Between Holy And Evil, Sorrow and Joy: Zachor.2018

Between Holy And Evil, Sorrow and Joy

D’var Torah for Shabbat Zachor 5778

February 24, 2018

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

We find ourselves this evening at a strange point, at a juncture between the sacred and the profane.  The last few days’ events have left us perplexed, torn between sadness and joy, between fear and hope.

The Rabbis have taught that, mi-sh’nichnas Adar marbin b’simcha (with the arrival of the Hebrew month of Adar, joy increases).  We are that much closer to spring, and that is reason in itself to feel more hopeful.  But additionally, in just a few days we will be celebrating the holiday of Purim, the silliest and yet most joyful holiday in our calendar. 

But tonight we also find ourselves in the midst of mourning for the lives cut short by the senseless and horrific shooting at the Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. We find ourselves vacillating between sadness and anger, frustrated by our inability to stop these random acts of evil that have become an almost regular feature on our national scene.

“The evil that men do lives after them.” These words, written by William Shakespeare more than 400 years ago, still ring true today.  The emotional shockwaves continue to reverberate within us as we continue to hear heart-breaking stories of tragedy and heroism from the terrible events that that took place just over a week ago.

For families who lost loved ones, these emotions will last for a lifetime or more.  But for others, life will all-too-soon return to its “normal” pace and routine.

For most of us, especially as memories fade into the past— lest we forget—we need reminders.

As Jews, we have several opportunities to remember during the year.  There are of course personal yahrtzeits, on which we recall the memories of our own loved ones.  Then, four times a year, we hold communal Yizkor services.  Additionally however, there are more than a dozen fast days on which we recall national disasters, adversities that befell our people through our long history.

And once a year, we are commanded to recall not a personal or even a national loss, but rather a concept.  On the Sabbath before Purim, we observe Shabbat Zachor, a day to stop and reflect about Evil itself.  And on our liturgical calendar, that day is today.

Zachor is the Hebrew word for “Remember!” It is in the imperative mode, an inviolable command, as vital to our Jewish consciousness as the commandment to remember the Sabbath day and make it holy. On the Shabbat preceding Purim, the holiday that commemorates the overturning of an evil decree, a day when dread and fear turned into joy and exultation, on this very Sabbath, we are called upon to remember Amalek, the tribe singled out by the Torah as completely evil, a tribe we are commanded to utterly destroy and wipe off the face of the earth.

Evil is a concept, an idea.  As such, it’s given to interpretation and analysis. What some call evil, others see as necessary, or even just. To cut short the debate over what is evil and what is not, the Torah makes its point succinctly and directly. The commandment may be found in the special reading for this day (Deut. 25: 17-19).  Zachor et Amalek—“Remember Amalek”—calls the text, “how he met you on the way and attacked your rear ranks, all the stragglers at your rear, when you were tired and weary, and he did not fear God.” 

It isn’t merely that the Amalekites attacked the Israelites, weary from their years of slavery in Egypt, exhausted by their wandering in the Sinai Wilderness.  It’s that they targeted the rear of the camp, where the tired, the hungry, the poor and the sick were, along with all others who had lost hope along the way.

“They did not fear God.” To fear God, in light of this passage, means to offer help to the needy.  Evil means to keep them downtrodden, or worse.

This definition is necessary so that we don’t go around calling people we don’t like, or don’t agree with, “evil.” Evil has a specific meaning, and like its opposite, “holy,” must not be treated lightly.  The philosopher Hannah Arendt coined the phrase, “The banality of evil,” but the Torah reminds us that evil must never become banal.  Sadly, experience teaches us that evil is as contagious and dangerous as any deadly virus, and must be confronted and eradicated wherever and whenever we see it.

Amalek no longer exists today, but evil is still around, and it is not limited by time, geography or demography.

We see evil when innocent people suffer indiscriminate violence.  We see evil where there is bullying, harassment and abuse.  We see evil when safe harbor is denied to refugees trying to escape misery and persecution.

Certainly all along the history of the Jewish People we see evil in words and actions directed at men, women and children simply because they are Jews.  Sadly, statistics today indicate a steep rise in anti-Semitism.  It isn’t only Israel that is targeted.  Anti-Semitism has become a worldwide trend again, even in those places where there are no Jews.

The debate that rages in America today, is how exactly to eradicate all that evil.  I wish there were some simple solution.  The Torah’s commandment to annihilate Amalek in its entirety has long since been nullified by Rabbinic tradition and Jewish law.  Though self-defense is permitted—and, in fact, is considered a mitzvah (a sacred commandment) in itself—genocide is not.  The many freedoms we cherish and live by in America include both the right to bear arms and the right to free speech.  Curtailing those is clearly not a simple task.

And yet, we must take a hard and close look at our society, with the Torah’s injunction to remember—zachor—as our guide.  Words that hurt, actions that target the destitute and helpless, behavior directed against those who are weaker than us—whether this happens in our homes and families, at our schools, or in the workplace—must be seen as examples of the evil that exists in our midst.  Our society must make every effort to put a stop to this kind of behavior.

Evil is a choice.  Bad things may happen, but evil takes planning, intent and execution.  Often, there are signs along the way.  These cannot be ignored.  We cannot turn a blind eye either to the ease with which weapons may be obtained in our country, or to the plight of those whose personal anguish is so great that the only way out they see is by inflicting pain and suffering on others. 

Sometimes, self-defense isn’t a matter of having more guns; rather, it’s in how we reach out, offer help, show another way, a better way, out of the vortex of anger and misery.

That, as I see it, is the role of the community.  Existence may be a solitary struggle, but we must be there for one another.  Sometimes that means that we must limit some of our freedoms; that we restrain ourselves when our impulse is to lash out; that we think of the needs of others as equal to our own.

Perhaps that is why, along with other traditions associated with Purim, we exchange gifts of food with our neighbors and friends, and why we give gifts to the poor, and charity to the needy among us.

Sometimes the best way to eradicate evil is by doing good deeds. If there’s one lesson that we can learn from Esther and Mordechai, the heroes of our upcoming holiday of Purim, it is that we can’t always count on divine intervention to lead us to the Promised Land.  If we want to reach the shores of a safer, more peaceful world, we must become active participants in the process.

Hopefully that will be the lesson we take from last week’s tragedy in Florida, so that we will truly be able to say we did something to stop Evil in its tracks.

May our good deeds, today and every day, outweigh the evil we see around us, and may we have many reasons to celebrate with hope and joy in days to come.

© 2018 by Boaz D. Heilman