Daf Ditty Megillah 18: Amalek without and within

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 Letter of Dr. Elhanan Elkes (1879–1944), Chair of the Jewish Council in the
Kaunas (Kovno) Ghetto, Lithuania, to his children [Joel, 1913-2015, & Sara,
1924–2015], 19 October 1943. (Littman 1998).

Elkes writes: "I am writing to you my beloved children...in the Valley of Tears, the Kovno
Viljampole Ghetto...I am writing this in an hour when many shattered souls, widows, and orphans,
threadbare and hungry, are camping on our doorstep imploring us for help. My strength is ebbing.
There is a desert inside me. My soul is scorched. I am naked and empty, and there are no words
in my mouth...The Germans killed, slaughtered, and murdered us in complete equanimity. I saw
them; I was standing in their presence as they were sending many thousands of men and women
and children and infants to be butchered...I embrace and kiss you and say to you that I am your
loving father to my very last breath. Elkhanan."

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The Gemara relates: Rabbi Yehuda, a man of Kefar Gibboraya, and some say he was a man
of Kefar Gibbor Ĥayil, taught: What is the meaning of that which is written:

‫ִהים‬L‫ֱא‬ ‫ְתִהָלּה‬ ‫ֻדִמָיּה‬ @‫ב ְל‬ 2 Praise waiteth for Thee, O God, in Zion; and unto
.‫ֶנֶדר‬-‫שַׁלּם‬
ֻ ‫ ְי‬,@‫ְבִּציּוֹן; וְּל‬ Thee the vow is performed.
Ps 65:2

“For You silence is praise”? The best remedy of all is silence, i.e., the optimum form of praising
God is silence. The Gemara relates: When Rav Dimi came from Eretz Israel to Babylonia, he
said: In the West, Eretz Yisrael, they say an adage: If a word is worth one sela, silence is worth
two.

§ It is taught in the mishna: If one read the Megilla by heart he has not fulfilled his obligation.
The Gemara asks: From where do we derive this? Rava said: This is derived by means of a
verbal analogy between one instance of the term remembrance and another instance of the term
remembrance. It is written here, with regard to the Megilla:

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 ‫דּוֹר‬-‫כח ְוַהָיִּמים ָהֵאֶלּה ִנְזָכּ ִרים ְוַנֲﬠִשׂים ְבָּכל‬ 28 and that these days should be remembered and kept
,‫ ְמִדיָנה וְּמִדיָנה‬,‫ ִמְשָׁפָּחה וִּמְשָׁפָּחה‬,‫ָודוֹר‬ throughout every generation, every family, every
‫ ל ֹא ַיַﬠְברוּ‬,‫ְוִﬠיר ָוִﬠיר; ִויֵמי ַהפּוּ ִרים ָהֵאֶלּה‬ province, and every city; and that these days of Purim
‫ָיסוּף‬-‫ ל ֹא‬,‫ְוִזְכָרם‬ ,‫ַה ְיּהוִּדים‬ i‫ִמתּוֹ‬ should not fail from among the Jews, nor the memorial
{‫ }ס‬.‫ִמַזּ ְרָﬠם‬ of them perish from their seed. {S}
Esther 9:28

“That these days should be remembered” and it is written elsewhere:

‫ ְכֹּתב ז ֹאת‬,‫ֹמֶשׁה‬-‫יד ַויּ ֹאֶמר ְיהָוה ֶאל‬ 14 And the LORD said unto Moses: 'Write this for a
-‫ ִכּי‬:‫שַׁﬠ‬ ֻ ‫ ְבָּאְזֵני ְיהוֹ‬,‫ ְוִשׂים‬,‫ִזָכּרוֹן ַבֵּסֶּפר‬ memorial in the book and rehearse it in the ears of
‫ ִמַתַּחת‬,‫ֵזֶכר ֲﬠָמֵלק‬-‫ָמֹחה ֶאְמֶחה ֶאת‬ Joshua: for I will utterly blot out the remembrance of
.‫ַהָשָּׁמ ִים‬ Amalek from under heaven.'
Ex 17:14

“And the Lord said to Moses: Write this for a memorial in the book, and rehearse it in the ears
of Joshua: That I will utterly blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under the heavens” Just
as there, with regard to Amalek, remembrance is referring specifically to something written in a
book, as it is stated, “in the book,” so too here, the Megilla remembrance is through being written
in a book.

The Gemara raises a question: But from where do we know that this remembrance that is stated
with regard to Amalek and to the Megilla involves reading it out loud from a book? Perhaps it
requires merely looking into the book, reading it silently. The Gemara answers: It should not
enter your mind to say this, as it was taught in a baraita: The verse states:

,i‫ ַבֶּדֶּר‬,‫ ֲﬠָמֵלק‬t‫ָﬠָשׂה ְל‬-‫ ֵאת ֲאֶשׁר‬,‫יז ָזכוֹר‬ 17 Remember what Amalek did unto thee by the way as
.‫ְבֵּצאְתֶכם ִמִמְּצָר ִים‬ ye came forth out of Egypt;
Deut 25:17

“Remember what Amalek did to you” One might have thought that it suffices for one to
remember this silently, in his heart. But this cannot be, since when it says subsequently:

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 -‫ ִמָכּל‬t‫ ְל‬t‫יט ְוָהָיה ְבָּה ִניַח ְיהָוה ֱא{ֶהי‬ 19 Therefore it shall be, when the LORD thy God hath given,
-‫ ָבָּאֶרץ ֲאֶשׁר ְיהָוה‬,‫ ִמָסִּביב‬t‫ֹא ְיֶבי‬ thee rest from all thine enemies round about, in the land
‫ִתְּמֶחה‬--‫ ַנֲחָלה ְל ִרְשָׁתּהּ‬t‫ ֹנֵתן ְל‬t‫ֱא{ֶהי‬ which the LORD thy God giveth thee for an inheritance to
,‫ ִמַתַּחת ַהָשָּׁמ ִים; ל ֹא‬,‫ֵזֶכר ֲﬠָמֵלק‬-‫ֶאת‬ possess it, that thou shalt blot out the remembrance of
{‫ }פ‬.‫ִתְּשָׁכּח‬ Amalek from under heaven; thou shalt not forget.
Deut 25:19

“You shall not forget” it is already referring to forgetting from the heart. How, then, do I
uphold the meaning of “remember”? What does this command to remember adding to the
command to not forget? Therefore, it means that the remembrance must be expressed out loud,
with the mouth.

§ It was taught further in the mishna: If one read the Megilla in Aramaic translation he has not
fulfilled his obligation. The Gemara asks: What are the circumstances of this case? If we say
that the Megilla was written in the original biblical text, i.e., in Hebrew, and he read it in
Aramaic translation, then this is the same as reading it by heart, as he is not reading the words
written in the text, and the mishna has already stated that one does not fulfill his obligation by
reading the Megilla by heart. The Gemara answers: No, it is necessary to teach this case as well,
as it is referring to a case in which the Megilla was written not in the original Hebrew but in
Aramaic translation, and he read it as written, in Aramaic translation.

§ The mishna continues: However, for those who speak a foreign language, one may read the
Megilla in that foreign language. The Gemara raises a difficulty: But didn’t you say in the
mishna: If he read it in any other language, he has not fulfilled his obligation? The Gemara cites
the answer of Rav and Shmuel, who both say: When the mishna says: A foreign language, it is
referring specifically to the Greek foreign language, which has a unique status with regard to
biblical translation.

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The Gemara asks: What are the circumstances of the case? If we say that the Megilla was
written in Ashurit, i.e., in Hebrew, and he read it in Greek, this is the same as reading it by
heart, and the mishna teaches that one does not fulfill his obligation by reading by heart. The
Gemara answers: Rabbi Aḥa said that Rabbi Elazar said: The mishna is dealing with a case in
which the Megilla was written in the Greek foreign language and was also read in that language.

The Gemara returns to discussing languages for reading the Megilla and raises an objection
against Rav and Shmuel, who said that one may read the Megilla in Greek but not in other foreign
languages. It is taught in a baraita: If one read the Megilla in Coptic [Giptit], Ivrit, Elamite,
Median, or Greek, he has not fulfilled his obligation, indicating that one cannot fulfill his
obligation by reading the Megilla in Greek.

The Gemara answers: The clause in the mishna that teaches that the Megilla may be read in a
foreign language to one who speaks that foreign language is comparable only to that which was
taught in a different baraita: If one reads the Megilla in Coptic to Copts, in Ivrit to Ivrim, in
Elamite to Elamites, or in Greek to Greeks, he has fulfilled his obligation. The Megilla may
be read in any language, provided the listener understands that language.

The Gemara answers: The clause in the mishna that teaches that the Megilla may be read in a
foreign language to one who speaks that foreign language is comparable only to that which was
taught in a different baraita: If one reads the Megilla in Coptic to Copts, in Ivrit to Ivrim, in

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Elamite to Elamites, or in Greek to Greeks, he has fulfilled his obligation. The Megilla may be
read in any language, provided the listener understands that language.

The Gemara asks: But if so, that one who reads the Megilla in a foreign language that he speaks
fulfills his obligation, why did Rav and Shmuel establish the ruling of the mishna as referring
specifically to Greek? Let them interpret it as referring to any foreign language that one speaks.
The Gemara explains: Rather, the mishna is to be understood like the baraita, that one who reads
the Megilla in a language that he speaks fulfills his obligation; and that which was stated in the
name of Rav and Shmuel was said as a general statement, not relating to the mishna but as an
independent ruling, as follows: Rav and Shmuel both say: The Greek language is acceptable
for everyone, i.e., anyone who reads the Megilla in Greek has fulfilled his obligation, even if he
does not understand Greek.

Summary

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 Two Thousand Years of Megillat Esther... How Did They Do It?

Our rabbis continue their discussions regarding yesterday's Mishna.

They begin by questioning what prayers will be said when the Temple is rebuilt. Does the blessing
of thanksgiving follow Priestly Benediction? or the other way around? And is the prayer for
thanksgiving actually necessary if prayers have been recited at the sacrificial service? The rabbis
wonder if we have not already given our prayers of thanksgiving. Further, they wonder what must
be said in praise of God if anything. Psalms 65:2 tells us that "for you, silence is praise", and that
Ravi Dimi said, "In the West, they say: A word is sela (one coin); silence is two."

A perfect segue into their discussion of reading the Megilla by heart being forbidden. Like with
Amalek, where Deuteronomy teaches us both to "remember" and "not to forget", the rabbis
understand our recitation of the Megilla as involving both reading and speaking/hearing aloud.

Regarding the question of language, it is clear that our Sages want us to understand the meaning

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of the Megilla. Though they argue about how and why this is done, they agree that we should
understand the meaning of the Megilla. This is why we are permitted to hear the Megilla in our
own languages. And because most Jews understand at least a bit of Hebrew, we are told, it is also
permitted for us to hear the Megilla in Ashurit. Greek is the only contentious language, and it
would seem that the politics of the day were responsible for that anomaly.

The rabbis end amud (a) with examples of we can figure out the meanings of strange words by
hearing them used in context.

The rabbis turn to the order of the Megilla. They are clear that we must read the Megilla in order,
but we are allowed to take long pauses - long enough to complete the reading - while we are
completing the recitation. They tell us about an argument between the customs in Pumbedita,
worth Rav Kahana and Rav teaching us about one length of pause, while Rabbi Mona in Sura
teaches a more stringent length of time. The commentary tells us the importance of this difference
is that Rabbi Shmuel went against Rabbi Mona - and the majority of rabbis - in siding with Rabbi
Yeduah ben Beiteira. This means that the rabbis can rule against a majority in cases of siding with
greater stringency. I find that interpretation disturbing, for I do not wish to think that stringency
is desirable. Instead, I like to think that all rabbis have the opportunity to argue their opinions, and
the Talmud records it all.

Moving along, the rabbis note that we are even allowed to doze off while reading the Megilla, as
long as when we are awakened, we can remember details when our friends mention them to us.

Our last discussion is about the writing of Megillot. What do we do if one letter is forgotten or
misprinted? What if a word is omitted from the text but the reciter is able to remember that one
word and insert it while reading aloud? Although we are not supposed to recite the Megilla from
memory, it is clear that our rabbis are looking for ways to allow for leniencies. They want Jewish
people to hear this story for generations to come, even if not to the letter of the law. And,
amazingly, it worked. Along with my community, I listen to the recitation of Megillat Esther every
year. I listen to the Hebrew, and I read along in English, and so I both hear the recitation and I
understand the story. Two thousand years in the making...

Rav Avrohom Adler writes:1

The Gemora cites a braisa (explaining the rationale for the order of the blessings of the Shemoneh
Esrei): From where do we know that the blessing of the Patriarchs should be said? Because it says:
Ascribe unto Hashem, you sons of the mighty. And from where do we know that we say the
blessing of God’s mighty deeds? Because it says: Ascribe unto Hashem honor and might. And
from where do we know that we say a blessing of God’s holiness? Because it says: Ascribe unto
Hashem the honor due unto His name, bow to Hashem in the beauty of holiness. The Gemora

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http://dafnotes.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/Megillah_18.pdf

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explains why the blessing of Understanding is mentioned after the blessing of Holiness. Because
it says: They shall sanctify the Holy One of Jacob and they shall revere the God of Israel, and next
to this it says: Those who err in spirit shall come to understanding.

The Gemora explains why the blessing of Repentance is mentioned after the blessing of
Understanding. Because it is written: And with his heart he shall understand, and he will repent
and be healed. The Gemora asks: If that is the reason, the blessing of Healing should be mentioned
right after the blessing of Repentance!?

The Gemora answers: Do not imagine such a thing, since it is written: And let him return to
Hashem and He will have compassion upon him, and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.
The Gemora asks: But why should you rely upon this verse? Rely rather on the other! The Gemora
answers: There is written another verse: Who forgives all your iniquities, who heals all your
diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, which implies that redemption and healing come
after forgiveness.

The Gemora asks: But it is written: and he will repent and be healed? The Gemora answers: That
does not refer to the healing of sickness, but to the healing of forgiveness. The Gemora asks: What
was their reason for mentioning Redemption in the seventh blessing? Rava replied: Because they
[Israel] are destined to be redeemed in the seventh year (preceding the coming of the Messiah);
therefore, the mention of Redemption was placed in the seventh blessing.

The Gemora asks: But a master has said: In the sixth year will be sounds, in the seventh wars, and
at the end of the seventh the son of David will come? The Gemora answers: War is also the
beginning of redemption. The Gemora asks: What was their reason for mentioning Healing in the
eighth blessing? Rabbi Acha said: Because circumcision which requires healing is appointed for
the child’s eighth day; therefore, it was placed in the eighth blessing.

The Gemora asks: What was their reason for placing the blessing of the Years ninth? Rabbi
Alexandri said: This was directed against those who (unfairly) raise the market price of food, as it
is written: Break the strength of the wicked; and when David said this, he said it in the ninth Psalm.
The Gemora asks: What was their reason for mentioning the Gathering of the Exiles after the
blessing of the Years?

The Gemora answers: Because it is written: Your mountains of Israel, you shall shoot forth your
branches and yield your fruit to My people Israel, for they are close to returning. The next blessing
is the Restoration of Justice, for once the exiles are assembled, judgment will be visited on the
wicked, as it says: And I will turn my hand upon you and purge away your dross as with lye, and
it is written further: And I will restore your judges as at the first. The next blessing is regarding the
Heretics: And when judgment is visited on the wicked, transgressors cease, and presumptuous
sinners are included with them, as it is written: But the destruction of the transgressors and of the
sinners shall be together, and those that forsake God shall be consumed.

The next blessing is regarding the Righteous: And when the transgressors perish, the horn of the
righteous is exalted, as it is written: All the horns of the wicked I will cut off, but the horns of the
righteous shall be exalted, and ‘righteous converts’ are included with the righteous, as it says: you

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shall rise up before an old person and honor the face of a Sage, and the text goes on: And if a
convert dwells with you. The blessing of Jerusalem is next. And where is the horn of the righteous
exalted? In Jerusalem, as it says: Pray for the peace of Jerusalem, may those who love you be
serene. The blessing of the Reinstatement of the Davidic Kingdom is next. And when Jerusalem
is built, David will come, as it says: Afterwards the children of Israel shall return and seek Hashem
their God, and David their king. The Acceptance of Prayer blessing is next, for once David comes,
prayer will come, as it says: I will bring them to My holy mountain and make them joyful in My
house of prayer.

