The Nation of Israel is a nation that remembers.
The Jewish calendar revolves around memory. Pesach is dedicated to transferring the memory of the Exodus to our children, since memory is the secret to redemption. The Torah refers to Rosh Hashana as ‘The Day of Remembrance.’
Shabbat is defined by the imperatives of שמור and זכור – ‘keeping and remembering.’ And as the Jewish year comes to a close toward the month of Nissan - the first month of the Jewish year - we are once again commanded to remember: “Remember that which Amalek did to you.”
Remembrance is identification; it is the story, framework, and knowledge of past and future: “know from whence you came and to where you are going.”
However, the imperative to remember is no simple task.
Shir Hashirim Rabbah features a unique midrash about Matan Torah:
R. Yehuda said: When they heard “I am the Lord your God,” the study of Torah became affixed in their hearts, and they would study and never forget.
They came to Moshe and said: ‘Moshe, our master, you become an intermediary between us, as it is stated: "You speak to us and we will hear” (Ex. 20:16), “Now, why shall we die?” (Deut. 5:22). What benefit would there be in our demise?’ They then reverted to studying and forgetting. They said: ‘Just as Moshe is flesh and blood and transient, so, too, his teaching is transient.’
Immediately, they returned and came to Moshe and said to him: ‘Moshe, our master, if only He would appear to us a second time. If only “let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.” If only Torah study will be affixed in our heart as it was.’ He said to them: ‘This will not happen now, but it will in the future, as it is written: “I will place My Torah within them and I will write it on their heart”’ (Jer. 31:32).
Why does the nation want to change the reality of “they would study and never forget,” which would seem to be the ultimate intellectual aspiration? The midrash describes this state as one which is tantamount to death – “why shall we die?” This acknowledges the fact that while memory designs our identity, it can also be a deadly poison, since without innovation there is no life. Instead, a delicate balance is required: if we forget – we are lost; if we never forget – we die. We need to learn, forget, yearn, want, and learn again. This is the life flow that inserts innovation in that which was learned over and over again – “each day they shall be as new in your eyes.”
The poet Yehuda Amichai wrote:
The world is filled with remembering and forgetting
like sea and land, sometimes memory
Is the solid ground we stand on,
sometimes memory is the sea that covers all things
like the flood. And forgetting is the dry land that saves, like Ararat.
(Yehuda Amichai, Open Closed Open)
How do we find the balance between memory which is like “a sea that covers all things,” which prevents life, and memory which is “the solid ground we stand on,” and “the dry land that saves” us from all the surrounding uncertainty?
“When the Temple was destroyed for the second time, ascetics became more prevalent in Israel, who would not eat meat or drink wine” (Bava Batra 60a).
For the generation that saw the Temple destroyed, the memory was so present that they did not have to be told to remember; they could hardly forget. In fact, Rabbi Yeshoshua instructs the people on the appropriate way to move forward, and encourages them to continue eating, getting married, living – and at the same time, to leave an unpainted section in their homes to commemorate the destruction. This act of remembrance enables us to hold on to the past, so it may become part of the formation of our identity – but also allows us to move forward toward the future.
The nation of Israel will continue to make weddings and build homes. At every Jewish wedding, throughout various exiles, at the height of the wedding ceremony we have recited the eternal promise:
“If I forget you, Jerusalem, let my right hand be forgotten; may my tongue cling to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you, if I do not consider Jerusalem my highest joy.”
Perhaps it was this vow that enabled us to return to the streets of Jerusalem.
We strive for an active and constructive remembrance: one that ultimately leads to filling Jerusalem with our people, from children playing in the streets to the elderly watching them.
The verses include two imperatives related to memory: the first is a positive commandment: ‘remember,’ and the second is a negative one: ‘you shall not forget.’ The mitzvah to utterly destroy Amalek only applies to a time in which the nation of Israel is settled on their land, and it seems that the command not to forget too is relevant for a time of peaceful dwelling in Israel.
Remember that which Amalek did to you, on the way, as you came out of Egypt; how he met you on the way, and struck down those who lagged behind you, when you were faint and weary, and feared not God. Therefore, when the Lord your God has given you rest from all your enemies around you, in the land that the Lord your God is giving you for an inheritance to possess, you shall erase the memory of Amalek from under heaven; you shall not forget (Deut. 25:19).
In a state of exile, there is no way to forget the enemies that surround us; this remembrance does not require a command to remember. Perhaps throughout the generations all the communities that read Parashat Zachor held onto the memory for our benefit. They had no need for the reminder, since they were in no position to forget; but like a relay race, they transferred the memory from generation to generation, so that we may receive it here in Israel, on our land, waiting to fulfill the imperative in times of peace.
The command to remember is constant, but the imperative ‘you shall not forget’ is a mitzvah that applies to a time when the Nation Israel is settled on their land in Israel. But perhaps the reverse is also true: our inheritance of Israel is dependent on not forgetting.
In times of peace and abundance, when God has redeemed us from the hands of our enemies, a time will come in which we want to forget the dark times of the past. Memory can be sad and heavy; it can restrain and prevent allowing ourselves to get lost in a quiet and blissful existence, under our fig trees and grape vines. For that time, the Torah warns us, “you shall not forget.’
In the book of Devarim, on the eve of entering the Promised Land, Moshe delivers one of the most relevant speeches for us today:
For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land of flowing streams and pools of water, with fountains and springs that gush out in the valleys and hills: It is a land of wheat and barley, of grapevines, fig trees, and pomegranates, of olive oil and honey … But that is the time to be careful! Beware that in your plenty you do not forget the Lord your God … For when you have become full and prosperous and have built fine homes to live in, and when your flocks and herds have become very large and your silver and gold have multiplied along with everything else, you may become proud, and forget the Lord your God, who rescued you from slavery in the land of Egypt... Remember the Lord your God. He is the one who gives you power to be successful.
(Deut. 8:6-18)
This is the paradox, and our great test.
In the darkness and difficulty of exile, it was impossible to forget. The nation of Israel held on to the memory, and dreamed of returning to Israel, where they could live peacefully, and enjoy the fruits of their labor in God’s land. But as the Torah warns us, arriving at that point may lead us to forget that which we are commanded to remember.
Remembering Amalek means knowing that there are forces in the world that want us destroyed, and also acknowledging a situation in which we lacked faith, in moments of weariness, and wondered whether God was indeed in our presence (Ex. 17:7). Simultaneously, remembering Amalek recalls the miracle of being rescued, and of going into battle knowing that it is not Moshe’s hands that fight the battle – nor our F16s today – but rather, when the People of Israel look up to the heavens and remember their Father in the Heavens, they are victorious.
We pray to return to times of peace and safety in this good land, and that along with the blessings of abundant goodness, we will remember, and will not forget.
We will remember the road, and the objectives of our journey.
We will remember the brokenness, how faint and weary we were, how we wondered whether God dwelt among us. We will remember the disparity and separation.
We will remember the enemy that rose to destroy us. We will remember that the hope to be a free people in our land depends on the ability to see Amalek’s face, and fight back.
We will remember to raise our eyes to the heavens, and we will remember who we are.