Tetzaveh/Zachor - Memorable

Purim is a day of joy and Zachor, reminding us that our actions have meaning and lasting impact.

This Shabbat, we read Parashat Zachor, which presents one of the most fundamental mitzvot in the Torah: we are commanded to remember what Amalek did to us when we left Egypt. At that time, the world was in awe of the Jewish people because God had freed us from Egyptian slavery with wonders, signs, and miracles. No nation dared to challenge us—except for one: Amalek. Notably, they were not motivated by territorial disputes or self-defense. They attacked us purely out of hatred, and their goal was not to dominate us physically but to break our spirit by instilling doubt. That spiritual attack is precisely what God commands us never to forget.

But the mitzvah does not end there. We are also commanded to erase the memory of Amalek. This raises a paradox: If we remember them, we have not erased them. If we erase them, we cannot remember them. This conundrum has puzzled commentators for centuries. One approach to resolving it lies in a fascinating detail from this week’s Torah reading: Tetzaveh is the only Torah portion from the time of Moshe’s birth until the end of the Torah in which his name does not appear.

The Vilna Gaon connects this omission to the date of Moshe’s death on the 7th of Adar, which usually falls out on the week of Parashat Teztaveh. The Gemara in Mesechet Megilla 13b teaches that when Haman cast lots to determine the best month to destroy the Jews, he rejoiced when the lot fell on Adar because that was the month when Moshe died. Haman saw this as an omen that our time was up. If Moshe, the leader who brought us the Torah, who led us out of Egypt, died in Adar, then clearly the Jewish people would be vulnerable during this period. But as the Gemara points out, Haman failed to realize that Moshe was also born on the 7th of Adar, making it not just a month of loss but also a month of renewal.

According to the Baal Haturim, Moshe’s name was omitted from this week's Torah portion in response to his request. Following the sin of the Golden Calf, God threatened to destroy the Jewish people. Moshe pleaded on their behalf, saying,

וְעַתָּה אִם תִּשָּׂא חַטָּאתָם, וְאִם אַיִן מְחֵנִי נָא מִסִּפְרְךָ אֲשֶׁר כָּתָבְתָּ

“If You will not forgive them, erase me from the book You have written."

A tzaddik’s words always leave an imprint, so even though God forgave us, He fulfilled Moshe’s request by erasing his name from Tetzaveh. But why was this portion, so close to Purim, chosen for his absence?

The answer is that Moshe’s erasure ties together the deepest themes of Zachor, Amalek, and Purim. Amalek represents a worldview that denies meaning and purpose. The Torah describes their attack with the words "asher karcha baderech"—"they encountered you on the way." The word karcha can mean "encounter," but Rashi explains that it also connotes coincidence. Amalek sees history as a series of accidents in a world where everything is random, meaningless, and disconnected. To them, Moshe’s death in Adar is proof that the Jewish people are not singular and that life has no inherent meaning. If Moshe, the greatest Jewish leader, could die without entering the Land of Israel, then God had no special bond with the Jewish people nor any concern for them as individuals.

But Esther proved him wrong. When Mordechai informed her of Haman’s decree, she hesitated to intervene, fearing for her life. Mordechai did not simply tell her to be brave; he offered a deeper perspective:

כִּ֣י אִם־הַחֲרֵ֣שׁ תַּחֲרִישִׁי֘ בָּעֵ֣ת הַזֹּאת֒ רֶ֣וַח וְהַצָּלָ֞ה יַעֲמ֤וֹד לַיְּהוּדִים֙ מִמָּק֣וֹם אַחֵ֔ר וְאַ֥תְּ וּבֵית־אָבִ֖יךְ תֹּאבֵ֑דוּ וּמִ֣י יוֹדֵ֔עַ אִם־לְעֵ֣ת כָּזֹ֔את הִגַּ֖עַתְּ לַמַּלְכֽוּת:

"If you remain silent at this time, salvation will come from another place, but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows? Perhaps you were placed here for this very moment."

Mordechai taught Esther that God does care not only about the Jewish people as a whole but also about each individual’s role in history. She realized that every moment is part of a greater plan, and each person has a purpose. Her choices did not determine whether the Jews would survive, but they shaped our destiny, ensuring that our salvation became a story of faith, courage, and hashgacha pratit/divine providence. Through her actions, she transformed Jewish history and gave us the holiday of Purim.

Haman saw Moshe’s death as a sign of divine indifference. But Esther saw it as proof that each of us is precious to God—not despite challenges, but because of them. Our struggles are part of a meaningful divine plan, guiding us to our greatest purpose.

"LaYehudim hayta ora v’simcha v’sason v’ikar"—"For the Jews there was light, joy, gladness, and honor."

Each of those words from the Megillah reflects not only our national redemption but also a deeply personal one. Light, joy, and honor are qualities that exist within every one of us, showing that each Jew is precious in the eyes of God. The lesson of Purim is that we are not merely caught in the randomness of history. We are active participants in a meaningful, divine story.

So let us return to our question: How can we be commanded to remember Amalek and erase their memory? The answer is that Amalek is not just a nation - it is an idea, a belief that life is random, that we do not matter, that nothing is worth remembering. To erase Amalek, we must prove them wrong.

We do this by living with meaning and purpose, by showing that our choices matter and that every moment is part of a greater saga. This is why Zachor—remembering—is more important than ever. When we live with intention and faith, we don’t just remember Amalek—we obliterate them and thereby ensure that their memory fades while ours will endure.

This is the essence of Purim. At first glance, it appears to be a holiday of randomness—its very name, Purim, means "lots," a game of chance. But, Purim reveals that what seems like coincidence is divine providence, which transforms randomness into destiny. Haman cast his lots while believing in a world of chaos, where events have no meaning. Esther, however, acted with the conviction that every individual and every moment has a purpose, and in doing so, she changed history.

Purim is a day of joy but also much more; it is a day of Zachor, a reminder that everything we do matters. In our celebration, we are not merely recalling an ancient story; we are affirming that our choices shape the future. This is how we erase Amalek—not by forgetting their deeds, but by remembering them with a different perspective. By choosing meaning over randomness, by turning pain into purpose, we can ensure that our story, the story of the Jewish people and each of us personally, will be remembered forever.

Shabbat Shalom!