The blessing of the Temple Service is next, for once prayer comes, the Temple service will come,
as it says: Their burnt offerings and their sacrifices shall be acceptable upon My altar. The
Thanksgiving blessing is next, for when the Temple service comes, thanksgiving will come, as it
says: Whoever offers the sacrifice of thanksgiving honors Me. The Gemora asks: What was their
reason for inserting the Priestly Blessing after the blessing of Thanksgiving?

The Gemora answers: Because it is written: And Aaron lifted up his hands toward the people and
he blessed them, and he came down from offering the chatas and the olah and the shelamim
offerings. The Gemora asks: But cannot I say that he did this before the service (as that is the order
mentioned in the verse)? The Gemora answers: Do not imagine such a thing, for it is written and
he came down from having performed the chatas offering. Is it written ‘to offer’? It is written,
‘from offering.’ The Gemora asks: Why not then say it (the Priestly Blessing) immediately after
the blessing of the Temple Service?

The Gemora answers: Do not imagine such a thing, since it is written, who offers the sacrifice of
thankgiving. The Gemora asks: Why base yourself upon this verse? Why not upon the other? The
Gemora answers: It is logical to regard service and thanksgiving as one. The Gemora asks: What
was their reason for having the blessing of Establish Peace said after the Priestly Blessing? The
Gemora answers: Because it is written: And they (the Kohanim) shall put My name upon the
Children of Israel, and then I shall bless them; and the blessing of the Holy One, blessed be He, is
peace, as it says: Hashem shall bless his people with peace.

The Gemora asks: If one hundred and twenty elders (the Men of the Great Assembly), and among
them many prophets, have arranged the order of the Shemoneh Esrei, why was it necessary for
Shimon of Pekuli to arrange them in their proper sequence? The Gemora answers: They had been
forgotten, so he reintroduced the order.

The Gemora rules: It is forbidden to add to the brochos of the Shemoneh Esrei. Rabbi Elozar said:
It is written [Tehillim 106:2]: "Who can utter the mighty acts of Hashem? Who can proclaim all
his praise?" For whom is it fitting to utter? Only one who can publish all of His praises (and since
this is impossible to accomplish, only the blessings that have been ordained should be recited).

Rabbah bar bar Chanah said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: He who praises Hashem too much
will be uprooted from the world. Rabbi Yehudah of the village Geboriah said: Silence is the best
medicine. When Rav Dimi came from Eretz Yisroel to Bavel, he said: in Eretz Yisroel, they would
say: "A word is worth a sela, and silence is worth two."

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The Mishna had stated: If one reads the Megillah by heart, he does not fulfill his obligation. Rava
cites a Scriptural source for this. The Gemora rules that one is obligated to remember Amalek
verbally; mentally is not sufficient.

The Gemora explains a ruling of the Mishna to mean that if a Megillah is written in Targum
(Aramaic), and he read it in Targum, he has not discharged his obligation (for it was not read in
Hebrew).

The Mishna had stated: One may read the Megillah in a foreign language for those who understand
it. The Gemora asks that the earlier part of the Mishna states the opposite: If one reads the Megillah
in a foreign language, he does not fulfill his obligation. Rav and Shmuel both answered that what
is referred to here (where he fulfills his obligation) is the Greek Language (where Rabban Shimon
ben Gamliel maintains that it is valid). The Gemora asks: How are we to understand this? Shall we
say that it is written in Hebrew, and he reads it in Greek? This is the same as reading it by heart.
Rabbi Acha said in the name of Rabbi Elozar: What is referred to is where it is written in the Greek
language.

The Mishna had stated: If a foreigner hears the Megillah read in Ashuris (Hebrew), he has fulfilled
his obligation. The Gemora rules that this is true even if he doesn’t understand every word. Proof
to this can be brought from the fact that nobody understands the precise meaning of the words
‫הרמכים בני האחשתרנים‬, ha’achashtranim bnei haramachim (a species of swift camels), and
nevertheless we fulfill the mitzvah. The Gemora provides the reason for this: The obligation of
reading the Megillah is to publicize the miracle and that was accomplished.

The Mishna had stated: If he read the Megillah intermittently, he has fulfilled his obligation. The
Chachamim did not know what the word serugin (intermittently) meant, until they heard the
maidservant of Rebbe say to the Rabbis who were coming to Rebbe’s house at different intervals,
“Until when will you be entering serugin serugin?” The Gemora offers other examples of words
that the Chachamim did not know what they meant, and they discovered the meaning after hearing
the maidservant of Rebbe or from different travelers.

It was taught in a braisa: If he read the Megillah intermittently, he has fulfilled his obligation but
if he read it out of sequence, he does not fulfill his obligation. Rabbi Muna said in the name of
Rabbi Yehudah: If he read the Megillah intermittently, but he paused in the amount of time it
would take him to read the entire Megillah, he would be required to start the Megillah again.

It was taught in a braisa: If the scribe had omitted letters or verses and the reader read them from
memory, he has fulfilled his obligation. The Gemora challenges this ruling from a different braisa:
If letters from the Megillah are partially effaced or torn, if they are still legible, the Megillah may
be used, but otherwise it may not be used. The Gemora answers: It is only invalid if the entire
Megillah is illegible, however if a Megillah is missing less than half of its letters, it is still valid. (

The Mishna had ruled: If one read the Megillah while he was drowsy, he has fulfilled his
obligation. Rav Ashi clarifies the case. He is asleep and not asleep, awake and not awake; if he is
called, he responds, but he cannot give a rational answer, though if he is reminded, he remembers.

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The Mishna had stated: One who was writing it, interpreting it or correcting it, and during that
time recited the entire Megillah; if he set his mind to it, he has fulfilled his obligation, but if he did
not set his mind to it, he did not fulfill his obligation. The Gemora explains the case: There was
another Megillah before him and he reads one verse at a time (from the complete Megillah) and
then writes it down.

The Gemora asks: Shall we say that this supports Rabbah bar bar Chanah, for Rabbah bar bar
Chanah said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: It is forbidden for a scribe to write one letter of any
Scripture unless it is copied from a text? The Gemora answers: It is not a proof because the Mishna
can be referring to a case where a Megillah was opened in front of the scribe, but in truth, it would
not have been necessary.

The Gemora discusses whether one who knows the Torah by heart would be permitted to write a
Scripture scroll without copying from a text. Abaye allowed the members of the house of Bar
Chavu to write tefillin and mezuzos without copying from a text. The Gemora states that this
follows the opinion of Rabbi Yirmiyah cited in a braisa who states in the name of Rabbeinu that
tefillin and mezuzos may be written without copying from a text and they do not require etched
lines (sirtut – the letters are written using these lines) on the parchment. The Gemora concludes
that while it’s true that tefillin does not require etched lines; mezuzos do. They both may be written
without copying from a text because their content is fluent to all.

FLYING CAMELS AND MULES

The Mishna had stated: If a foreigner hears the Megillah read in Ashuris (Hebrew), he has fulfilled
his obligation. The Gemora rules that this is true even if he doesn’t understand every word. Proof
to this can be brought from the fact that nobody understands the precise meaning of the words
‫הרמכים בני האחשתרנים‬, ha’achashtranim bnei haramachim (a species of swift camels), and
nevertheless we fulfill the mitzvah. The Gemora provides the reason for this: The obligation of
reading the Megillah is to publicize the miracle and that was accomplished.

It is noteworthy that Rashi in the Megillah understands the word achashtranim to be referring to a
type of swift camel. Ibn Ezra understands ramachim to mean horses and achashtranim to mean
mules. Rabbeinu Chananel might have had a different version in our Gemora since he states that
women and unlearned men did not know the definition of these words, implying that learned men
did know the translation.

The Reshash writes that ha’achashtranim bnei haramachim is referring to the riders on top of these
animals. The Rivash in his teshuvos (390) states that when he arrived in the city of Srakista, he
observed that they would read the Megillah written in a foreign language on behalf of the women
because they didn’t understand Hebrew.

He wished to abolish this practice for two reasons: The Ramban rules that if one understands
Hebrew and another language, he cannot fulfill his obligation by reading the other language and if
so, the man reading the Megillah for the women could not discharge their obligation. Secondly,
how could they know the precise translation of the words ha’achashtranim bnei haramachim?

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The Rivash sent his ruling to the Ran and the Ran replied as follows: Perhaps the meaning of the
Gemora is that the common person did not know the meaning of those words, but the sages did
know. The Ran does conclude that the translation of the people of Srakista is most definitely a
mistake and therefore he agreed with the Rivash.

Reb Yaakov Emden comments that these animals are found in Persia, and they are eight-legged
camels who are extremely swift runners. The Gemora, at times, refers to a gamla parcha – a flying
camel, must be without a doubt from the same family. The Mishna Berura (690:34) rules that
whenever one is fulfilling his obligation of reading the Megillah in a foreign language; he must
recite the words ha’achashtranim bnei haramachim in Hebrew.

HOW MANY WORDS ARE IN THE MEGILLAH?

It was taught in a braisa: If the scribe had omitted letters or verses and the reader read them from
memory, he has fulfilled his obligation. The Gemora challenges this ruling from a different braisa:
If letters from the Megillah are partially effaced or torn, if they are still legible, the Megillah may
be used, but otherwise it may not be used.
The Gemora answers: It is only invalid if the entire Megillah is illegible, however if a Megillah is
missing less than half of its letters, it is still valid. Shulchan Aruch (690:3) rules that it is preferable
that the Megillah should be written in its entirety, and if the scribe missed words in the middle,
even close to half the Megillah, and he reads the rest by heart, it is only valid b’dieved (after the
fact).

The Mishna Berura inquires as to what the halacha would be if the Megillah would be missing
exactly half the words. In Sha’ar Hatziyon, he writes that the inference from the Rambam would
be that it is invalid and from the Rosh and the Ran, it would seem that the Megillah is valid.

Reb Yitzchak Zilberstein cites that they asked Reb Elyashiv regarding the possibility of this case
since they checked and realized that the Megillah does not have an even number of words, so how
could the Megillah be missing precisely half of the required number of words. Reb Elyashiv
answered that the case can be referring to where the Megillah was written in a foreign language
which can be valid for people who understand that language.

WHICH SURGEON SHOULD HE USE?

The Gemora discusses whether one who knows the Torah by heart would be permitted to write a
Scripture scroll without copying from a text. The Gemora states that Rabbi Meir was permitted to
write a Megillah from memory because he knew the words fluently by heart.

Reb Elyashiv, cited by Chishukei Chemed ruled on the following inquiry and he derived his ruling
from our Gemora. A person residing in Eretz Yisroel developed a heart issue and he was required
to undergo a risky heart surgery. The local doctors said that they do not perform this type of surgery
frequently, but they are ninety-five percent confident that the surgery will be a success. There is
an expert surgeon outside of Eretz Yisroel who performs this surgery daily and he said that if he
would perform the surgery, he would be successful ninety-five percent of the time. Should this
individual travel outside of Eretz Yisroel to have the surgery performed by the expert surgeon?

14
Reb Elyashiv ruled that he should go because that doctor is more accustomed in performing this
type of surgery. The Gemora in Taanis 15a states regarding a communal fast: They would send a
chazzan to lead the prayer who was an elder and fluent in the prayers. Rashi explains: One who is
fluent in his prayers will not make a mistake. Our Gemora states that one who is fluent in the words
of the Torah will not make a mistake when he is writing the Torah without copying from a text.
This is why it would be preferable to travel to the doctor outside of Eretz Yisroel even though the
percentage of success is the same. Someone who is more accustomed to performing this type of
surgery will not make a mistake.

A MEGILAS ESTHER WRITTEN IN A LANGUAGE OTHER

THAN HEBREW

Rav Mordechai Kornfeld writes:2

The Gemara explains that when one reads a Megilah written in a language other than Hebrew to
those who understand that language, they fulfill the Mitzvah of reading the Megilah. When one
reads a Megilah written in Hebrew (Ashuris) to those who do not understand Hebrew, they
nevertheless fulfill the Mitzvah.

The Gemara earlier (8b-9a) quotes a Beraisa which says that the Megilah "must be written in
Ashuris (b'Ashuris Al ha'Sefer uv'Diyo)." The Gemara there derives this requirement from the
verse, "ki'Chesavam" -- "... according to their writing..." (Esther 9:27), which teaches that the
Megilah must be written only in Ashuris. This clearly contradicts the Gemara here which says that
the Megilah may be written in any language. How can this contradiction be resolved?

(a) TOSFOS (8b, DH Ad) explains that the Beraisa earlier (which says that the Megilah is not
valid unless it is written in Ashuris) refers to the Halachah of Tum'as Yadayim (the enactment of
the Chachamim that Sifrei Kodesh cause one's hands to become Tamei; see Shabbos 14a). A
Megilah written in any language other than Hebrew is not Metamei Yadayim. For the Mitzvah of
reading the Megilah, however, it is a valid Megilah even when it is written in another language.3

Why, though, is a Megilah written in a foreign language not Metamei Yadayim if it is valid for the
Mitzvah of reading the Megilah? Tosfos answers that a Sefer's ability to make one's hands Tamei
does not depend on its status as a valid Sefer. Rather, a Sefer is Metamei Yadayim because of the
importance of Kisvei ha'Kodesh. A Megilah written in a foreign language does not have that
importance since not everyone can fulfill his obligation with it (but only one who understands that
language).

2
https://www.dafyomi.co.il/megilah/insites/mGodt-018.htm
3
The RITVA and Rishonim explain that the verse "ki'Chesavam" teaches only that one who does not understand the language in
which the Megilah is written may not read from it unless it is written in Ashuris.

15
(b) The RI'AZ (cited by the Shiltei Giborim) explains that the law derived from the verse
"ki'Chesavam" that a Megilah written in a foreign language is invalid refers to a Megilah written
with a foreign script. The script -- the actual letters -- must be Ashuris. The language of the words
that are written, however, may be a foreign language. That is, the Megilah may be written in any
language transliterated into Hebrew (Ashuris) script. When the Mishnah says that one may read
the Megilah in any language to someone who understands that language, it means the script of the
writing itself must be Ashuris, but the words may be foreign words that were transliterated into
Ashuris.4

2HALACHAH: A GREEK MEGILAH

Rav and Shmuel conclude that a Megilah written in Yevanis (Greek) may be used for the Mitzvah
by everyone, even by those who do not understand Greek. They rule like Raban Shimon ben
Gamliel (8b) who permits writing Sifrei Kodesh in Ashuris or in Yevanis, and they apply his ruling
to the Megilah as well. According to their view, one who hears the reading of a Megilah written
in Greek fulfills the Mitzvah even if he does not understand Greek. (One who hears the Megilah
in any other foreign language does not fulfill the Mitzvah unless he understands that language.)

The ruling of Rav and Shmuel seems problematic for several reasons. The Gemara earlier (9a)
says that the Megilah is valid only when it is written in Ashuris (if it is read to people who do not
understand the language in which it is written), as is derived from the verse, "ki'Chesavam." The
Gemara there implies that everyone -- even Raban Shimon ben Gamliel -- agrees with this ruling.
Why, then, do Rav and Shmuel say that the Megilah may be written in Yevanis, when the Gemara
earlier derives from the verse "ki'Chesavam" that the Megilah may be written only in Ashuris?

Moreover, Rebbi Yochanan (9b) rules that the Halachah follows the view of Raban Shimon ben
Gamliel. The Rabanan permit writing a Sefer Torah (and Sifrei Nevi'im and Kesuvim) in a foreign
language, while Raban Shimon ben Gamliel permits writing it only in Yevanis. Since the Halachah
follows the view of Raban Shimon ben Gamliel, it emerges that -- according to Rav and Shmuel -
- even a Megilah may be written in Yevanis.

