Learning Torah is One Thing.  How About Learning a Lesson?

Of the 5,845 verses in the Torah, there are only three that are literally required reading in the presence of the entire Jewish People. They are not verses about kashrut, the holidays, or sacrifices.  They are verses that we spotlight before Purim, but they originate here as the final verses of this week’s parasha, “Ki Tetse,” which includes the laws of making war.

“Zachor – Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey, after you left Egypt – How, undeterred by fear of God, he surprised you on the march, when you were famished and weary, and cut down all those straggling at your rear (acharecha). Therefore, when your God grants you safety from all your enemies around you in the land that your God is giving you as a hereditary portion, you shall blot out the memory of Amalek from under heaven. Lo Tishkach – Do not forget!” (Deuteronomy 25: 17–19).

Some parts of the Torah are meant for kings, or priests, or farmers.  But these are the only words in all of Torah that God insists we all hang onto as a global community. Why? What is it that God wants every Jew to know and for all of us to carry?

I must admit that after seemingly paying attention to these verses for many years, only recently did a question rise up from the words to smack me in the face. Something is off here. Concise and deliberate language describes this scenario before the attack: As we made our way through the desert, some of us were straggling acharecha – in the rear, which opened the entire nation to attack. The question that never occurred to me before, the question that was always obscured by focusing on Amalek’s evil is this: What kind of leaders allowed anyone to fall back, to become separated from us and vulnerable to attack? As wicked and as cowardly as Amalek acted, is it possible that we were responsible for what happened? If we were even partly culpable, that would speak poorly of the Jewish People. But what if my question had no basis at all? The accusation would be slanderous.  Was there someone with shoulders broader than mine who is as troubled by this as I am? Yes. Rabbi Dr. Yehuda Leib Sachs asked the same question.

His perceptive eyes also bumped on the description of Jews who were straggling.  He deftly probes that word “acharecha – at your rear,” to extract the root word “acher – different.” He envisions us racing towards the land of Israel, so blindingly focused on the destination that we abandoned those on our journey who moved to their own rhythm and fell back. We just kept going because, well, they were different.  Our negligence created the opening for the attack; we were the ones who left our own people behind. Rabbi Sachs believes that had we shielded those people whom we deemed to be different “under the protection of the Divine Presence by including them with the rest of the population,” not only they, but we who embraced them, we as a nation, would have been rendered invulnerable to any attack.

These three verses begin by citing the eternal existential danger; Zachor – Remember that Amalek will try to destroy you. They conclude by disclosing the eternal exclusive safeguard against any threat; Lo Tishkach – Do not leave anyone behind.

The way we respect and care for one another, more than anything else we do, is the timeless strategy that ensures our survival.  This is the one thing that God wants every Jew to know and for all of us to carry.