Two Minute Torah Podcast

Vayikra (Shabbat Zakhor) 5768 by Rabbi Elyse Winick

This week we will mark Shabbat Zakhor, the Shabbat which precedes Purim. Zakhor, meaning ‘remember,’ could easily be the watchword of our people. It is memory which motivates much of our Jewish being –as a catalyst for learning, for spiritual growth and for the betterment of the world.

The reading begins: ‘Zakhor et asher asah lekha Amalek.’ Remember what Amalek did to you, on your way, leaving Egypt. And what was Amalek’s great sin? Their armies attacked the Israelites from behind, where the vulnerable and weakest among them were stationed. It was a heinous and horrific act against those who could not defend themselves.

Where the text becomes confusing is in the final verse, where we are enjoined, ‘...timheh et zekher Amalek mitahat hashamayim, lo tishkah’ ‘...erase the memory of Amalek from the world, do not forget.’

How are we to keep ourselves from forgetting, if we are commanded to erase Amalek from the history books?

There are moments in time which we actively seek to forget, times which are too painful to feel as deeply when they have passed as they did when they were current. Even as we seek to forget them, their unforgettable quality transforms us and their impact is palpable. It is the pain we seek to erase, more than the memory itself.

Moving into my dorm room for my sophomore year of college, my brother and my father were shlepping things from the car to the room. At one point, my father picked up a heavy milk crate filled with record albums (just think of CDs on steroids). My brother tried to take it from him and I watched a brief tug of war ensue, until my brother let go, threw up his hands and said, ‘It’s your life.’

When we were done, I stood in front of the window and admired the view I’d have for the next eight months. Behind me I heard my brother ask my father if he was ok. I turned to see my father fishing in his pocket for a vial of nitroglycerin tablets, smiling and saying, ‘It’s just prophylactic.’ In the next moment he collapsed, grey-faced. My brother tried to perform CPR. My sister-in-law went in search of an RA. I ran to find a working telephone to call paramedics. Despite our valiant efforts, there was nothing which could be done.

If I could have a do-over of any one day in my life, that would be the day. I’d like to forget that it ever happened. But I know that I am the person I am today at least in part because of that day. And to let go of that memory would be to let go of my father’s final moments, his last joke, his last smile.

Pledging not to forget even as you try to blot something from memory is less in conflict than you might think. It’s about the way the pain is dulled over time, even though it never truly goes away. It’s about drawing back that curtain of intensity to find the lessons it shadows, the moments that are worth remembering, fragmented amidst the heartbreak. It’s about zakhor, remember, as a force for good and as a motivation for the betterment of ourselves and our world.