However, Rebbi Yochanan elsewhere (Shabbos 46a, 81b, and many other places) states that the
Halachah always follows the opinion of an anonymous Mishnah. Here, the anonymous Mishnah
(17a) states that the Megilah may be read in a foreign language (such as Yevanis) only to someone
who understands that language. The end of the Mishnah clearly states that only a Megilah written
in Ashuris may be used by anyone, even one who does not understand the language. The
anonymous Tana of the Mishnah clearly disagrees with Raban Shimon ben Gamliel, who permits
Yevanis like Ashuris. How can Rebbi Yochanan (on 9b) rule like Raban Shimon ben Gamliel if
the anonymous Mishnah here (17a) follows the Rabanan and says that one who does not
understand the language may read the Megilah only in Ashuris and not in Yevanis?

4
The PNEI YEHOSHUA (17a) and VILNA GA'ON (OC 689) side with this opinion.

16
(a) The RAMBAN (in Milchamos) explains that the Gemara here argues with the earlier Gemara.
Rav and Shmuel -- who say that Raban Shimon ben Gamliel permits writing the Megilah in
Yevanis -- do not expound the verse of "ki'Chesavam" as teaching that the Megilah must be written
only in Ashuris, while Rebbi Yochanan does expound that verse (as does the Gemara on 9b).
Therefore, Rebbi Yochanan -- who rules like Raban Shimon ben Gamliel -- maintains that Raban
Shimon ben Gamliel agrees that a Megilah must be written only in Ashuris, as the Gemara earlier
(9a) concludes.

This answers both questions. It explains why Rav and Shmuel argue and say that a Megilah may
be written in Yevanis and not just in Ashuris. It also explains why Rebbi Yochanan does not
contradict the anonymous Mishnah (which does not allow a Megilah written in Yevanis to be read
to those who do not understand Yevanis) when he rules like Raban Shimon ben Gamliel.
The Halachah follows the ruling of Rebbi Yochanan, and thus one does not fulfill the Mitzvah to
read the Megilah with a Megilah written in Yevanis if he does not understand the language.

(b) The RAN and RITVA explain that, according to Rav and Shmuel, Raban Shimon ben Gamliel
agrees with the Derashah of "ki'Chesavam”, and he does not argue with the opinion in the previous
Sugya. However, he learns the Derashah differently. He maintains that it excludes all foreign
languages except for Yevanis. Thus, a Megilah may be written in either Ashuris or Yevanis.
However, if Raban Shimon ben Gamliel does not permit any type of Sefer (such as a Sefer Torah)
to be written in any language other than Ashuris or Yevanis, then why would one have thought
that a Megilah may be written in any other language such that a new verse is necessary to teach
otherwise?

The Ran and Ritva explain that one might have thought that the Megilah may be written in any
language either because it is called an "Igeres," an informal letter, or because it was originally sent
to all nations in their own languages (Esther 9:29-30). Therefore, an additional verse is necessary
to teach that the Megilah may not be written in any other language.

Accordingly, the Derashah of "ki'Chesavam" excludes all languages except Ashuris and Yevanis.
When the Megilah is written in Ashuris or Yevanis, one fulfills the Mitzvah even when he does
not understand those languages.

When the Mishnah says that one may read the Megilah in a foreign language to one who
understands that language ("l'Lo'azos b'La'az"), it refers only to languages other than Yevanis. A
Megilah written in Yevanis may be read to anyone, even one who does not understand Yevanis.
Hence, the Mishnah does not contradict Raban Shimon ben Gamliel's ruling.

However, one question remains. How can Raban Shimon ben Gamliel agree with the Mishnah?
The end of the Mishnah states that the only Megilah which may be read to one who does not
understand the language is a Megilah written in Ashuris. Raban Shimon ben Gamliel, however,
says that such a person may hear a Megilah written in Ashuris or Yevanis. The TOSFOS
RID answers that the word "Ashuris" should be omitted from the Mishnah. Indeed, this is the Girsa
of RABEINU CHANANEL (19a) and many other Rishonim, as the DIKDUKEI SOFRIM (#2)
points out.

17
(c) The RI'AZ argues with the other Rishonim and explains that when the Mishnah says that the
Megilah must be written in Ashuris, it means that the script of the Megilah must be Hebrew letters.
The language, however, may be any language (that is, a transliteration into Hebrew script; see
previous Insight). When Raban Shimon ben Gamliel says that the Megilah may be read in Yevanis
to everyone, he refers to a Megilah written with the script of Ashuris which forms words in
transliterated Yevanis. Accordingly, Raban Shimon ben Gamliel agrees with the Derashah of
"ki'Chesavam," because that verse refers to the script which must be used, and not to the language.
(The PNEI YEHOSHUA (17a) and VILNA GA'ON (OC 689) side with this opinion.)

HALACHAH: The TUR cites opposing views with regard to whether one who does not
understand Yevanis may fulfill the Mitzvah with a Megilah written in Yevanis. He cites
the RIF and the ROSH who rule that one does not fulfill the Mitzvah by hearing a Megilah written
in Yevanis (unless he understands it). The BEIS YOSEF writes that the RAMBAM agrees with
this ruling but for a different reason. The Rambam writes (Hilchos Tefilin 1:19) that the language
of Yevanis has been forgotten from the world and therefore it may not be used for the Mitzvah of
Megilah.

From the fact that the SHULCHAN ARUCH (OC 690) makes no mention of reading the Megilah
in Yevanis, it is evident that he rules like the Rif, Rosh, and Rambam, and he maintains that
Yevanis is no different from any other foreign language.

CAST YOUR BURDEN UPON HASHEM

The Gemara relates that the Rabanan did not know the meaning of the word "Yehavcha" in the
verse, "Cast upon Hashem Yehavcha" (Tehilim 55:23), until an Arab merchant told Rabah bar bar
Chana, "Take your Yehav and cast it upon my camel." At that moment they learned that
"Yehavcha" means "your burden."

How was it possible that an Arab merchant was more familiar with the meaning of the words of
Tehilim than the Amora'im of his time? (VILNA GA'ON, cited by Rav Mendel of Shklov in his
commentary to Mishlei 3:5)

The VILNA GA'ON answers that the Rabanan knew the meaning of the word "Yehavcha." Their
uncertainty involved the meaning of the verse and arose from their doubt about a basic concept in
Avodas Hashem. The Rabanan were not sure how far the trait of "Bitachon," trust in Hashem, must
be taken. Perhaps one is supposed to try to provide a livelihood for himself and then trust that
Hashem will cause his efforts to bear fruit. On the other hand, perhaps the optimal expression of
Bitachon is when a person makes no physical effort to provide for himself, but rather he focuses
entirely on serving Hashem and trusting that Hashem will provide him with all of his material
needs.

The word "Yehav" in the verse comes from the word "Yahav," the Aramaic word for "give." The
Rabanan initially understood that that the former type of Bitachon is the proper approach, and thus
they did not understand why this word is used in the verse. The verse should not say, "Cast upon
Hashem what you give," but rather, "Cast upon Hashem what you need (Tzorchecha)."

18
The incident of Rabah bar bar Chana and the Arab merchant demonstrated that the latter approach
to Bitachon is the correct one. Rabah should have had to pay the Arab to carry his burden for him,
but instead the Arab voluntarily suggested that Rabah cast his burden upon the Arab's camel. The
use of the word "Yehav" in this incident demonstrates that the word "Yehavcha" is used in the
verse to teach that Hashem provides all the needs of the person who trusts in Him, and He does
not demand that the person invest his own effort into providing for his needs. Even though it
was Rabah who should have asked and even paid the Arab to carry his burden, nevertheless the
Arab asked Rabah to allow him to carry the burden. The Rabanan understood from that incident
that when the verse uses the word "Yehavcha" it means, "Cast upon Hashem even those things for
which you should rightfully be required to give [money or effort] in order to gain." (See
also DIVREI ELIYAHU, Tehilim 131:2.)

The question of the Rabanan seems to correspond to the debate among the Tana'im in Berachos
(36b) about the extent to which one must develop his trait of Bitachon. The Vilna Ga'on's
explanation here follows the opinion of Rebbi Shimon bar Yochai, who maintains that Hashem
will send provisions to the person who commits all of his time and energy to learning Torah.
(Apparently, even Rebbi Yishmael -- who apparently argues with Rebbi Shimon there -- agrees
that one on the spiritual level of Rebbi Shimon must develop this degree of Bitachon.)

The Vilna Ga'on their explains the verse in Mishlei (3:5), "Trust in Hashem with all your heart
(b'Chol Libecha)." He explains that one should change the order of the letters in the word
"Libecha" and transform "your heart" ("Libecha" -- Lamed, Beis, Kaf) so that it is "entirely"
("ba'Kol" -- Beis, Kaf, Lamed) dedicated to the service of Hashem. When one does so, Hashem
will bless him in return with "ba'Kol" -- all that he could possibly need.

Perhaps this is also the implication of the end of the verse quoted by the Gemara here: "Cast upon
Hashem your burden (Yehavcha) and He will provide for you (Yechalkelecha)." "Yechalkel"
comes from the word "Kol" -- He will provide you with all of your needs, "ba'Kol," because you
placed all of your trust in Him.

This may be the meaning of the verse which says that Hashem blessed Avraham "ba'Kol"
(Bereishis 24:1). The Midrash says, "Avraham had a daughter (i.e., a trait) named ba'Kol." That
is, Avraham Avinu placed his full, unwavering trust in Hashem and acknowledged that there is no
need to put any effort into providing sustenance for oneself because Hashem will provide for him.
In return, Hashem indeed provided Avraham with all of his needs.

That verse introduces the Torah's account of how Eliezer sought a wife for Yitzchak at Avraham's
behest. Why did Avraham send Eliezer to find a wife for his son, and he did not have Yitzchak go
to find a wife for himself? How could Avraham be confident that Eliezer would succeed in finding
a fitting match for Yitzchak? The answer is that Avraham knew that Hashem provided him with
all of his needs and that his own efforts were superfluous. It was from Avraham's expression of
Bitachon that Eliezer, Avraham's servant, learned that the way to find a wife for Yitzchak was to
ask Hashem to help him and show him the proper bride in a miraculous manner, rather than to
research various families and interview multiple candidates.

19
Steinzaltz (OBM) writes:5

As we learned in the Mishna, anyone can hear the Megillah read in Hebrew; in order to fulfill your
obligation while hearing the Megillah read in another language, you must understand that
language.

Fulfilling one’s obligation by hearing the Megillah in Hebrew seems intuitive. Ravina points out
in the Gemara that there are words in the Megillah whose definition we really do not know (ha-
ahashtranim bnei ha-ramakhim – see Esther 8:10), so clearly what we need is a proper reading
that publicizes the miracle. This can be accomplished with a public Hebrew rendition. Rabbenu
Yehonatan adds that most Jews have a rudimentary understanding of Hebrew, so someone who
hears a reading in Hebrew will get the basics of the story, as opposed to someone who hears it in
a language with which he is not familiar.

With regard to hearing the Megillah in a language other than Hebrew, it is not clear that the simple
teaching of the Mishnah is accepted as the halakhah. While the Rambam rules that someone who
understands a given language can fulfill his mitzvah by hearing the Megillah read in that language,
the Ramban – basing himself on the Talmud Yerushalmi – argues that that is true only if the
language in which the Megillah is read is the only language that the person understands. If he
understands Hebrew, he is obligated to hear the Megillah read in Hebrew.

The ruling of the Mishnah notwithstanding, Rav and Shmuel are quoted in the Gemara as ruling
that the Megillah can be read in Greek – even for people who do not understand Greek. This ruling
is accepted as the halakhah by the Rambam, although the Ramban disagrees, permitting Greek to
be used only by those for whom the only language they understand is Greek.
The Mekhtam explains that Greek was considered the universal language at that time, which is
why the suggestion is raised that it should be permitted for use by all.

The Gemara teaches that the priestly blessings are said after the sections of “Avodah” and
“Hoda'ah.”6 In the Torah (Vayikra 9:22), Aharon apparently blessed the nation immediately after
performing his service upon the altar. The reason we do not recite the priestly blessings
immediately after “Avodah” is that we consider service and thanks as one entity, between which
we do not interrupt.

HaRav Mordechai Rogow, zt” l, explains. The Jewish personality is a great and mighty force in
the world. The heart and mind of every Jew is a profound and significant entity. Together, all of
us comprise the soul of the nation which stood at Har Sinai and experienced the Revelation as the
Torah was given. It is difficult to fathom the sublime and holy portion of each and every Jew.
Who, then, can assume the position of understanding and determining the spiritual status of a Jew
in order to bestow a blessing upon him? Yet this is a mission which is assigned to the priestly tribe,

5
https://www.ou.org/life/torah/masechet_megillah1622/
6
https://www.dafdigest.org/masechtos/Megilla%20018.pdf

20
the sons of Aharon. How are they to approach their task of pronouncing a blessing upon this grand
people?

The Midrash reports that the reaction of the Jews when they heard that the Kohanim were to bless
them was to resist. “Master of the universe, you have told the Kohanim to bless us. We do not
want their blessings, but only those from You alone!” They were concerned that as human beings,
the Kohanim could not fully comprehend and appreciate the complete and total nature of the
Jewish soul, and the nation feared that their blessings would necessarily be inadequate. This is why
they requested that Hashem alone bless them directly.

Nevertheless, Hashem reassured the Jews that the Kohanim would be well equipped to pronounce
the blessings, for they would do so only after having performed the service upon the altar. The
experience of conducting the service and of officiating at such an occasion would uplift the
spiritual plateau upon which the Kohanim would stand. Having obtained this stature, they would
now have the insight and perception to appreciate what the blessings would require. Under such
circumstances, the blessings which they would enunciate would be wide in scope and broad in
intent.

Rav Dovid ben Zimra (1), the Radvaz, writes that although a ‫גט‬requires etched lines, nonetheless,
if a scribe folded the parchment to form lines rather than etching lines into the parchment the ‫ גט‬is
valid. The reason is that the purpose of the etched lines is to make it easier for the scribe to write
the text and there is no specific requirement to etch lines into the parchment.
Rav Shimshon Duran (2), the Tashbatz, also reports that it was common practice, dating back to
the time of Savoraim, to use dots rather than etched lines, and although the Rabbis could not
explain the rationale for the custom, they nonetheless continued the practice.

Rabbeinu Nissim (3), the Ran, also writes that the purpose of the etched lines is to keep the text
straight and organized; consequently, tefillin that will not be read do not require the etched lines.
Rav Yosef Karo4, the Beis Yosef, cites the opinion of Mordechai who writes that the word ‫שרטוט‬
indicates that a groove is formed, thus it is not sufficient to use another method.

Furthermore, the marking must be permanent and making a line that will fade is invalid. It can be
inferred from the comment of the Mordechai that the etched lines are part of the make-up of writing
on parchment and it is not merely to keep the text straight.

This approach is supported from another related dispute. There is a dispute whether the lines must
be etched ‫לשמה‬, for its own sake.

Rav Tzvi Hirsh Eisenstadt (5), the Pischei Teshuva, cites opinions who maintain that the etching
must be done for its own sake, whereas Rav Yosef Teomim (6), the Pri Megadim, writes that the
etching does not have to be done for its own sake. However, even Pri Megadim agrees that if the

21
etching was done for a different purpose that it is unacceptable. This issue points to the fact that
the requirement for etched lines is similar to the requirements for writing the text, and not merely
a means to write the text in a straight line.

The year 1915 was a turbulent one for eastern European Jewry and the world as a whole; World
War I was at its height. In Poland, even taking a simple journey was exceedingly dangerous. For
this reason, when the Lev Simcha, zt” l, got engaged, his father, the Imrei Emes, zt” l, declared
that no one should think of traveling to the wedding. He said, “All of those who would have joined
us should instead celebrate with us in spirit in the safety of their own homes. No one should
endanger himself by traveling in these perilous times.”

