And there shall come forth a shoot out of the stock of Jesse - Isa. 11:1
Last month, before Purim, the Jewish calendar marked Shabbat Zachor - the sabbath of remembrance. For that Shabbat, we are supposed to step outside the regular order of the parshiot and read the portion of Deuteronomy which recounts how the nation of Amalek ambushed us as we recovered from crossing the sea and escaping Pharaoh. Later, in I Samuel, the first king of Israel, Saul, is commanded to completely wipe out the descendants of Amalek. His failure to do so is the reason he and his line are removed from the kingship, which is given to David. Haman, the most bitter enemy of the Jews in the Tanakh, is supposed to be a descendant of Amalek. About Amalek, about Haman, about Hitler, we are taught to say, “y’mach shmo” - may his name be erased. In other words, may they be forgotten.
Ironically, who would remember Amalek or Haman, if we did not? Ask any child who has attended a Purim service and the name they most remember is neither Mordechai nor Esther, nor even Ahasverus, but Haman - because they have to listen very carefully to hear that name, so they know when to make noise with their graggers. Perversely, we say that we want their names to be erased, and yet we are the ones who mark Shabbat Zachor and make graggers for Purim.
As we move into the 21st century, memory is a growing concern. The most traumatic event of our recent Jewish history is the Holocaust, yet the testimony that we heard first-hand from survivors will only be heard in recording or second-hand by our children. The choice will be ours as to what we remember and what is forgotten. What should be remembered? We wish to remember the myriad European Jewish cultures created by our relatives in over 1,000 years of history - the works of art, of literature, the music, the texts and even the joy they celebrated. Yet all of that memory is shadowed by the ashes of the Holocaust. We want to rejoice in the accomplishments but we feel the encroachment of the Shoah. We cry out, “Never Again!” - and we mean never again will we stand idly by while an entire people is slated for destruction, is pillaged, dehumanized, and sent to the gas chambers. And yet, as we remember, we sometimes focus more on the destruction than on what was destroyed.
What a shame it would be if the only memory that our descendants carry into the 22nd century (or the 7th millenium on our calendar) would be the name of Hitler, y’mach sh’mo. Our challenge, as we mark Yom haShoah is to remember why we remember - not to increase the infamy of our bitter enemy, but to create a world in which the very idea of such evil is inconceivable. Because of the lives that were lost, we remember those who they were, where they lived, and what they brought to the world. Our memory, in the 20th century, has been shaped by the survivors - the miniscule, too tiny minority of Jews who managed to escape the vast destruction. Perhaps, in the 21th century, we will once again find the voice of the six million and realize that while we marvelled at the miraculous salvations, the mundane and banal slaughter defied our imagination.
We survive not in defiance of Hitler, but because we are Jews - because we have a millennia old tradition that pushes us to act in the world. We thrive not because we are the lucky descendants of those who managed to escape (which we are), not because we use that history to ensure such destruction will not repeat (which we do), but because Judaism, in and of itself, is a tradition and culture worth passing on to a new generation. This lesson is why we send our Temple Sholom Confirmands to Europe - to see what was, to mourn what was lost, and to rejoice with what still struggles to grow. Join us at Shavuot on June 3rd, when they stand with our ancestors at Sinai and reaffirm their attachment to our sacred covenant. Hear how they remember the past, but travel forward into the future.
