Parashat Zakhor and the transfer temptation

In the aftermath of Donald Trump’s real estate dreams of Gaza, some long suppressed imaginations of Israeli Jews are surfacing, some of which can only be described as dark, if not demonic. Posts have come to light, praising and remembering fondly Meir Kahane, as his visions of an Nichtjudenrein river-to-sea-and-further gain the seal of approval even Itamar Ben Gvir decided was a bit too far for him on his campaign trail. Trump’s statements have emboldened this generation of politicians, leading even those left of center to discuss the possibility of exporting Palestinians. 

There are many languages which I’ve heard people say Hamas understands: force, “Arabic” (in the pejorative), confiscation of ground, and so on. My mind asks me whether any of these languages have proven effective. I’ve heard friends describe our response in Gaza to be “kid-gloves,” “nice,” and “weak.” My friends have often described Hamas and its associates (and let’s not act, after having seen cooperation between the various Palestinian groups to hand over the caskets of the “arrested” Bibas brothers, as if there is no common ground between the groups) as an existential threat that will kill us all if we give them the chance. As such, the reasoning goes, we must carry out Kahane’s vision, export people, and let those innocent (this one always carries quotations in some circles) among the Gazans live “a better life elsewhere”. 

All of this plays into a very scary feeling I have, leading into Parashat Zakhor.

On the week that so many Jews recall tragedies from times gone by and those from recent memory, especially when the grass has not yet had a chance to grow on the graves of hostages returned to home soil in the most literal sense, we risk falling into something very dangerous. The memory of the Bibases is nothing short of Pharaoh shouting back through history, yelling to us to remember, but not necessarily calling to action. 

Because policy and practice in Rabbinic Judaism have never been literalist. This is what the ICC missed in their allegation against Prime Minister Netanyahu for using genocidal rhetoric, when he described Hamas and their partners as “Amalek.” No Jew who knows the halakhic system could possibly mistake the mention of Amalek as a positive injunction, because Halakha is never (or at least, in no case of which I can think) based on the simple reading of verses. 

Which, of course, leaves us to the fact that many Jews, I fear, might not feel obligated to this halakhic truth. 

And I fear that many rabbis will abandon their role as rabbis. The role of rabbis is to take the simple verses and dissect them, rather than leave them as they are. Rather than tell people to impose the simplest reading of a verse. That is the easy thing, but it is also the Karaite thing. Rabbinic Jews do not take their Halakha from simple readings.

And I fear that many will take the messages I fear they will hear this week, and use them as the basis of a panicked and fearful reality for all parties involved. 

Of course, Trump’s proposal for Gaza would be, to many, a very simplistic means of imposing the doctrine of Erasing the Memory of Amalek. But the reality is that those of us who have studied the Talmud, especially those of us who are currently studying Masekhet Sanhedrin as part of the Daf Yomi cycle, are aware that Rabbinic Judaism has always preferred a reading that undoes the meaning of the verse, if the simple reading would lead one to an action or policy which would be either violent or irreversible. 

Example after example adorn our Talmud. Think about how the rabbis practically eliminate the practical implementation of the commandments to execute a rebellious son, or to destroy a wayward city, by taking the simple reading of the verses and dissecting it to a point whereby it is nearly unrecognizable. But despite that, it is recognizable. Because that is how we find, in the new reading, the ongoing life of the Torah text. 

Our tradition of rabbinic readings has taught us that the Will of God, as expressed in rabbinic Halakha throughout the ages, is not simple readings of any negative commandment, but rather complex moral lessons.

It is in this fashion that sages as recently as Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and beyond have related to Amalek as an opportunity for learning, and not as one for action. Thoughts which have been encouraged include: considering what threats are posed to the Jewish people, and how must one relate, how one can avoid being overcome by one’s inclination, or by the negative energies and presences in the world, as well as other thought exercises. They do not, in any way, encourage the active destruction of nations. 

The same way I don’t see people advocating a return to lex talionis, to eye-for-eye justice, I hope we will not see an encouraged return to erasure of Amalek. However, we are already hearing this voice. 

When I studied Kahane, of the most discouraging things I found was his simple reading of verses. Far too much of his Torah (and I am loathe to use that term in his case) advocated policy based on simple, literal readings, something which any Rabbinic Jew immediately should view as a red flag. Some might even call it heretical. 

Over and over, I’ve heard people talk about the kindness we are showing in Gaza, quoting the talmudic injunction: one who is merciful to the cruel will eventually show cruelty to the merciful. Except. We cannot talk about our treatment of Gaza as a kindness. I am not here to describe it as genocidal, cruel, or vengeful. But I cannot, in good conscious, allow us to refer to it as mercy. Whatever damage Hamas has dealt to Israel has been repaid tens-fold. Whether the enemy allows that to discourage him is irrelevant; we are not showing kindness. We are not being weak. We are not dealing with kid gloves. We have spoken the language of force in ways that have never been required in the past of us. And we have conducted the greatest campaign against the Jewish people’s mortal (and moral) enemies since the destruction of the Temple.

What kind of force would you like to see?

What kind of kid gloves are these? 

What spirit is lurking in us, which urges us to go further? To view these developments as something positive, instead of something unfortunately necessary? 

A popular moral fallacy of so many in these past weeks has been a criticism of Israel as being so remorseful over the loss of two children, but showing no remorse over the deaths of thousands of Palestinian children. But one is killing, and one is murder.

Regardless of the level of injustices associated with the occupation and the oppression of Israel, nothing justified the murder of Ariel and Kfir Bibas. There are no evils that can justify murder. There are especially no evils and injustices that can justify murdering children with one’s bare hands. What was the gain to be had? What justice or resistance was done for Palestine in this barbaric act?

And this just goes to prove: the prime difference between us and them is that between those who kill and those who murder. And even if we must continue to kill, we will do it with restraint. We will do it with restraint despite having the tools to do far worse. And we will not look at it as a kindness. Any harm we must inflict on people whose actions might not warrant it, is a harm we should regret. 

I learned this, not from some secular humanist philosopher or some woke professor. I learned it from the rabbis who told us that a Wayward Son can only be executed if his parents speak with the exact same voice, something we know to be impossible, effectively voiding this commandment. I learned it from the same rabbis who taught us that one can only be executed for a transgression if they verbally acknowledge their awareness of the Halakha and the fact that they will be executed for their action, severely impairing the likelihood that these laws be implemented. I learned it from the rabbis who taught me that God’s Torah is read hermeneutically, and not literally, as Kahane and others sometimes read it. 

We had a custom in my yeshiva, for each person to hear Parashat Zakhor in the cantillation notes and pronunciation of their family’s original community. I read the parsha in the pronunciation of the Alte-Kakkers from my community in Baltimore, survivors of the Holocaust who rebuilt their lives. I keep Itche, Usher, and Menashe alive by reading in their style. But reading it in the style of the past is also a reminder to remember, and to not necessarily implement what the past viewed as appropriate.

Through remembering what Amalek did, but not by acting to continue what we once had to do, we continue the legacy of the Rabbis, continue our tradition, and ultimately, fulfill the mitzvah in the best way possible.

As the Hasidim say, there is no space here to elaborate.