On the night of the wedding, Rosh Chodesh Elul, everyone in attendance received a big surprise.
The former melamed of the Imrei Emes, Rav Hirsch Ber Bronspiegel, zt” l, had indeed traveled a
long distance to join in the family’s simchah despite his advanced age. He was well over ninety
years old at the time. Although the Rebbe rejoiced upon seeing his old mentor, he was nevertheless
disturbed that Rav Bronspiegel had made the journey.

The Rebbe gave a daily shiur and during Rav Hirsch’s visit, he joined the group. When the Rebbe
began discussing the Gemara at the end of Megilla 18a, Rav Hirsch Ber asked, “We see that the
amud concludes with two verses that contained words that were unfamiliar to the which
they later understood from overhearing

22
 “The Ishbitzer Rebbe, zt” l, taught that the Gemara ends with the question that is most relevant
to us. In Rosh Hashanah, the theme is judgment, and so heartfelt prayer is paramount.
Naturally, Chazal ended off with casting one’s burdens on Hashem. In Megilla, the theme is
Purim. So, they finished with the verse that alludes to the mitzvah of the day—sweeping out
Amalek!”

Rabbi Heather Miller writes:7

Once in a blue moon, someone can do something so nice for us — so selfless and life altering —
that we can never stop thanking them. And if this is the way we feel about actions that humans do
for us, how much more so do we want to thank God for all the blessings of this beautiful world:
the sky and the earth, water and fire, love and celebration, the precious people who make our lives
meaningful and worthwhile? Logically, the human instinct might be to attempt to praise God
endlessly.

But today’s page of Talmud warns us against doing this. Have you ever thought about heaping
more blessings of praise onto the nineteen blessings of the Amidah? Don’t, say the rabbis:

Declaring the praises of the Holy One, Blessed be God, beyond (the Amidah blessing) is
prohibited.

Rabbi Elazar follows up this statement by citing Psalm 106:2, which rhetorically asks, “Who can
utter the mighty acts of Adonai? Who can declare all God’s praise?” No one is capable of extolling
God adequately for all that has been given, and so to even attempt it is not allowed. The Amidah,
as scripted, must suffice.

Rabba bar bar Hanah joins the conversation stating that Rabbi Yohanan warned:

One who excessively declares the praises of the Holy One, Blessed be God, is uprooted from the
world, as it is stated: “Shall it be told to him when I speak? If a man says it, he would be
swallowed up.” (Job 37:20)

This creative reading of Job implies that a person would be swallowed up for the hubris of even
implying that they were capable of expressing enough praise for all of the blessings God has
brought forth.

Finally, the Gemara relates the words of Rabbi Yehuda (some say he was from Kefar Gibboraya
and some say he was a man of Kefar Gibbor Chayil) who cited Psalm 65:2 which says “For You
silence is praise,”which he understands to mean that it is better to praise God silently than aloud.
To drive the point home, the Gemara shares an insight from Rav Dimi who says this is like a
popular saying he knows of:

7
Myjewishlearning.com

23
In the west, they say a word is worth a sela (coin), but silence is worth two!

Sometimes overdoing praise is a mistake. The best way to give thanks when the usual channels
have been exhausted is to be silent and hold unending gratitude in your heart. Silence is indeed
golden, even when it comes to praising God beyond the requisite blessings of the Amidah.

Rabbi Johnny Solomon writes:8

We are taught in our daf (Megillah 18b) that a Megillah or, in fact, even one letter of the Megillah,
may not be written by heart (‫)אסור לכתוב אות אחת שלא מן הכתב‬. Instead, it must be copied from a pre-
existing Megillah.

Nevertheless, we are then taught a Beraita telling us of a specific incident when, while visiting
Assya to add an extra month to the year, Rabbi Meir was informed that the community did not
have a Megillah. In response, ‫ – כתבה מלבו וקראה‬he wrote one out from memory and then
subsequently read from it.

As the Gemara proceeds to explain, Rabbi Meir was unique as he had a photographic memory and
was already admired for his perfect recall of Tanach. Moreover, there are those who deduce from
the words of ‫ כתבה מלבו וקראה‬that he actually wrote a Megillah from memory and then used this as
a text from which to copy a further Megillah - which was the one that was used to read from. Yet
as the Gemara itself points out, notwithstanding the uniqueness of Rabbi Meir, he nevertheless still
wrote a Megillah from memory which should not be done.

In response, the Gemara tells us that ‫ – שעת הדחק שאני‬meaning that a different and less-than-ideal
(‫ )בדיעבד‬practice (i.e. writing from memory) may be followed in exigent circumstances (‫)שעת הדחק‬,
and as the Gemara and various commentaries explain, in this case the exigent circumstance was
the fact that the people of Assya did not have a Megillah.

Of course, notwithstanding Rabbi Meir’s photographic memory, it would have been

understandable for him to choose not to write a Megillah from memory given the law that ‫אסור‬
‫( לכתוב אות אחת שלא מן הכתב‬it is forbidden to write even one letter unless it is copied from a text),
and he could have justifiably told the people of Assya that while he is sympathetic to their situation,
they would have to skip hearing the Megillah that year.

Yet what is clear from this Gemara, as well as many other sources elsewhere in the Gemara and
the poskim (rulings and responsa of halachic decisors), is that part of the task of a religious leader
is not only to know a range of halachic positions ranging from the ideal (‫ )לכתחילה‬to the less-than-
ideal and often normatively invalid (‫)בדיעבד‬, but also to understand the needs of the time and
whether the situation faced by the community they are leading demands that we look beyond what
has always been done to meet the needs of what needs to be done.

Of course, while many people would agree with what I have written, there will be those who take
the view that what matters more is the ‘who’ (i.e. the specific rabbinic personality who makes the

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judgement of adopting a ‫ בדיעבד‬position in a ‫)שעת הדחק‬, over that ‘what’ which needs to be done
(i.e. the duty of addressing the needs of people who find themselves in a ‫)שעת הדחק‬, and they will
make the argument that unless we are being led by those who are on par with Rabbi Meir, we
should always default to demanding the halachic ideal even in the most challenging of
circumstances.

However, this argumentation is faulty, because each generation has its unique challenges that need
to be met by leaders of each generation who understand those unique challenges, which means that
even those whom we do not consider to be on par with Rabbi Meir, but who are the rabbinic leaders
of specific communities, have the license to decide halacha according to positions that some may
deem less-than-ideal if they feel that the community whom they are leading are facing a ‫שעת הדחק‬.
And though others may not agree, the key point here is that only a leader who is in the community
that they are leading can fully comprehend the needs of that community.

Ultimately, pesika (the art of halachic decision-making) is nuanced and subtle, and it involves a
delicate balancing act between promoting the demands of halacha while responding to the needs
of the people. It is one that is often misunderstood and misrepresented. But what is clear is that
there are times when we must look beyond what has ‘always been done’ to meet the needs of ‘what
needs to be done’, and while it takes broad shoulders to make such decisions, it is incumbent on
those who represent communities to have broad shoulders.

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 The Sound of Silence

Rabbi Yehudah Prero writes:9

There is a widespread custom to study Pirkei Avos during the weeks between Pesach and Shavuos.
The lessons in Pirkei Avos, known also as the Ethics of the Fathers, are contained for the most part
in the tractate Avos, one of the books of the Mishna. What distinguishes Avos from other tractates
is the topic and focus of the book. Instead of dealing with legal precepts, it deals with how one
should lead his or her life. These lessons from our Sages, the ethics of our Fathers, are lessons for
all time.

In the first chapter (Mishna 17) we find that Shimon, the son of Rabban Gamliel used to say: All
my days I grew up among the sages, and I have found nothing better for a person than silence.
The virtues of silence are mentioned in other places as well. The Talmud (Megillah 18a) states that
A word (is valuated) for a sela (a monetary unit), but silence (is valuated) for two sela’s. Why is
silence worth more than speech? Why is there nothing better for a person than silence?

The Shelah explains we find that the above lesson from the tractate of Megillah is applied even to
the words of Torah. Why is this the case? When a person is engaged in the study of Torah or
prayer, the person is in essence standing before God. When standing before God, we have to be
composed. We have to carefully contemplate what we are about to say. Our expressions should be
clear and focused. Silence allows us the time to pause and reflect on what we are about to do. It
provides us with an opportunity to prepare ourselves so that our words are the most effective they
can be. Rather than speaking off the cuff and engaging in discourse that may be less than
substantial, we need to be silent for a bit. After we have engaged in some contemplative silence,
we are ready to speak effectually.

It is customary, throughout the world and in many cultures, to remember those who are no longer
with us with a moment of silence. Silence, in Jewish law, is associated with mourning as well. The
Aruch HaShulchan (Yoreh De’ah 376:1) writes that those who come to comfort a mourner should
not speak to the mourner until the mourner first speaks to him. The reason for the silence, the
Aruch HaShulchan writes, is that our comfort of the mourner is to aid him in understanding the
passing of his loved was was an act of God, and a just action. We must comfort him in his moments
of depression. Before we can comfort, the mourner must indicate that he recognizes what happened
was God’s will. In days of old, a mourner used to begin his conversation with the words “Dayan
HaEmes,” “God is the true judge.” He indicated that he accepted the judgement of God, and then
he allowed others to comfort and strengthen him.

The silence that comes before any conversation with a mourner gives both the mourner and the
comforter time to reflect on the situation. The mourner has suffered a loss, and perhaps his faith
has been shaken. The comforter is visiting a mourner to provide him with support and strength in
a moment of weakness. By not immediately engaging in pointless chatter, both mourner and

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comforter have an opportunity to prepare themselves for the dialogue. The mourner does not have
to stifle emotions. The mourner does not have to be social. The mourner need not even talk if he
does not feel like it. The comforter has to be prepared for his visit with the mourner. He is there
not to distract the mourner from what happened. He is not there to provide entertainment. He is
there to help the mourner deal with the issues that the mourner wants to discuss. Silence allows
both mourner and comforter to collect their thoughts, and then have meaningful, purposeful
conversation.

We are now in the midst of the Sefira period. Traditionally, this time period is one in which we
observe customs associated with mourning. Tragedies befell the Jewish people at this time of the
year, and we commemorate the losses appropriately. Yom HaShoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day
was April 23. Yom HaZikaron, the Memorial Day for those that gave their lives in the defense of
the State of Israel, was on April 29. While memorial services and speeches help us focus on the
losses we have suffered, we can use another tool the Sages have indicated is useful: silence. We
can take time out to remember what happened to us, whether we understand it or not. We can take
the time to focus our thoughts on how we can strengthen our faith in God in the wake of tragedy.
We can take the time to contemplate what needs to be said about the tragedies, and how to say it.
Silence affords us these opportunities. Silence is truly good for the person. And to rephrase the
words of the Talmud quoted above, silence is golden.

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 The sound of silence10

If you ignore the daily hubbub, you can recreate the desert, find God's voice, and
know you're not alone (Bamidbar)

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks (OBM) writes:11

Bamidbar is usually read on the Shabbat before Shavuot. So, the sages connected the two. Shavuot
is the time of the giving of the Torah. Bamibar means, “In the desert.” What, then, is the connection
between the desert and the Torah, the wilderness and God’s word?

The sages gave several interpretations. According to the Mekhilta, the Torah was given publicly,
openly and in a place, no one owns because had it been given in the land of Israel, Jews would
have said to the nations of the world, “You have no share in it.” Instead, whoever wants to come
and accept it, let them come and accept it.[1]

Another explanation: Had the Torah been given in Israel; the nations of the world would have had
an excuse for not accepting it. This follows the rabbinic tradition that before God gave the Torah
to the Israelites, He offered it to all the other nations and each found a reason to decline.[2]
Yet another: Just as the wilderness is free — it costs nothing to enter — so the Torah is free. It is
God’s gift to us.[3]

But there is another, more spiritual reason. The desert is a place of silence. There is nothing visually
to distract you, and there is no ambient noise to muffle sound. To be sure, when the Israelites
received the Torah, there was thunder and lightning and the sound of a shofar. The earth felt as if
it were shaking at its foundations. But in a later age, when the prophet Elijah stood at the same

10
Bamidbar, Covenant & Conversation 5776 on Spirituality
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mountain after his confrontation with the prophets of Baal, he encountered God not in the
whirlwind or the fire or the earthquake, but in the kol demamah dakah, the still, small voice,
literally “the sound of a slender silence.”[4]

I define this as the sound you can only hear if you are listening. In the silence of the midbar, the
desert, you can hear the Medaber, the Speaker, and the medubar, that which is spoken. To hear the
voice of God, you need a listening silence in the soul.

Many years ago, British television produced a documentary series, The Long Search, on the
world’s great religions.[5] When it came to Judaism, the presenter, Ronald Eyre, seemed surprised
by its blooming, buzzing confusion, especially the loud, argumentative voices in the beit midrash,
the house of study. Remarking on this to Elie Wiesel, he asked, “Is there such a thing as a silence in
Judaism?” Wiesel replied: “Judaism is full of silences … but we don’t talk about them.”

Judaism is a very verbal culture, a religion of holy words. Through words, God created the
universe: “And God said, let there be … and there was.” According to the Targum, it is our ability
to speak that makes us human. It translates the phrase, “and man became a living soul” (Gen. 2:7)
as “and man became a speaking soul.” Words create. Words communicate. Our relationships are
shaped, for good or bad, by language. Much of Judaism is about the power of words to make or
break worlds.

So, silence in Tanakh often has a negative connotation. “Aaron was silent,” says the Torah, after
the death of his two sons Nadav and Avihu (Lev. 10:3). “The dead do not praise you,” says Psalm
115, “nor do those who go down to the silence [of the grave].” When Job’s friends came to comfort
him after the loss of his children and other afflictions, “Then they sat down with him on the ground
for seven days and seven nights, yet no one spoke a word to him, for they saw that his pain was
very great.” (Job 2:13).

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But not all silence is sad. Psalms tells us that “to You, silence is praise” (Ps. 65:2). If we are truly
in awe at the greatness of God, the vastness of the universe and the almost infinite extent of time,
our deepest emotions will indeed lie too deep for words. We will experience silent communion.
The sages valued silence. They called it “a fence to wisdom.”[6] If words are worth a coin, silence
is worth two.[7] R. Shimon ben Gamliel said, “All my days I have grown up among the wise, and
I have found nothing better than silence.”[8]

The service of the priests in the Temple was accompanied by silence. The Levites sang in the
courtyard, but the priests — unlike their counterparts in other ancient religions — neither sang nor
spoke while offering the sacrifices. One scholar[9] has accordingly spoken of “the silence of the
sanctuary.” The Zohar (2a) speaks of silence as the medium in which both the Sanctuary above
and the Sanctuary below are made.

There were Jews who cultivated silence as a spiritual discipline. Bratslav Hassidim meditate in the
fields. There are Jews who practise taanit dibbur, a “fast of words.” Our most profound prayer,
the private saying of the Amidah, is called tefillah be-lachash, the “silent prayer.” It is based on
the precedent of Hannah, praying for a child. “She spoke in her heart. Her lips moved but her voice
was not heard” (1 Sam. 1:13).

God hears our silent cry. In the agonising tale of how Sarah told Abraham to send Hagar and her
son away, the Torah tells us that when their water ran out and the young Ishmael was at the point
of dying, Hagar cried, yet God heard “the voice of the child” (Gen. 21:16-17). Earlier, when the
angels had come to visit Abraham and told him that Sarah would have a child, Sarah laughed
inwardly, that is, silently, yet she was heard by God (Gen. 18:12-13). God hears our thoughts even
when they are not expressed in speech.

The silence that counts, in Judaism, is thus a listening silence — and listening is the supreme
religious art. Listening means making space for others to speak and be heard. As I point out in my

30
commentary to the siddur, there is no English word that remotely equals the Hebrew verb sh-m-
a in its wide range of senses: to listen, to hear, to pay attention, to understand, to internalise and to
respond in deed.

This was one of the key elements in the Sinai covenant, when the Israelites, having already said
twice, “All that God says, we will do,” then said, “All that God says, we will do and we will hear
[ve–nishma]” (Ex. 24:7). It is the nishma — listening, hearing, heeding, responding — that is the
key religious act.

