Memory and Vigilance: Shabbat Zachor 2021

 Memory and Vigilance: Shabbat Zachor

February 19, 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

By coincidence—or due to the vagaries of the Jewish calendar—my father’s yahrzeit this year falls this week, the week of Shabbat Zachor—the Sabbath of Remembrance. At this Saturday’s Torah service, the weekly portion from the book of Exodus is augmented by three verses from Deuteronomy, including the commandment to remember the evil perpetrated against the Jews by the Amalek. 

Following the Exodus from Egypt, as they were wandering in the Sinai Wilderness, the Israelites encountered many peoples and tribes, some friendly, others not so. One particularly devious tribe, Amalek, attacked the Israelites by stealth, in the depth of night. That in itself would have been bad enough—dayenu. However, they did something else. The Amalekites committed an atrocity of the utmost evil and cowardice, earning them a terrible and unremitting oath of revenge: They attacked at the rear of the camp, where the stragglers were; where the sick, tired and despairing huddled along with women, children and the aged. 

Amalek attacked the defenseless.

Zachor—Remember! “Remember what Amalek did to you on the way as you were coming out of Egypt” (Deuteronomy 25:17).

This verse is embedded in my memory, if for no other reason than that my father, of blessed memory, drilled it into me, year after year at this season.

You see, my father was in Israel during the Shoah, the Holocaust. He had left his home and family in Lwow (now Lviv) and, having managed to evade the British blockade, reached the shores of “Palestine” on a moonless night in April 1939. Throughout the years of the war, he didn’t hear from his family. It wasn’t until the war ended and mail service resumed that he finally received the dreaded news. By a strange and circuitous route, a letter arrived, written by his brother almost two years earlier, moments before he was forced into a cattle car that took him to Auschwitz. The letter told what happened to my father’s father, mother, brothers and little sister, describing the manner in which they were all murdered by the Nazis and their accomplices.

Needless to say, this letter transformed my father. But unlike another member of the kibbutz on which he lived, who received—on the same day—a similar letter, and who took his own life that same terrible day, my father took an oath: To live; to survive; and to remember to the last breath. My father vowed to teach, train and instruct my brother and me, as well as anyone else who would listen (and as a teacher, he had many students): To remember. Zachor—Remember the evil that was perpetrated against the Jewish People. Remember, and always be ready to protect and defend yourself and your people.

Evil is never accidental. It’s always deliberate and premeditated. It may lie dormant for a while, but time and again, ignorance and prejudice make the seeds of evil sprout and spread their poison. Anti-Semitism, one of the oldest, most vicious and deadly hatreds known to humankind, is a disease that has no antidote and no cure. Hence the need always to be vigilant. And we Jews, who have known persecution and violence throughout our history, don’t have the luxury to be complacent in the face of evil and hate. We know all too well how quickly a fiery sermon can turn into violence and how, in an instant, a burning torch can explode into a raging firestorm.

In the Jewish calendar, Shabbat Zachor is observed on the Sabbath before Purim—the holiday on which we read the Scroll of Esther. In this story, the evil Haman (said to be a descendant of Amalek) plots to annihilate the entire Jewish population of Persia. Mustering all her courage and cleverness, however, Queen Esther succeeds in warding off the disaster. By order of the king, the Jews are granted the right to defend themselves. The marauding mobs are turned back, and at least this time, impending doom turns into gladness and rejoicing.

The Amalekites may be long gone, but evil still remains, not bound by time or place. Through the lesson of the three verses from Deuteronomy that will be read this Shabbat, we have learned to recognize evil in every act of bullying and oppression, whenever and wherever weak and defenseless groups and individuals are attacked or assaulted.

In the last few years we have seen racism, gender bias and anti-Semitism turn into a maelstrom. The symbols of hatred appear overnight, etched into doorways, sprayed onto synagogue walls, evident in vandalized cemeteries, screamed in unison by mobs carrying torches and nauseating signs.

Fortunately most of us today are protected by the law (this wasn’t always the case, and it still isn’t in many places around the world). Additionally, for the first time in two thousand years, we also have an army dedicated to our protection and defense. But these precautions can be misleading. Modern society protects our freedom to say almost anything, yet it doesn’t always put in place the safeguards that are needed to keep words from turning into actions.

And that’s why we are commanded to remember. Zachor! Because sometimes we become too contented, even carefree. We focus on other matters that preoccupy us. We take things for granted—our rights, our freedoms, our safety—forgetting just how easily these can be taken away from us. 

Shabbat Zachor returns on an annual basis for two reasons: first, to remind us that if we let our guard down, if we ignore the warning signs, if we fail to take action against those who call for our annihilation, history will repeat itself. And secondly, that remembrance in itself isn’t enough: We must also call out and defend ourselves against those who seek to emulate Haman and Amalek. That is the lesson of Purim, and that’s why the Sabbath preceding the holiday is called Shabbat Zachor.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman