Exodus 27:20-30:10, Deuteronomy 25:17-19Remembering to Forget
The Shabbat just preceding Purim is called “Shabbat Zakhor” because the Torah reading on that day ends with the commandment of Deut 25:17-19:
Remember what Amalek did to you on your way out of Egypt—how he fell on you along the way, attacking the weakest among you, those who were straggling at the rear, when you were tired and weary; he lacked all common decency. When the Lord your God gives you relief from all the enemies around you, in the land that the Lord your God gives you to keep as a homeland, blot out the memory of Amalek from under the heavens—do not forget!
The connection of these verses with the celebration of Purim is clear enough. The villain of the Purim story, Haman, is first introduced as “Haman the son of Hammedatha the Agagite” (Esther 3:1). The word “Agagite” seems to refer to a particular descendant of Amalek, the Amalekite king Agag. (This is the same king we read about in this week’s haftarah—see 1 Samuel chapter 15.) If Haman himself was related to King Agag, this would mean that he too was a descendant of Amalek and someone who, just like Amalek, tried to do great harm to the people of Israel.
However, the commandment that ends the passage in Deuteronomy quoted above seems to contain a contradiction. How can we be commanded to blot out Amalek’s memory and in the same breath be told “do not forget”: can someone simultaneously erase a memory and preserve it?
The problem is one of translation. It is true that Hebrew zekher sometimes means “memory” or “memorial.” But it has another meaning as well: a person’s name. Thus, when God reveals his name to Moses on Mount Horeb, He concludes by saying, “this is My name (shem) forever, and this is My appellation (zekher) for all generations” (Exod 3:15). Similarly, the expression “a righteous man’s zekher is for a blessing” (Prov 10:7) means that mentioning a righteous person’s name brings with it a blessing.
So, when the Torah commands Israelites to “blot out the zekher of Amalek,” it means “blot out his name.” This is the equivalent of saying: kill him and all his descendants, so that there will no more be anyone who bears the name of Amalek. But if so, hasn’t this commandment already been carried out to the fullest? There still were Amalekites in the time of David (see 2 Sam. 1:1, 8:12), but according to 1 Chron 4:43, they were all eventually destroyed as a people. The very last Amalekite anyone has heard of was Haman himself, and he and all his sons were killed. Since then, the name of “Amalek” has disappeared from the roster of human beings. If so, why do we keep reading this passage year after year?
Various answers to this question have been proposed, but the most straightforward would seem to be that of Ramban (R. Moshe b. Naḥman, or Naḥmanides): He holds that the Torah’s commandment is for us “to recount this [story] to our children and our descendants, telling them that this is what this wicked man did to us, and that is why we were commanded to blot out his name.”
In other words, we were first commanded to blot out the name of Amalek until he had no descendants; but we were further commanded to tell the story to later generations, “telling them that this is what this wicked man did to us.” In this sense, Amalek became an ongoing warning, a symbol and a prototype.
To which it is necessary to add that Amalek is not a symbol of non-Jews in general, but only of those people who are actually bent on doing us harm. Such people do exist, but if you are incapable of distinguishing them from other people who are not hostile—people who, in fact, may be altogether friendly—then all you are doing is preventing true enemies from being identified as such. So it is wrong to say, especially nowadays, to proclaim “the whole world is against us” (כל העולם נגדנו). Actually, this seems to be the opposite of the Torah’s commandment: tell the story so that, when someone similar comes along, you’ll know.
Shabbat shalom! |