Thus, Judaism is not only a religion of doing-and-speaking; it is also a religion of listening. Faith
is the ability to hear the music beneath the noise. There is the silent music of the spheres, about
which Psalm 19 speaks:

There is the voice of history that was heard by the prophets. And there is the commanding voice
of Sinai, that continues to speak to us across the abyss of time. I sometimes think that people in
the modern age have found the concept of “Torah from heaven” problematic not because of some

31
new archaeological discovery, but because we have lost the habit of listening to the sound of
transcendence, a voice beyond the merely human.

It is fascinating that despite his often-fractured relationship with Judaism, Sigmund Freud created
in psychoanalysis, a deeply Jewish form of healing. He himself called it the “speaking cure,” but
it is in fact a listening cure. Almost all effective forms of psychotherapy involve deep listening.
Is there enough listening in the Jewish world today? Do we, in marriage, really listen to our
spouses? Do we, as parents, truly listen to our children? Do we, as leaders, hear the unspoken fears
of those we seek to lead? Do we internalise the sense of hurt of the people who feel excluded from
the community? Can we really claim to be listening to the voice of God if we fail to listen to the
voices of our fellow humans?

In his poem, ‘In memory of W B Yeats,’ W H Auden wrote:

From time to time, we need to step back from the noise and hubbub of the social world and create
in our hearts the stillness of the desert where, within the silence, we can hear the kol demamah
dakah, the still, small voice of God, telling us we are loved, we are heard, we are embraced by
God’s everlasting arms, we are not alone.

[1] Mekhilta, Yitro, Bachodesh, 1.

[2] Ibid., 5.

[3] Ibid.

[4] 1 Kings 19:9-12.

[5] BBC television, first shown 1977.

32
[6] Avot 3:13.

[7] Megillah 18a.

[8] Avot 1:17.

[9] Israel Knohl.

What Is and Isn’t Wrong with Prayer Today

Rabbi Jeremy Rosen writes:12

The way most of us pray today is very different from the way prayer was originally intended. I
share the opinion that what goes on in most Jewish “houses of prayer” of whatever community,
denomination, sect, or form, is usually far from an exciting, uplifting spiritual experience. And if
one compares what our prayer books require of us nowadays, especially over the Holy Days, to
the bare bones of Amram Gaon’s Siddur, the Mahzor Vitry, Rambam’s Seder Tefillot or the
Abudraham, one wonders what happened and why.

Here is what Maimonides says in his “Laws of Prayer” Chapter 1.1:

1. It is a positive command to pray every day, as it says, “You will serve the Lord your God.” By
tradition they learnt that this service is prayer, as it says, “to serve Him with all your hearts.” The
rabbis said “What kind of service involves the heart? It is prayer.” There are no rules about this in
the Torah nor is anything fixed about it in the Torah…
2. This obligation is that everyone should appeal to God every day and pray and praise the Holy
One. Then one might ask God to address his personal needs.

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It remains a Torah obligation to relate to the Almighty through personal, private prayer every day,
regardless of what may or may not happen in a synagogue. This, I suggest, rarely happens.

It was with exile, Maimonides goes on to say, that the Jews lost the language, the means and the
habits of personal prayer. During the Babylonian and Persian exiles, Ezra the Scribe introduced
texts to the community to facilitate Jews’ obligation to pray as a sort of optional menu. Psalms
(55:18) mentions the idea of praying three times a day, and in the book of Daniel (6:11), Daniel
himself describes praying three times a day toward Jerusalem. In his case, he prayed privately in
his loft. The Bet haKnesset, the community center and the Bet haMidrash, the house of study, may
have developed in exile too. Without doubt, these institutions were developed during the Pharisaic
era. But it was not until after the destruction of the temple that formal, communal prayer was
officially instituted to replace the two daily “permanent” communal sacrifices,
the Temidim of Shaharit and Minha.

Controversially, as the Talmud records, (TB Berakhot 4b et al) Maariv was added first as an
option, and only under Rabban Gamliel did it become an obligation. The text of what we now call
the Amidah was fixed by the rabbis of Yavneh (with some later modifications) as the Talmud says:
“Shimon Hapikuli laid out the order of prayer before Rabban Gamliel in Yavneh”
(TB Berakhot 28b). The Talmud suggests that the prophets had initially done this but their
innovations had been forgotten (TB Megillah 18a). With the destruction of the Temple, the study
house became the central institution in Jewish life and continuity, and it tended to be conflated or
merged with the House of Prayer.

I rehearse this well-known narrative because it is clear that there has always been in Judaism a
dichotomy between personal, private prayer on the one hand and public, communal prayer on the
other. Their functions are entirely different. Not everyone agrees with Maimonides, but if I
understand his position correctly, the Torah ideal remains in force that individuals have an
obligation to find very subjective and personal ways of connecting with, communicating with, or
at the very least appreciating the magnitude of the divine presence in this world.

Such an activity should include contemplation, meditation, and exercises in what is called
“deveykut,” actually engaging with God. This can rarely be done in a crowded synagogue
surrounded by other humans who often have no interest in such activity. It cannot be done while a
Cantor performs, and most of all, it cannot be done “on demand.” I will concede that sometimes
for moment, such as Kol Nidrei, such an effect can be achieved. But it rarely survives the initial
phase except in very few situations such as those yeshivot with a strong tradition of prayer or a
rebbe’s court. For the average Jew living in no such rarified situation, synagogues in general
simply do not offer this experience of the divine.

I wonder if they were designed to. The Great Synagogue in Alexandria, where flags were waved
to let distant parts of the building know when to say “Amen” (TB Sukkah 21b) cannot possibly
been a place of personal engagement with Heaven. The services we have nowadays perform very
different functions. They primarily function give us a sense of community and to actually get
people together in ways that most religious obligations do not. Judaism makes demands on us both
as individuals and as members of the community of Israel. Personal prayer remained personal. Yet
over time, personal prayers and petitions were incorporated into the “prayer” format, as a matter

34
of convenience. To reinforce the sense of community, it was insisted that prayer with a quorum
would be more effective than without.

Jewish prayer was dramatically affected by the Medieval experience. Herded into claustrophobic,
foul ghettos under Christianity and Islam, most Jews wanted to escape the overcrowded hovels
they often shared with animals. The synagogue was the only large and airy building in the
community. They also needed to come and go and to stay together for safety. That was where they
wanted to be and spend as much time as possible. No wonder the services got longer and longer.
The prevailing culture was also one in which any and every educated person expressed him or
herself in poetry. Hence the great payyatanim who spread under Islam from Israel to Spain to
Northern Europe and churned out religious poetry in formal structures and conventions that were
incorporated into services. But it was not without a heated debate between those who wanted more
within the services and those who wanted less. And in parts of northern Italy, music was added to
the services. Before Shabbat, quartets often helped create the peaceful reflective mood.

Then came the explosion of mystical Judaism. The great mystic R. Yitzhak Luria was responsible
for introducing songs, for walking out into the fields, for praying on the hills of Safed. The attempt
to experience God moved from human-made structures to nature and back. The existential aspect
of prayer, its singing and ecstasy as much as its communal aspect, influenced the great Hassidic
reformation. But then, like all revolutions, began to lose its iconoclasm and creativity and sank
back into formality. Still to this day in many Hassidic courts you will hear singing and ecstatic
prayer that would be unimaginable in most synagogues in the West.

And there is another dichotomy in the evolution of prayer we often overlook. Is it prayer or study
that brings us closer to God? You can see this issue emerging in the debates in the Talmud, too
(TB Berakhot 8a and 30b). The Study House was the essential communal building. Was it the
influence of both Christianity and Islam, with their emphasis on the Church and the Mosque that
affected the way Judaism evolved?

I recall most vividly the seminal experience of my youth, Be’er Yaakov yeshiva in 1958. The
brilliant Rosh Yeshiva Rav Shapiro z” l, a contemporary of my fathers at Mir and from the Brisk
family, was the archetypal Lithuanian. Nothing brought him closer to Heaven than the mental
concentration on Talmud Torah. He, like my later influence Rav Chaim Shmuelevitz z” l of Mir,
manifestly tore himself away with great reluctance from his study when the academy broke for
prayers. You could sense the desire to finish the obligation as quickly as possible.

Rav Volbe, the Mashgiach, also from Mir, was altogether of different nature. Prayer for him was
to stand in the presence of the Almighty and to lose oneself in another world. It was compelling to
see his concentration and physical transformation when he prayed. It was yeshiva prayer in Be’er
Yaakov that had a greater impact on my spiritual life than any other single event or encounter. It
was so different to anything I had ever experienced in any other kind of prayer building or room,
not even the great atmosphere of Mir in Jerusalem on the Yamim Noraim. In Be’er Yaakov, in
one Beis haMidrash, in one small institution, a person could witness two contrasting models of
Jewish prayer. It is true to say that the students divided pretty evenly in the examples on which
they modeled themselves.

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For many years I was a pulpit rabbi in large Orthodox synagogues, where most of those present
came for social reasons and for whom the synagogue service was a form of entertainment; the
rabbi preaching, the hazzan singing. Prayer was burdensome. Most did not understand the words
or the meaning. Personal devotion was an afterthought. Talking throughout the service in both men
and women’s sections meant that even if one wanted to pray it was almost impossible to
concentrate. I was reminded of this problem recently in the impressive Spanish and Portuguese
synagogue in Manhattan on a Friday night when I wanted to absorb the atmosphere and enjoy the
liturgy. But two gentlemen sitting in the back row talked continuously and loudly right through
what was a very short service that I just ended up feeling angry and frustrated. No one, it seemed,
dared to approach them or try to shut them up.

Often big synagogues are packed on occasions such a bar mitzvah or Shabbat hattan, when the
social side completely takes over. Many visitors have no idea what is going on or how to behave.
The boredom is exaggerated by dragging out the honors and extending the service for hours. No
wonder taking an unofficial break for a shot of whisky is the only way many people can get through
it all. But even in a synagogue packed with apparently religious people, there is total disregard for
the black-and-white laws of the Shulhan Arukh and its commentators on the need for silence,
space, and consideration during prayer. No wonder it is so hard to encounter the Almighty in a
synagogue. That is why the yeshiva world looks down with scorn on what it calls “ba’al
haBayyit davening.”

An alternative and increasingly popular model that goes back to Eastern Europe is the shtiebel,
literally “little room.” The first ones I encountered were off the marketplace in Mea Shearim. At
almost every hour of the day or night, you could walk in to any one of a honeycombs of little
rooms. As soon as there was a minyan, someone would start and you simply said everything that
had to be said without ceremony, in a businesslike atmosphere. You would be in and out in a
quarter of the time that you would in similar service in a big synagogue.

I found it much more satisfying because it was informal. And if I wanted to meditate or have a
chat with the Almighty, I made sure I found some private time and space during the course of the
day. This model is essentially one of simply fulfilling an obligation. Of course, it an important
aspect of halakhic behavior. But for more and more people, the routine performance is not enough.
It meets one kind of need but not another more passionate kind of religious experience.
Then there is the educational challenge of prayer. When I was the Headmaster of a Jewish
residential school for students mainly of non-Orthodox backgrounds, we used to have modified
traditional services that cut out the “optional extras.” So, a structure developed that was based on
the essential elements of the biblical obligation to recite Kri’at Shema and its attendant blessings,
the rabbinical prayer, the Amidah and Kri’at haTorah on Mondays Thursdays and festive days. It
was short, conducted mainly by the pupils with familiar popular tunes and active participation. I
cannot claim it won over many pupils. But I do know that most looked back with nostalgia at is
beauty and simplicity when they left and encountered more conventional services.

I recall, again in my Headmaster days, being faced by the usual complaints that the obligatory
morning services were boring. I urged pupils to be creative. I asked them to come up with a
different way of spending the first half hour of each day in some spiritual activity of a specifically
Jewish character if they found the traditional services boring. But that took effort and hard work.

36
Invariably they started enthusiastically, but soon gave up and asked to return to the old, well-
established ways. Tradition has its uses but feeling comfortable with it requires serious effort, as
indeed does mastering any different process or language.

Over the years I have gone through all sorts of different experiences. I have had my Shlomo
Carlebach-Happy Clappy phase. But I grew out of it. I spent years praying in various Hassidic
courts. Some prayed slow and some very fast so as, it was claimed, not lose concentration. I
certainly never entered a large synagogue if I could possibly avoid it. I enjoy hazzanut, but not
during prayer time and certainly not when it drags out the service. And most sermons bore me.

I currently pray mainly in a small Persian community. I am often asked how different it is. The
variations in the text are minor. The main superstructure is the same and easily recognizable. The
sounds are different but that is a matter of upbringing and cultural preference. The problems,
however, are the same. Does one go to synagogue to pray and study or to chat? Do I as a rabbi
have to spend my time like a Headmaster calling for order? Or do I have the right to switch off
and pray regardless of what is going on around me?

Whatever my preferences, I have always encountered other Jews who disagreed with me. Some
preferred the big performance, the big event, the sense of being together, to the modest utilitarian
alternatives I tried to recommend. Yet it is right that it should be so. We are not all alike. We have
different intellects and tastes and needs. There should be alternatives.

In my professional role I always recall the famous talmudic story of Rabbi Akivah. When he was
conducting services, he was the first to finish so as not to inconvenience the congregation. But
when he prayed alone he was left long after everyone had departed still standing amongst the
pillars of the hall in deep prayer (TB Berakhot 31a). At the same time I wonder why, if the weight
of talmudic opinion was in favor of abbreviated prayers such as “Havinneynu” (TB Berakhot 29a),
nowadays is it almost anathema? It seems we are too concerned with conformity and not enough
with living a truly spiritual life.

For all my criticism I believe we are living in exciting times. More and more people are willing to
experiment. Whereas once this inevitably meant casting off the requirements of tradition, now the
trend is to find resolutions within tradition without throwing the baby out with bathwater. One of
the joys of many Jewish communities where there is a critical mass is that one can on shul-crawl
a Shabbat and experience a wide range of alternatives—and possibly find one that accords with
one’s temperament and background. Of course, this may lead to a kind of parasitism in which we
neglect our obligations to support communal institutions. But if we discharge our obligations to
community, there is no reason why we should not choose to pray where we feel comfortable.

I would argue that so long as the essential halakhic elements remain in place, it is an obligation to
try to find new ways of making the service stimulating, inspiring, and attractive. I also believe that
more energy should go into trying to find completely new styles of worship rather than tinker with
existing ones. That would mean giving people more choices. I would suggest that there must be
creative ways in which female spirituality could create totally new atmospheres and experiences
without being constructed by established male modes and norms. Many big synagogues have
already begun to act as holding companies offering different styles of services under one roof.

37
Regardless of the style of service, or the regularity of one’s attendance, one must, I believe,
reestablish the practice of personal prayer outside of synagogual structures. Meditation and
contemplation in a totally secular style, or one borrowed from another religion, have brought relief
and inspiration to many in the West. But we, too, have our exercises and meditations. One need
looks no further than Avraham Abulafia to realize they have been part, albeit a neglected part, of
our heritage for a thousand years. We must revive them.

Leo Baeck in a volume of essays entitled Judaism and Christianity, contrasts Christianity as a
romantic religion with Judaism as a classical religion. The romantic relies on the experience, the
stimulation of beautiful buildings, music, canonicals, and ceremonial to induce a sense of devotion,
worship, and spirituality. The classicist works on himself to make it happen. Many of us have
become too much influenced by an alien culture that we seek to emulate, one in which we expect
to be stimulated religiously from outside of ourselves. In fact, the Jewish way is to make things
happen rather than expect others to do it for us. This applies regardless of where one goes to pray
in public or alone. C.S. Lewis says in his Screwtape Letters that the quickest way to divert
someone away from religious experience is to get then to focus on what is going on around them.

