Dear TBZ community,
This Shabbat is Shabbat Zachor (the Sabbath of Remembering), a special Shabbat before Purim when we are commanded to read the words from the book of Deuteronomy:
זָכוֹר אֵת אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה לְךָ עֲמָלֵק בַּדֶּרֶךְ בְּצֵאתְכֶם מִמִּצְרָיִם
Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt (Deuteronomy 25:17).
The text goes on to describe how Amalek attacked the weary and the weak, those at the back of the caravan, undeterred by fear of God. The command then is to blot out the memory of Amalek:
תִּמְחֶה אֶת זֵכֶר עֲמָלֵק מִתַּחַת הַשָּׁמָיִם לֹא תִשְׁכָּח
Blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Do not forget (Deuteronomy 25:19)!
Remember what happened to you, and blot out the memory of that which caused that evil. But do not forget.
We read these words and immediately feel their weight. They are connected to Purim because Haman, the villain of the story, is called ha-Agagi (the Agagite), king of Amalek. And the rabbis teach us that Amalek is more than a historical figure: Amalek is every threat, every existential danger, every force that seeks to destroy us.
We also know the difficulty of these words. Read literally, they have been and continue to be understood as God commanding us to destroy others, to retaliate, to be vengeful. The story of Purim holds both: it is about survival, yes, but also about retaliation in response to violence. The Megillat Esther (Scroll of Esther) recounts that after Haman’s plot to annihilate the Jewish people, more than seventy thousand lives were lost in the Jews’ victory. After suffering and fear, the default human response is often to inflict suffering in return. That is the reality of the texts we inherit. It is disturbing, and it is real.
In Hasidic interpretation, Amalek is not only an external threat, but but the evil that exists inside each of us. Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, the 18th century Hasidic master, explains:
“Rather, every person in Israel needs to erase the evil part that is concealed in one’s heart [דכל איש מישראל צריך למחות חלק רע המכונה בשם עמלק אשר טמון בלבו], known by the name Amalek. This is because whenever the seed of Amalek is found in the world, it is found in the human being, for the human is a small world. Therefore, there is a reality to ‘Amalek,’ the force of evil inside every human being, which arises each time to make a person sin. It is regarding this that the remembrance comes in the Torah.”
This text is radical in its shift of focus. Rather than seeing Amalek as only an external enemy to be destroyed, Levi Yitzhak asks us to turn inward: the “enemy” is also the part of ourselves that can act with fear, cruelty, or harm. The Torah’s call to “remember” and “blot out” is not simply about others, it is about the struggle within each of us. And yet, across generations, we have often overlooked this internal lesson. Too often, the stories of Amalek and Haman have been read literally, emphasizing retaliation and vengeance, rather than reflection, self-awareness, and moral responsibility. By failing to center these voices, we have let the external threat dominate our understanding, shaping a narrative that rewards fear and retribution rather than ethical courage. Still, we cannot give up, because reading the instruction literally risks turning us into Amalek ourselves.
Zachor calls us not only to remember, but to act with awareness. We are asked to notice how fear, anger, and the desire for retaliation can rise within us in moments of threat or powerlessness—and to choose a different path. By confronting the Amalek within, we shape who we become rather than letting vengeance shape us.
The response to Haman in chapter nine of the Megillah is the dangerous, external expression of that same impulse. Like the literal reading of zachor, it reflects the default of our limited humanity in the face of fear: we close up, strike back, and inflict suffering in return. We suffer, and we want others to suffer. Zachor is asking us to notice this tendency, to recognize it in ourselves, and to choose differently. Chapter nine shows what happens when we do not.
But Purim also teaches another, radical response. Mordechai’s words to Esther echo across time:
מִי יוֹדֵעַ אִם לְעֵת כָּזוֹ הִגַּעַתְּ לַמַּלְכּוּת
Who knows? Perhaps you have come to this moment for just such a time as this (Esther 4:14).
There are moments in life, in history, when we are called to show up, to be present, to act, to stand for life, for community, for justice. And these moments demand a choice. When we face Amalek, when we face Haman, when fear and hatred rise, we are confronted with the question: Will we respond with the default violence, or with the radical call of Purim?
This choice is not theoretical. It is real in our world today. In Israel, we see Jewish extremists committing violence against Palestinians in the West Bank, believing they are justified in the name of God and by the survival of the Jewish people. Here in our own country, fear and suspicion of immigrants and refugees is leading to policies and attitudes that dehumanize others, as if they themselves were evil. Each time we respond in fear with harm, we participate in the very cycle of Amalek that the Torah warns us about. Every act of violence, every act of dehumanization, is a choice. And every act of kindness, every act of courage, is also a choice.
The other response of Purim – the one we are called to model – is the response of hesed (lovingkindness), generosity, and care. Two of the four mitzvot (commandments) associated with this holiday are about reaching out: mishloach manot, sending gifts to friends and neighbors (which we will be doing on Sunday), and matanot l’evyonim, giving to those in need (we are collecting for Yad Chessed). Our tradition has made a radical move: when we survive a threat, when we triumph over those who would harm us, our response should not be vengeance nor isolation, but generosity, reaching out, caring for others. Fear meets kindness. Threat meets compassion.
Choosing the call of Mordechai and Esther over the chapter nine response is a choice that defines our humanity. It is a radical ethic. It says: even when survival is at stake, we will not let the fear of annihilation make us forget our own humanity. It is the choice to intervene with courage, to act with care, to show up in the world with mercy.
And yet, Purim is not only about radical ethics; it is also about joy. Our celebrations – the Megillah reading, the costumes, the laughter, the feasting – are not distractions from responsibility. They are part of it. They are the living embodiment of choosing life and connection over fear and violence. When we celebrate together, when we open our homes, when we share gifts, when we feed the hungry, when we sing and dance as a community, we are showing the world a different response. We are showing that courage and compassion, generosity and care, can be stronger than fear and hatred. The joy itself becomes a radical act.
So as we approach Purim, let us embrace both the remembering and the celebration. Let us face Amalek and Haman – inside and outside ourselves – with honesty and courage, and then let us choose the path of hesed, connection, and life.
Let us show up for one another, in joy and in responsibility, with courage, with compassion, with generosity, and with hope.
All are welcome to join us in celebrating at TBZ on Monday!
Shabbat Shalom & Purim Sameach,
Rav Claudia