Rabbi's Derasha

Of all of the nations with which Bnei Yisrael must contend, Amalek is identified as the most cruel.  It seems pointless to compare, but in Egypt, the Midrash says, Jewish children were slaughtered and their blood used for bathing.  Yet when reviewing the daily cruelty of the Germans during WWII, it is always Amalek that comes up.  

Indeed, R’ Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld, ztz’l, a sage in Yerushalayim at the turn of the 20th century, refused to go see visiting Kaiser Wilhelm II in 1898 because he considered him a continuation of Amalek.  Cruelty lies at the root of why we read Zachor each year and remain steadfast in our determination to erase Amalek.  

Three weeks ago, at the end of Parashat Beshalach, we read about the actual attack of Amalek on the Jewish people on the way to Har Sinai.  There is a single word that appears there which signals one of the salient features of the battle with Amalek.  As Moshe Rabenu plans the battle, he appoints Yehoshua to mobilize the troops.  He also tells Yehoshua that he will ascend the adjacent hill with Aharon and Chur in order to help affect the battle from on high.  When relating this second maneuver, he mentions that they will ascend the hill “Machar," tomorrow.  In mentioning this seemingly small detail, Moshe is actually signally the critical weakness -- and the underlying foulness -- of Amalek.  

In Bamidbar, Amalek is going to be described as Reisheet Goyim, the first of the nations.  Crucially, however, the verse goes on to say that his end will be oblivion.  He will be feted as a beginning but he will have no end.  This means that he will have no Machar, no tomorrow.

Moshe Rabenu extends the battle with Amalek another day because he knows Amalek -- out of principle -- does not seek a tomorrow.  In embracing the role of a beginning without continuation, Amalek is taking a philosophical stance.  He announces that launching is all that matters.  There is no responsibility for steering the ship ashore because there is no belief that what happens after launching matters.  Nobody needs to care, in effect, because there is no goal to accomplish, no virtue to master, no spiritual excellence to pursue.  The end will be a cynicism that is a prelude to nihilism, and it leads to wanton behavior that knows no bounds.  They will slaughter children not even intent on bathing in their blood.

This is the lesson that Moshe Rabenu was taught at the beginning of the Exodus, and the Torah hints at even in Creation.  Moshe climbed to the hilltop with Aharon and Chur and one other companion: the staff which he has carried since his original encounter with Hashem.  That staff was involved in the plagues in Egypt but its first miracle was that it turned into a snake (Shemot, 4:2-4).  When Moshe Rabenu first saw this transformation, he himself fled.  Hashem told him to take it by the tail to subdue it.  The snake was frightening only in the beginning.  The key to overcoming it was to focus on its tail, its end.  That is how one deals with Amalek: Focus not on the beginning but on the long game. He has a great first act but no continuation because he does not care about continuing.  One can always outlast him if one waits until Machar, tomorrow.

The underlying dynamic here is set from soon after the beginning of Creation.  During the seven days of Creation, the only name used for Hashem is Elokim.  The four-letter name only makes its first appearance in chapter two (2:4).  Rashi comments there that the original intention was to create the world with nothing but judgement (as embodied in Elokim).  But, Rashi adds, Hashem saw that nothing would last under this regime -- the world could not last if governed by a strict sense of judgement.  So Hashem reveals the four-letter name, which indicates mercy.  Mercy means that there is a tomorrow, a Machar.  Amalek does not recognize a role for mercy.  The text of Al Nissim we say on Purim mentions that Haman intended to kill the Jews “B’yom Achad,” on one day.  He could not allow for another day.  The next day is Machar, and that already admits of mercy.   

In Hebrew, the letters of the word “Machar,” tomorrow, are the same as the letters for Rechem, or womb.  The word for mercy, Rachamim, is also from the same word.  The womb is always about mercy, about nurturing hope for another day, about pushing further toward continuation and reaching a goal.  Amalek cannot abide that.

We are reading Zachor this Shabbat to refresh our sense of outrage against Amalek. We do that by remembering its attack on the Jewish people's body. But it was also an attack on hope, on aspirations for better days in the tomorrows ahead. Rubbing out Amalek allows us to look forward, which is what we all need now.