The Laws of Remembering Amalek

Rav David Brofsky writes:13

13
https://etzion.org.il/en/holidays/purim/laws-remembering-amalek

38
Parashat Zakhor

The second of the "four parshiyot," Parashat Zakhor, is read on the Shabbat before
Purim. Through this reading, which recounts Amalek’s attack against Benei Yisrael in the
wilderness, we fulfill the command of "zekhirat Amalek" – remembering Amalek’s hostilities:

The Torah here issues three commandments relevant to Amalek: to REMEMBER, NOT TO
FORGOT, and to ERASE the memory of Amalek.

What is the relationship between the mitzva to remember Amalek, and the mitzva to
eradicate Amalek?

On the one hand, one might view the mitzva to remember, and the commandment not to
forget Amalek, as part of the larger objective of waging war against this nation. Indeed, the
Rambam (Sefer Ha-mitzvot, mitzvat asei 189; see also Hilkhot Melakhim 5:5) writes:

On the other hand, one might view the commandment to remember Amalek as conveying
and expressing independent, broader religious messages, not necessarily directly related to
war. For example, we might note that the Torah introduces this mitzva immediately following the
admonition to refrain from using or even owning false weights:

The juxtaposition of these two parshiyot may imply a more universal message, rather than the
specific commandment to destroy the nation of Amalek.

R. Soloveitchik (cited in Harerei Kedem 1:185) suggested that this issue - whether the
mitzva to remember Amalek is related to and even dependent upon the mitzva to eradicate them -
may affect a number of halakhic questions, including whether women are obligated in the

39
obligation zekhirat Amalek, and which parasha one may read to fulfill the mitzva, as we shall see
later.

How Often to Fulfill the Mitzva of Zekhirat Amalek?

Interestingly, the Gemara does not discuss when and how we are to fulfill this
mitzva. Regarding the proper time to fulfill this mitzva, the Sefer Ha-chinukh (603) writes:

R. Yosef Ben Moshe Babad (1801–1874), in his Minchat Chinukh commentary to the Sefer Ha-
Chinukh (603), infers from the Chinukh’s comments that one may fulfill this obligation (on the
level of mi-deorayta – Torah law), by remembering Amalek once during a person’s lifetime.

The Chatam Sofer (E.H. 1:119) suggests that one should fulfill this mitzva once each
year. He notes the Gemara’s discussion (Berakhot 58b) concerning the berakha of "mechayei ha-
meitim," which one recites upon seeing a person one hasn't seen in twelve months. The Gemara
asserts that certain memories are forgotten after twelve months have passed, and the Chatam
Sofer thus concludes that perpetuating the memory of Amalek requires recalling the event at least
once every year. He then questions whether during a leap year one should read Parashat
Zakhor in the first month of Adar, in order that twelve full months shouldn't pass without
remembering Amalek. He concludes that the Gemara refers not to twelve months, but rather to
the experiences of a full yearly cycle, which cause one to forget, and during a leap year, this occurs
only after thirteen months.

Others (see Sefer Chareidim, mitzvat asei 84:21), noting that earlier poskim make no
mention of a specific time for this mitzva (Rambam, Sefer Ha-mitzvot, mitzvat asei 189),
classify zekhirat Amalek is a mitzva temidit – a mitzva which must be fulfilled each day. Indeed,
the Shelah Ha-kadosh recommends reading Parashat Zakhor every day.

In any event, it appears that the Rabbis established the observance of this mitzva annually
on Shabbat Zakhor, through the reading of Parashat Zakhor.

How to Fulfill the Mitzva of Zekhirat Amalek

In addition to the question of when we are to observe this mitzva of remembering, we must
also address the question of how we observe this mitzva. The Talmud our daf (Megilla 18a)
teaches:

40
Clearly, then, the obligation to remember refers to not simply mental recollection, but rather a
verbal recitation.

The Gemara does not specify whether one must read Parashat Zakhor from a proper sefer
Torah, or merely recite the words. Both the Rambam (Hilkhot Melakhim 5:5) and
the Chinukh (603) make no mention of reading the text specifically from a Torah. The
Ramban (Devarim 25:17) also implies that one does not need to read the parasha from a text, but
rather to "relate the story to our children..."

However, some Rishonim (see Tosafot, Megilla 17b s.v. kol and Berakhot 13a s.v be-
lashon) rule that even on the level of Torah obligation, one must read Parashat Zakhor from a
proper Torah scroll.

The view requiring a Torah scroll for this mitzva does not necessarily require that the
reading be conducted in the presence of a minyan. The Rosh (Berakhot 7:20), however,
describes Parashat Zakhor as a rare case in which a minyan is required on the level of Torah
obligation. (Usually, when a minyan is required, it is to fulfill an obligation enacted by the
Sages.) Rabbi Yisrael ben Petachyah Isserlein (1390-1460), in his Terumat Ha-deshen (108),
rules (based upon the Rosh) that people in towns without a minyan should travel to communities
with a minyan for Shabbat Zakhor. He adds that the presence of a minyan is likely more central
to the reading of Parashat Zakhor than to the reading of the Megilla!

The Magen Avraham (685) attempts to justify the practice of those who do not
hear Parashat Zakhor in a minyan. He explains that even if one must hear the reading from a sefer
Torah and in the presence of a minyan, one need not fulfill this mitzva specifically on the Shabbat
before Purim. Therefore, it is preferable for one to travel to a place with a minyan for Purim, to
hear the reading of the Megilla and the Torah reading which tells the story of
Amalek (Shemot 17:8-16). This way, one fulfills both the mitzva of Megilla reading and the
obligation to remember Amalek’s hostilities.

The Mishna Berura (685:16), however, disagrees with the Magen Avraham, claiming that
one cannot fulfill the obligation of zekhirat Amalek through the reading of the story in Sefer
Shemot, as the commandment to destroy Amalek does not appear in that parasha.

R. Soloveitchik (op. cit.) explained that this debate may depend upon whether the
relationship between the commandment to remember Amalek relates to the mitzva to destroy
them. If we acknowledge a link between these two obligations, then we would likely require
reading the section in Devarim, which speaks of destroying Amalek. If, however, we view these

41
two obligations as separate requirements, then even the section in Sefer Shemot would likely
suffice for fulfilling this mitzva.

Similarly, R. Yitzchak of Karlin (1784-1852), in his Keren Ora commentary on the

Talmud (Berakhot 3a s.v. ve-idi), explains that those who require the presence of a minyan view
the mitzva to destroy Amalek as an obligation incumbent upon the community, rather than
individuals. He also contends that a mitzva which must be fulfilled publicly, such as zekhirat
Amalek, cannot be required on a daily basis. Hence, the Rabbis instituted that this section be read
annually, rather than every day.

The Shulchan Arukh (685:7) summarizes this discussion as follows:

The Rema adds:

The Acharonim note that both the reader and listener must have the proper intention to
fulfill the mitzva. The Taz (3) claims that this applies even to the berakhot recited before the
reading, and that one who does not hear the berakhot does not fulfill the obligation. This raises the
interesting question of the extent to which the Rabbis defined the mitzva of zekhirat Amalek as the
reading (or listening to) the portion from the Torah with its blessings. The Taz apparently believes
that the mitzva must be fulfilled within the formal context of keriat ha-Torah, which of course
includes the blessings preceding and concluding the portion.

The Acharonim also discuss whether we may apply to zekhirat Amalek the principle
of shomei'a ke-oneh, which allows the listener to be considered as though he personally recited the
given text. If we do apply shomei’a ke-oneh in this context, then one should listen silently to
the ba’al keria’s reading, without reading along. The Munkatsher Rebbe (R. Chayim Elazar Spira,
1871–1937), in his Minchat Elazar (2:1), suggested that one might need actually to enunciate the
words of Parashat Zakhor in order to fulfill the obligation, while other Acharonim, including
the Peri Chadash (O.C. 67:1) and the Netziv (Meishiv Davar O:C 47), maintain that one should
simply listen to the ba’al keria. (See R. Ovadya Yosef’s discussion in Yechaveh Da'at 3:53.)

Proper Pronunciation

42
 Another issue raised by the Acharonim involves the proper pronunciation of the central
word of the Zakhor reading: zekher (“the memory” of Amalek). The Radak (R. David Kimchi,
1160-1235), in his Sefer Ha-shorashim, records that he saw two versions of this word: in one
version it was punctuated with a segol, yielding “zekher,” whereas in the other it was punctuated
with a tzeirei, and thus pronounced “zeikher.” In later editions of the Sefer Ha-shorashim, the
phrase, "and the [Halakha is not] like him" appears, referring to the "zeikher" reading, thus
implying that "zekher" is the correct reading. Based upon this text, siddurim and Chumashim from
the 17th to 19th centuries were amended to read “zekher.”

Interestingly, there is a historical debate as to which of these two pronunciations was

accepted by the Vilna Gaon. The work Ma’aseh Rav (a collection of customs and practices of the
Gaon, published in 1832 by R. Yissachar Ber) records that the Gaon would say "zekher" while
reading Parashat Zakhor. However, R. Chayim Volozhin (1749-1821), a student of the Vilna
Gaon, writes in his approbation to the Ma'aseh Rav that he heard the Gaon say "zeikher."

This confusion led to the custom to read both versions of the word, and this is the ruling of
the Mishna Berura (18). Indeed, in many communities today the ba’al keria first reads the phrase
one way and then immediately repeats it with the second pronunciation. Others prefer to finish
the verse, and then repeat the entire verse with the second version.

Recently, two scholarly studies have been published regarding this question. Both R.
Mordechai Breuer ("Mikraot She-ein Lahem Hekhrea," Megadim 10) and Prof. J. Penkower
("Minhag U-mesora – Zekher Amalek Be-chamesh o Shesh Nekodot" in Bar Ilan
University’s Iyunei Mikra u-Parshanut, vol. 4) conclude that the proper reading is "zeikher," and
that early texts support this conclusion.

This debate demonstrates the precision which the poskim demand for the reading
of Parashat Zakhor. Some authorities go so far as to insist that one should hear the parasha read
in one's own pronunciation. In other words, one who reads Hebrew with an Ashkenazic
pronunciation (which affects the pronunciation of the kamatz/komotz vowel and the letter tav/sav)
should hear the parasha read in this fashion. Some even insist the one hear the portion read from
a Sefer Torah written according to one's tradition. (See R. Tzvi Pesach Frank’s Mikra'ei Kodesh –
Purim 7; Minchat Yitzchak 3:9 and 4:47:3; Yabia Omer 6:11; Halikhot Shlomo 18:1.)

Are Women Obligated?

Finally, the poskim debate the question of whether women are obligated to hear Parashat
Zakhor. Some (Marcheshet 22:3; Avnei Neizer O.C. 509) suggest zekhirat Amalek constitutes
a mitzvat asei she-ha-zeman gerama (a time-bound obligation), from which women are generally
exempt, though most other Acharonim reject his argument.

The Sefer Ha-Chinukh (603) argues that since women generally don’t participate in battle,
they are exempt from the commandments relating to Amalek. The Minchat Chinukh, however,
raises two objections to this contention. First, he argues that, as mentioned in the
Talmud (Sota 44b), women do, in fact, participate in obligatory wars (milchamot mitzva). Second,
the mitzva to remember Amalek is not necessarily linked to the mitzva to wage war against

43
Amalek. As discussed earlier, R. Soloveitchik suggested that this issue would depend upon the
relationship between the commandment to remember Amalek and the mitzva to destroy Amalek.

Rabbi Yitzchak Yaakov Weiss (1902-1989), former head of the rabbinical court of the Eida
Charedit in Jerusalem and author of the multivolume Minchat Yitzchak, follows the view of R.
Natan Adler (the teacher of R. Moshe Sofer) who held that women are indeed obligated, and that
their mitzva should be fulfilled through the public Torah reading. Therefore, it is customary for
women to hear the reading of Parashat Zakhor, and many communities arrange readings later in
the day to accommodate those who cannot attend synagogue services on the morning of Shabbat
Zakhor (Minchat Yitzchak 9:68).

R. Shneur Zalman Fradkin of Lublin (1830-1902), a student of the Tzemach Tzedek and a
well-known Chabad posek, presents a third view on this issue. In his work Torat Chesed (O.C.
37), he writes that women are indeed obligated to fulfill the Torah obligation of zekhirat Amalek,
which is not a time-bound mitzva, but they are exempt from the Rabbinic obligation to
hear Parashat Zakhor. They may therefore fulfill the obligation of zekhirat Amalek by reading
the parasha to themselves, without hearing the formal Torah reading. On this basis, R. Shneur
Zalman explains why it was unheard of in his community for women to attend
the Zakhor reading. R. Aaron Felder, in his Mo’adei Yeshurun (Hilkhot Purim 1, 3, note 9),
records that R. Moshe Feinstein likewise held that women may fulfill their obligation by reading
the parasha from a printed Chumash.

JORDAN PENKOWER ON
READING ZEKHER OR ZEIKHER AMALEK

44
Summary of Jordan Penkower on reading Zekher or Zeikher Amalek14

It is common practice in most Ashkenazi congregations to read the words z-kh-r Amalek, in Deut.
25:19, twice: once with a tzere under the zayin (zeikher) and once with a segol (zekher). Sephardic
congregations, however, who do not distinguish between the pronunciation of these two vowels,
read it only once, and they point it with a tzere.

What is the origin of this practice, when did it begin, and is this double reading necessary to fulfill
the command of reading these verses of Parshat Zakhor, the special reading on the Sabbath before
Purim?

These questions are discussed in several articles by R. Mordechai Breuer and Dr. J. Penkower,[1]
two of the most eminent among contemporary scholars of the masorah and Biblical text. In their
opinion, zeikher with a tzere is beyond a shadow of doubt the original and correct pointing of the
text; and that is how the verse should be read in Parshat Zakhor.

It must be stressed that the custom itself of a double reading is quite surprising and completely
unique in Torah reading, for it was customary to decide in favor of one reading or another
whenever there was a conflict between variant readings, pointing of vowels, or assignment of
cantillation marks (as in cases of kri and ktiv, where a word is written one way but read another).

R. David Kimhi, in his Sefer ha-Shorashim (in the manuscript versions), was the first to note the
discrepancies regarding the pointing of these vowels in Sephardic biblical manuscripts. Under the
root z-kh-r he says:

14
https://seforimblog.com/2012/03/summary-of-jordan-penkower-on-reading/

45
In other words, Radak noted that in some books he found z-kh-r pointed with segol and in others,
with tzere.

In printed editions of Sefer ha-Shorashim, however, beginning with the Venice edition and
carrying through the 19th century, Radak’s remark concludes with the words “and this occurs
nowhere else.” In other words, he found zekher in Parshat Zakhor always pointed with
double segol.[2]

Here is a typical example in a manuscript (from 1481):

And here is the Venice edition:

Here is the manuscript text restored in Biesenthal and Lebrecht’s Berlin 1847 edition:

46
Various prayer books and Pentateuchs published in the 16th, 17th and early 18th centuries were
redacted according to Radak’s remark as it appears in these printed editions; for example,
the siddur of R. Shabtai Sofer (in the word zekher in the Ashrei prayer and in the prayers on the
eve of the New Year), and Meor Einayim, the Pentateuch published by R. Wolf Heidenheim.

The Basel 1579 Seder Tefillot Mi-kol Ha-shanah (Ashkenaz):

The manuscript of R. Shabtai’s siddur:

In 1832, about fifteen years after publication of Heidenheim’s edition, a book by R. Issachar Baer
appeared, entitled Ma`aseh Rav, containing a description of the practices of the Vilna Gaon.

The author mentions that the Gaon’s disciples disagreed over the way their teacher used to read
the word zekher in Parshat Zakhor. The author attested as follows:

47
Here is the text, with the footnote referring to R. Hayyim of Volozhin’s testimony:

48
Here is R. Hayyim’s testimony in his approbation at the beginning of this work:

49
Approximately eighty years later, R. Israel Meir Ha-Cohen, otherwise known as the Hafetz
Hayyim, came out with his Mishnah Berurah on the Shulhan Arukh.

