were leaving Egypt”—remember it in every generation.

 

This is certainly good advice, but it is hardly a warning about all non-Jews, past and present, as some people take it. After all, the Torah contains at least one counter-example, Moses’ father-in-law Jethro. Apparently there are some non-Jews who are actually well disposed to the people of Israel, in fact, sometimes we can even learn something from them, as Moses did (Exodus 18:13-27).

 

 

Shabbat shalom!