Since the special reading of Parshat Zakhor is a command from the Torah, and there was some
doubt as to the correct reading, he ruled that the words z-kh-r Amalek should be read twice. In his
own words, “Some people say it should be read as zeekher Amalek (Deut. 25:19) with a tzere, and
others say that it should be read as zekher Amalek with a segol; therefore, the correct practice is to
read both ways, to satisfy them both” (Mishnah Berurah 685.18).

50
Later, a variety of customs emerged in this regard. Some readers only repeat the two words, z-kh-
r Amalek, while others repeat the entire phrase, timhe et z-kh-r Amalek, and still others repeat the
entire verse.[3]

Here is the Mishnah Berurah:

As mentioned above, Rabbi Breuer and Dr. Penkower note that the correct pointing of z-kh-r is
with a tzere, and the custom of double reading is unfounded. This follows from the arguments they
cite from the masorah, from the ancient and highly precise Tiberian manuscripts and teachings of
the Masoretes. R. Jedidiah Solomon Norzi, a seventeenth century masoretic scholar, held to be the
final arbiter on the text of the Bible,[4] wrote a work entitled Minhat Shai, in which he remarks on
inaccuracies that entered all the books of the Bible in the 1547-1548 Venice edition of Mikraot
Gedolot and other editions published around then.[5] He says nothing about zekher ,which is
pointed with a tzere followed by segol, from which it follows that he agreed with this pointing and
had no doubts about it being correct.[6]

51
Minhat Shai from the first edition (Mantua 1742-4):

The most conclusive proof is found in ancient manuscripts, dating to the time of the masorah, and
held to be very precise in their pointing and cantillation marks: the Leningrad manuscript (known
as B19),[7] the Sassoon 1053 manuscript and others. All point z-kh-r with a tzere under
the zayin.[8]
Leningrad MS:

52
Today we have in our hands a famous ancient manuscript, the Keter Aram-Tzova,[9] the most
ancient and best authorized text of the entire Bible. The pointing and masoretic annotation of this
manuscript were done in Israel over one thousand years ago by Aharon Ben-Asher, considered the
greatest Masorete of all generations.

Due to Ben-Asher’s precision and reputation, Maimonides chose to base his Hilkhot Sefer
Torah on Ben-Asher’s work.[10] In the 15th century, at the latest, the Keter manuscript was
transferred to Aleppo, Syria, where it was stored in the Sephardic synagogue until the riots against
the Jews of Aleppo (Aram Tzova) that broke out in 1948, during which the manuscript was
damaged, most the entire Pentateuch being lost, including Parshat Zakhor.

Because the Keter manuscript was so special, the Jews of Aleppo did not allow others to
photograph the manuscript or to examine it. Whoever wished to clarify a question of variants in
the text had to write down the query and the person in charge would relay the version found in the
Keter. The most famous of those addressing queries was R. Jacob Saphir, who submitted over five
hundred questions, seeking to find out what variant appeared in the Keter.

Fortunately, one of his questions pertained to the pointing of z-kh-r in Parshat Zakhor. The
question and response were as follows: “(Deuteronomy) 25:19 z-kh-r h” n [question]. Yes
[response].” In other words, is the word z-kh-r pointed in the Keter with five dots [h” n = hamesh
nekudot, five dots, i.e., tzere followed by segol]? The answer provided by the keeper of the
manuscript, R. Menashe Sitton, was” yes”.[11]

The entry in the published version of this manuscript (Rafael Zer Meorot Natan Le-rabbi Ya’akov
Saphir, Leshonenu 50:3,4 Nisan-Tamuz 5746):

53
Dr. Penkower examined the pointing of z-kh-r in dozens of medieval manuscripts and found that
in those manuscripts reputed to be more precise (some of the Sephardic ones) it was pointed with
a tzere, and in those reputed to be less precise (some of the Sephardic ones and most of the
Ashkenazi ones) it was pointed with a segol.

These findings led him to note,

All editions of the Bible today point z-kh-r with tzere followed by segol, leaving no vestige of the
double segol variant. One cannot but agree with R. Breuer and Dr. Penkower that there is no need
for Ashkenazim to read zekher, for zeikher will suffice.

To sum up:

* R. David Kimhi mentions two methods of pointing which he observed in Sephardic

manuscripts: zekher and zeikher.

* The disciples of the Vilna Gaon disagreed about how their Rabbi used to read this word in Parshat
Zakhor, whether with a tzere or a segol.

* Because of uncertainty as to which was correct, the Mishnah Berurah ruled that z-kh-r
Amalek should be read twice, once with tzere and once with segol.

54
* The findings presented by R. Breuer and Dr. Penkower prove conclusively that the correct and
original pointing of this word is zeikher (with a tzere).

Therefore, in their opinion, one should return to the ancient practice, and all Jewish
communities ought to read the word only once, as zeikher.

[1] M. Breuer, “Mikraot she-yesh lahem hekhre`a,” Megadim 10 (1990), pp. 97-112; J. S. Penkower, “Minhag u-Mesorah: ‘Z-kh-

r Amalek’ be-hamesh o be-shes nekudot” (with appendices, in R. Kasher, M. Tzippor and Y. Tzefati, eds., Iyyunei Mikra u-

Farshanut, 4, Bar Ilan University Press, Ramat Gan 1997, pp. 71-127.

[2] Penkower (loc. cit., p. 80 ff.) discusses at length the differences between manuscript and printed versions of Sefer ha-Shorashim.

[3] On other practices, see Penkower, loc. sit., p. 71, n. 1.

[4] Y. Yevin, Mavo la-Masorah ha-Tverianit, Jerusalem 1976, p. 101 ff.

[5] J. S. Penkower, Ya`akov Ben Hayyim u-Tzmihat Mahadurat ha-Mikraot ha-Gedolot I-II (Dissertation), Jerusalem 1982.

[6] R. Jedidiah Solomon Norzi was preceded by another important masoretic scholar, R. Menahem de Lonzano, author of Or

Torah. In his book, he remarks on the same editions of Mikraot Gedolot on the system of vowel pointing and cantillation marks,

but also says nothing about z-kh-r being pointed with a tzere followed by segol.

[7] The printed Bible published for the IDF, prepared by Prof. A. Dothan, is based on this manuscript.

[8] For further detail, see R. Breuer’s article (cited in n. 1), p. 110, and Penkower’s article (cited in n. 2), p. 101.

[9] This manuscript is also known as the Aleppo Keter, or simply the Keter for short.

[10] Several printed Bibles based on the Keter are available today. The most important of these is undoubtedly the Mikraot Gedolot-

ha-Keter, redacted and edited by Prof. Menahem Cohen, Bar Ilan University Press, Ramat Gan 1992 and following years. Thus far

five volumes have been published, covering the following six books of the Bible: Joshua-Judges (including a general introduction

to the edition), Samuel I and II, Kings I and II, Isaiah, and Genesis vol. 1.

55
[11] The manuscript containing these questions and responsa is known as Meorot Natan. See JTS

[12] At the Project on Bible and Masorah at Bar- Ilan University, headed by Prof. M. Cohen, dozens of medieval manuscripts of

the Bible were examined, and the findings of these studies reinforce Penkower’s conclusions regarding variant pointings in the

manuscripts.15

Remember to Forget

Reb Jeff writes:16

15
Seforim Blog editor note: the issue is discussed in the En Hakore commentary included by Heidenheim in Humash Meor Einayim,
only in the parashah of Amalek in Exodus 17, not in Deuteronomy. En Hakore is a masoretic commentary by R. Yekutiel (or
Zalman) Ha-nakdan who lived in Prague in the 13th century. Here is how it appears in Heidenheim’s Humash Meor Einayim.
However, it appears to be a misstatement to say that Heidenheim was among those whose work was “redacted according to Radak’s
remark,” for while there is no example of Zekher from Psalms to compare with in his Humash Meor Einayim, Zekher is also pointed
with tzere, rather than segol, in the Ashrei prayer included in Humash Moda Le-vina. This would seem to indicate that he did not
follow the Radak. He merely published En Hakore, which dealt with the issue raised by Radak.
16
https://www.rebjeff.com/blog/remember-to-forget

56
This is a strange commandment. We are obliged to remember to blot out the memory of Amalek.
How do you do that? How does a person remember to forget?

It's helpful to understand the symbolic meaning of the nation called Amalek in this passage, and
the relationship of Amalek to the holiday of Purim.

Later Jewish tradition imagined Amalek as the eternal enemy of Israel that would appear in various
guises throughout history. In the book of Exodus, we are taught that "Adonai will have war with
Amalek from generation to generation" (Exodus 17:16). Amalek is not just a nation that fought
treacherously against Israel once-upon-a-time, during the travel through the wilderness. They are
the embodiment of enmity against God that is unending. Amalek is the undying human capacity
for evil.

Now, evil is a particularly difficult problem for Judaism as a strictly monotheistic tradition. If there
is one God, who is the master and creator of everything, how can there be a separate power in the
universe that is in opposition to God? The classical Jewish answer—that evil is not a separate force
but is only the shadow of God's absence—cannot answer our darkest questions adequately. How
is it that deeply malevolent, actively destructive evil can exist in a universe that is ruled solely by
a benevolent and all-powerful God?

This is not an idle or hypothetical question for Judaism and for Jews. The Jewish people, who most
strenuously insist on God's unity, are also the people whose history most clearly declares the reality
of evil. Throughout our generations, we have been victims of schemes and plots that originate in
the darkest and most hateful recesses of the human psyche.

Haman, the villain of the Purim story, is viewed as the representative of Amalek in the time of the
Persian Empire. He is known in the book of Esther as "Haman the Agagite," and so he bears the
name of King Agag, the Amalekite ruler who was defeated by King Saul (I Samuel 15:7-9). The
entire holiday of Purim can be viewed as a way to fulfill the commandment to remember to "blot
out the memory of Amalek." We remember that the evil of Haman exists in the world—an evil
that would wipe us out for no reason and without mercy—and then we blot that memory out with
laughter, drink, joy and noisy groggers.

There is a tradition, on Purim, of writing the name of Amalek in chalk on the bottom of one’s
shoes. That way, as we parade around on the holiday, we are also wiping away the name with each
festive footfall. Another tradition associated with destroying the name of Amalek is practiced by
Jewish ritual scribes. A sofer will test his or her quill for writing a Torah scroll, a mezuzah or
tefilin by first writing the name of Amalek and then crossing it out.

57
But why the paradox? If we should always remember Amalek, why should we also strive to forget?
Why should we drive the name from memory? I believe the teaching to reflect the paradox that
evil itself represents in Jewish tradition.

We cannot deny evil. We may want to believe in a God who is present in all things—in our sorrow
as much in our joy—but we cannot escape that we live in a universe that includes things that are
beyond our ability to reconcile with God. Judaism is too realistic to just brush aside evil as a mere
illusion. We are bound to remember it.

Yet, we also are given a tool to drive it away. Evil cannot be fought by filling our minds with equal
measures of hatred and anger. When we try to fight evil with evil, we only add to the evil present
in our world. We would only multiply the denial of God and God's Torah that Amalek represents.
We must forever oppose evil, yes, but we also must have the courage to engage in constructive
forgetfulness.

When we choose to live our lives with joy, despite evil, we help to destroy evil. When we know
our hurtful past, and yet live as though it had no hold on us, we defeat it. On Purim, we are asked
to behave (perhaps with the aid of a drink or two) as if there were no difference between "Cursed
be Haman" and "Blessed be Mordechai." The idea is not to deny the existence of the evil
represented by Haman the Agagite, but to defeat the power of evil by looking beyond it to the true
power behind creation.

That is what we must remember. Remember to wipe out the memory of evil from your
consciousness and allow yourself to connect instead to the source of life.

58
 Remembering Amalek
R. Ari Enkin writes:17
The Torah commands us to remember (“zachor”) that the Amalekites attacked the Jewish people
shortly after their departure from Egypt. [1] This is a mitzva that must be done verbally [2] and
according to many authorities, it must be read from a text. [3] There is also a view that a minyan
must be in attendance when reading the Zachor portion in order to properly fulfill the
mitzva. [4] Today, we fulfill this mitzva by listening to a special Torah reading about the Amalek
incident on Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat before Purim. The reading of Parshat Zachor might just
be the only Torah reading that is required by the Torah itself. All other Torah readings, both
weekday and Shabbat and Yom Tov, are rabbinical enactments. [5]

Mysteriously absent from the command to remember Amalek is the frequency with which this
mitzva must be performed. Although universal custom is to perform it annually on the Shabbat
before Purim, it may only truly be required every three years. [6] It is explained that today’s practice
of performing it once a year is based on the teaching that it takes a year for something to be truly
forgotten. [7]

There is much discussion on how the word “zecher” in the reading is to be pronounced. As such,
it is customary to read that verse twice, first as “zecher” and then as “zeicher.” In some
congregations, only the actual word is repeated, not the entire verse. [8] One should try to hear the
reading in one’s dialect of Hebrew. For example, Yemenites should hear it read in the Yemenite
pronunciation of Hebrew, and Ashkenazim should hear it read in the Ashkenazi pronunciation of
Hebrew. Nevertheless, one who heard it in a dialect different than one’s own has still fulfilled the
mitzva. [9]

According to some authorities, women are exempt from this mitzva. This is because a component
of the mitzva of remembering Amalek is also to wage war against them, and to destroy them. Since
women are exempt from military duty, and by extension, are ineligible to participate in Amalek’s
physical destruction, they are also exempt from the mitzvah to remember their
ambush. [10] According to most other authorities, women are obligated to hear the Zachor reading
just like men, and therefore, they should attend the synagogue on Shabbat Zachor in order to hear
the reading. [11]

Interestingly, although it is a mitzva to hear the Zachor reading, no blessing is recited before
performing it. This is because the reading of Parshat Zachor is essentially a component of the
mitzva to destroy Amalek. No blessing is recited on a mitzva that requires destruction, even of an
evil enemy nation. [12] Indeed, even though we look forward to the destruction and eradication of
all the enemies of the Jewish people, it is not something that we should be especially excited to
have to fulfill. God is not happy at the death of anyone – even the most wicked. [13] Similarly, a

17
https://www.torahmusings.com/2019/02/remembering-amalek/

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blessing is not recited because it is a mitzva that cannot be performed in its entirety nowadays –
we can only “remember” Amalek — we are unable to destroy them, as there is no nation that can
be positively identified as Amalek nowadays. [14]

Another reason that a blessing is not recited before parshat Zachor is that although we only publicly
read parshat Zachor once a year, the mitzva to remember Amalek is actually a constant mitzva that
applies every single day. As such, it is a mitzva without a specific time frame or even frequency,
and therefore, a blessing is not recited. [15]

One who is unable to hear parshat Zachor from a Torah should at least read it out loud from a
Chumash. [16] So too, one who missed the reading on Shabbat Zachor can still fulfill the mitzva of
remembering Amalek by listening attentively to the Torah reading on Purim morning, which deals
with the same theme. [17] In deference to the view that requires the mitzva of remembering Amalek
to be performed every twelve months, in a year in which there are thirteen months, one should
have in mind to fulfill the mitzva of remembering Amalek when the Torah portion of Ki Teitzei is
read. [18]

Endnotes

1.Devarim 25:17.

2.Megilla18a.

3.Megilla18a; Tosfot, Megilla 17b.

4.Rosh, Berachot 7:20.

5.Bach, OC 685; Magen Avraham 685. While there is a view that the reading of “Parah” is also a Biblical requirement, the
halacha is not in accordance with this view. Mishna Berura 685:15; Aruch Hashulchan, OC 685:7.

6.Chinuch 603.

7.Chatam Sofer, EH 119.

8.Mishna Berura 685:18.

9.See Mo’adim U’zmanim 2:170; Mikraei Kodesh 2; Igrot Moshe, OC 3:5.

10.Minchat Chinuch 603; Rivevot V’yovlot 4:42; Binyan Tzion 8.

11.Kaf Hachaim, OC 685:29.

12.Maharam Schik, OC 336.

13.See Chaim Sha’al 91; Ritva, Yoma 38a; Mishna, Yadayim 4:4; Rambam, Hilchot Melachim 5:4; Rambam, Hilchot
Issurei Biah 12:25; Smag 227.

14.Mishne Halachot 7:81.

15.Nitei Gavriel, Purim 19:12.

16.Magen Avraham 685:1.

17.Maharam Schik on Taryag Mitzvot; Nitei Gavriel 19:13.

60
 The Mitzvah of Remembering the Battle of Amalek

Rabbi Josh Flug writes:18

The Torah (Devarim 25:17) commands us to remember the incident of Amalek attacking the
Jewish people as they left the land of Egypt (mitzvat zechirat Amalek). This is considered a
positive commandment according to most Rishonim (see R. Yerucham F. Perlow's commentary
on R. Sa'adiah Gaon's Sefer HaMitzvot, Vol. III, Parsha 61). The mitzvah of zechirat Amalek is
traditionally fulfilled with the reading of Parshat Zachor (Devarim 25:17-19) on the Shabbat prior
to Purim. This article will explore the nature of this mitzvah and how it is fulfilled.

The Frequency of the Obligation

Sefer HaChinuch, no. 603, notes that there is no indication in the Torah or Talmudic sources as to
how often one must perform mitzvat zechirat Amalek. He suggests that the range is between one
and three years. Other Rishonim (see Semak no. 147) posit that the mitzvah must be performed
every year. R. Moshe Sofer, Chatam Sofer, Even HaEzer no. 119, suggests that the reason for the
annual requirement is based on a comment of the Gemara, Berachot 58b, that certain events are
forgotten after twelve months. The frequency of mitzvat zechirat Amalek is based on a requirement
to prevent forgetting the battle of Amalek. Therefore, one must remember the battle of Amalek
every twelve months. Chatam Sofer adds that even though in a leap year there is a thirteen-month

18
https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/714035/rabbi-josh-flug/the-mitzvah-of-remembering-the-battle-of-amalek/

61
lapse between readings of Parshat Zachor, there is no need to institute an additional reading of
Parshat Zachor in a leap year. The reason why twelve months is significant in the context of
memory is because over the course of twelve months, a person experiences the entire range of
events in the annual cycle. These events cause him to forget experiences from the previous year.
In a leap year, it actually takes thirteen months to create this phenomenon.

Does the Mitzvah Have to be Performed in the Context of Keriat HaTorah?

The Gemara, Megillah 18a, states that mitzvat zechirat Amalek must be performed verbally. It is
not sufficient to remind oneself mentally of this battle. This ruling comes in the context of a
discussion in the Gemara regarding the source that Megillat Esther must be read from a megillah
rather than recited by heart. The Gemara, based on a gezeirah shavah (a method of biblical
interpretation) equates the mitzvah of reading the megillah to the mitzvah of zechirat Amalek. Just
as Moshe was commanded to memorialize the battle of Amalek in text format (Shemot 17:14), so
too the megillah must be read from a text. The implication of the Gemara is that mitzvat zechirat
Amalek must certainly be performed by reading from a text. This Gemara is the basis for the
opinion of some Rishonim (see for example, Tosafot, Megillah 17b s.v. Kol) that the reading of
Parshat Zachor from a sefer Torah is biblically mandated.

R. Yoav Y. Weingarten, Teshuvot Chelkat Yoav, Orach Chaim no. 36, notes that this Gemara does
not necessarily prove that mitzvat zechirat Amalek must be performed by reading from a sefer
Torah. The source that Megillat Esther must be read from a megillah is not from the mitzvah of
zechirat Amalek, but rather from the commandment that Moshe received that he must record the
battle in a text. Rambam, Hilchot Melachim 5:5, in recording mitzvat zechirat Amalek, lists no
requirement for a sefer Torah. R. Ovadia Yosef, Yabia Omer, Orach Chaim 8:54:17, notes that
Chelkat Yoav's interpretation supports Rambam's opinion.

The requirement to fulfill mitzvat zechirat Amalek by reading from a sefer Torah does not
necessarily mean that there is a requirement that it be read in the presence of a minyan.
Nevertheless, Rabbeinu Asher, Berachot 7:20, notes that the reading of Parshat Zachor is one of
the rare instances where there is a biblical requirement for a minyan. Based on the comments of
Rabbeinu Asher, Terumat HaDeshen 1:108, notes that if one lives in a community where there is
no minyan, he should travel to a community where there is a minyan for the week that Parshat
Zachor is read in order to fulfill mitzvat zechirat Amalek. He adds that it is more important to
attend the services for the reading of Parshat Zachor than to attend the services for the reading of
Megillat Esther. He wonders why many people travel to another town to attend the services for the
reading of Megillat Esther and don't do the same for the reading of Parshat Zachor

Magen Avraham 685:1, notes that there is a justification for the practice of those who travel to
another town to attend the Purim services and not the services for the reading of Parshat Zachor.
He writes that even if Terumat HaDeshen is correct in assuming that mitzvat zechirat Amalek must
be fulfilled in the presence of a minyan and that it must be fulfilled on an annual basis, there is no

62
specific requirement that the mitzvah must be fulfilled on the Shabbat before Purim. The mitzvah
may be fulfilled at any point in the year. Therefore, those who live in a community where there is
no minyan travel to another town on Purim where they fulfill the mitzvah of zechirat Amalek with
the reading of "VaYavo Amalek" (Shemot 17:8-16), the Torah reading for Purim morning, which
records the original battle with Amalek.

The Relationship Between Mitzvat Zechirat Amalek and the Mitzvah to

Destroy Amalek

Magen Avraham's assertion that one can fulfill mitzvat zechirat Amalek by reading VaYavo
Amalek is not universally accepted. Mishna Berurah 685:16, contends that one cannot fulfill
mitzvat zechirat Amalek by reading VaYavo Amalek. VaYavo Amalek only contains that actual
account of the attack of Amalek on the Jewish people. It does not contain the command to destroy
Amalek. According to Mishna Berurah, the mitzvah of zechirat Amalek can only be fulfilled by
reading Parshat Zachor.

R. Yosef D. Soloveitchik (in Harerei Kedem 1:185) explains that the dispute between Magen
Avraham and Mishna Berurah is based on the relationship between mitzvat zechirat Amalek and
the mitzvah to destroy Amalek. Magen Avraham is of the opinion that mitzvat zechirat Amalek is
not connected to the mitzvah to destroy Amalek. Therefore, there is no requirement to mention the
mitzvah of destroying Amalek in order to fulfill mitzvat zechirat Amalek and one can fulfill the
mitzvah by reading VaYavo Amalek. However, Mishna Berurah disagrees precisely because
VaYavo Amalek makes no mention of the mitzvah to destroy Amalek.

The relationship between mitzvat zechirat Amalek and the mitzvah to destroy Amalek is relevant
to the requirement to fulfill mitzvat zechirat Amalek in the presence of a minyan. R. Yitzchak of
Karlin, Keren Orah, Berachot, Ch. 1, s.v. V'Eidi, explains that the reason why this mitzvah must
be performed specifically in the presence of a minyan is because the mitzvah of destroying Amalek
is incumbent upon the community and not upon any specific individual. [See R. Perlow, op. cit.,
for a lengthier discussion about the communal component of this mitzvah.]

Are Women Obligated in the Mitzvah of Zechirat Amalek?

Sefer HaChinuch, op. cit., writes that women are exempt from the mitzvah of zechirat Amalek
because they are not obligated in the commandment to destroy Amalek. Apparently, Sefer
HaChinuch is of the opinion that mitzvat zechirat Amalek is inextricably connected to the mitzvah
of destroying Amalek. [See Minchat Chinuch, ad loc., who notes that any battle against Amalek
would be considered a milchemet mitzvah (a mandatory war) and therefore questions whether
women are actually exempt from the mitzvah of destroying Amalek.]

R. Shneur Z. Pradkin, Torat Chesed, Orach Chaim no. 37, notes that even if women are obligated

63
to perform mitzvat zechirat Amalek, they may still be exempt from the reading of Parshat Zachor
on the Shabbat prior to Purim. Women are exempt from time bound positive commandments
(mitzvot aseh shehaz'man gerama). If mitzvat zechirat Amalek is merely reminding oneself of the
battle of Amalek within a twelve-month period, the mitzvah would not be considered a mitzvat
aseh shehaz'man gerama. However, if there is a specific obligation to read Parshat Zachor on the
Shabbat prior to Purim, it would be considered a mitzvat aseh shehaz'man gerama and women are
exempt.

The Amalek within ourselves

RABBI NEAL BOROVITZ writes:19

•

•
•

19
https://jewishstandard.timesofisrael.com/ki-tetze-the-amalek-within-ourselves/

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These concluding words of our parsha are also read as the maftir on Shabbat Zachor the Sabbath
preceding Purim. The connection between this Torah reading and Purim is that, according to
rabbinic tradition, Haman is a descendant of Amalek.

The battle between Amalek and Israel and the command to wipe out this enemy is first mentioned
in Exodus 17, where the home of the Amalekites is identified as a place called Rephidim, which
is located somewhere close to Mt. Sinai. However, in Numbers 14 these Amalekites are described
as dwelling in the Negev near the site of modern day Arad. In the Book of Judges, Amalek battles
Israel in the Valley of Jezreel and in the Jordan valley, together with the Amonites and the
Moabites. The Book of Esther seems to place the Amalekites in Persia. The Amalekites are also
mentioned in the Abraham narratives in Genesis, and in the David and Saul narratives of First
Samuel.

Who were the Amalekites? How could this one people, whom God commands Israel to wipe off
the face of the earth, keep appearing in so many places generation after generation? Conversely,
how could the Torah demand of us that we totally destroy an entire ethnic community? How could
we exclude the Amalekites from the mitzvah found earlier in our torah reading this week
in Deuteronomy 24:16 where we learn:

Moreover, how can we read these words just weeks before the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe
and Repentance; a time where we are commanded not only to seek forgiveness from both God and
our fellow man, but when we are also commanded to be forgiving of those who have wronged us?
Another complication in identifying Amalekites is, that even though Amalekites are mentioned
multiple times in the Bible, as a godless marauding tribe, that there is no mention of them in other
Near East literature, or archeological sources.

In the early 1970s when Arab terrorism as manifest in places such as Munich and Maalot began to
make many Jews see Amalek and Palestinian as synonyms, my teacher of Bible at Hebrew Union
College, Rabbi Chanan Brichto, of blessed memory, taught us the following: He proposed that

65
since the term Amalek appears only in the Bible and not in other near eastern literary or historical
sources and that “Amelek” appears all over the map of the ancient Near East, that the term does
not refer to a specific tribe, or ethnic group, but rather was the biblical term for terrorist. The
Amalek described in each of the biblical passages is a terrorist who attacks the weak.

If, as Rabbi Brichto suggested, we view Amalekite as a term for terrorist, then the mitzvah to blot
out the Amalekites in Deuteronomy 25 does not contradict the mitzvah from Deuteronomy 24,
quoted above, which teaches us to judge everyone based upon their actions rather than their
ethnicity or their family ties.

In fact, by reading the term “Amalekite” as terrorist, we make sense of the fact that Amalekites
keep appearing throughout the biblical narrative in different places and different generations.
Moreover, by reading Amalekite as terrorist, we can learn the lesson that there is a clear moral
distinction, in the Bible, between the prohibition against committing murder, and the command to
protect yourself and others against the threat of being a murder victim.

Understanding Amelek as terrorist reminds me that our parsha called Ki Tetze L’ Milchamah not
only gives us the right to self-defense, but reminds us of our responsibility to limit our aggressive
actions, to those who in the spirit of Amelek are a clear and present danger. The fact that 15th
anniversary of 9/11 fell during this week when we read Ki Tetze reminds me of my responsibility
to affirm, and confirm, the distinction, that the fact that the 19 perpetrators of 9/11 attacks were all
Arab Muslims, does not mean that all Arab Muslims are terrorists.

On a personal level I find myself this year, asking the question whether Amalek is not just a term
to define the evil forces outside, that threaten our personal or communal physical existence, but
also, a synonym for the yetzer ha-ra, the evil inclination within me and within each of us, that must
be confronted before we can stand before Adon Olam, The Master of the Universe, in judgment
during the forthcoming Days of Awe. Looking back upon the events in our world and our nation;
especially the lack of civility in our public discourse, as well reflecting upon my interactions with
family and friends and community members I hear in the call to “Wipe out Amalek” a command
to control the Amelek tendencies within myself and within our society. Perhaps the call to “Wipe
out the Amalekites” is therefore not the embarrassing message of a call to genocide, that led a
century of Reform Jews to stop reading it on Shabbat Zachor, preceding Purim, but rather, a

66
parallel to a well-known Native American story of the two wolves struggling inside each human
being.

In that story a tribal chief tells his grandson that there are two wolves living within each person:
one the wolf of good and the other the wolf of evil who are engaged in a battle for the control of
the person. When the child asks: Which one wins? He is told that it depends on which one you
feed.

The descendents of Haman study Torah in Benei Brak, and R. Shmuel bar
Shilat is [is the most illustrious] among them.2 (TB San. 96b [Ein Yakov, Para. 163])

‫שׁל ָהָמן ָלְמדוּ תּוֹ ָרה ִבְּבֵני ְבּ ַרק ומנו רב שמואל בּר שילת‬

ֶ ‫ִמְבֵּני ָבָּניו‬:

67
 Amalek is a Branch of Our Family Tree

Sarah Yehudit Schneider1 writes:20

Everyone knows that we are built from shattered vessels, as the Torah hints in its second verse
which describes the fallen state of reality before it was refurbished in the six creation days: “And
the earth was chaos and void, and darkness was upon the face of the abyss” (Gen. 1:2). Trapped
inside the walls of those ancient shards were slivers of light (a euphemism for consciousness).
Kabbbala informs us that when these vessels shattered, the highest sparks plunged to the lowest
depths like a toppled wall whose capstones land farthest from the base.

Everything in our world—past, present and future—is a resurrected spark from this chaotic era of
prehistory. The most fallen sparks enliven the most fallen creatures. Yet, even the most despicable
evildoer possesses a splinter of Godly light, for otherwise he could not exist. The spark is like a
fishhook that HaShem employs to tug His creatures toward the light. Most of the time, this method
works—the person takes the bait and generates enough net good to assure his soul’s admission to
the era of eternal life. Yet sometimes HaShem reels a soul in, but the person himself is so
encumbered by crimes and cruelties that the hook snaps loose and though a splinter ascends the
soul’s bulk gets left behind. The sum total of folks who suffer this fate—who squander their
portion of eternal life—comprise the elusive (and nefarious) nation of Amalek, Haman’s ancestral
line. So incorrigible is its lineage that Amalakite descendents (whether male or female) are refused
as converts.3 No other nation is excluded from the Jewish people in this unequivocal way.4

Yet the Talmud/Ein Yaakov informs us that despite this ban, some among Haman’s descendents
joined up with the holy splinters extracted from his soul, snuck their way into the Jewish people
(through forced or illicit relations),5 sired Torah scholars, and R. Shmuel bar Shilat is one of them.

So, the question becomes: Who is this Shmuel bar Shilat that we salvaged from Haman’s
Amalakite line? From the viewpoint of Chassidut he must embody a disowned spark—a secret
flaw banished from our self-image, projected onto our enemy, but eventually repatriated and
nursed back to health.6 It is always true, says the Baal Shem Tov, that enemies hold fallen slivers
of our soul, estranged sparks that we do not recognize as pieces of our very own selves. They
choose us as their foe because they are trying, in their deluded way, to connect back to their root,
which really is us.7 And Shmuel bar Shilat is exactly that, a spark of us inside Haman that found
its way back home.

And what do we know about this mysterious luminary bequeathed to us by Amalek. The Talmud
relays the following teaching about R. Shmuel bar Shilat:

“The enlightened shall shine as the radiant firmament, and those who turn multitudes to
righteousness [shall sparkle] as the stars for evermore” [Dan. 12:3] …. It is taught that the first
part of this honorific verse (“The enlightened shall shine as the radiant firmament”) applies [to

20
https://astillsmallvoice.org/amalek-is-a-branch-of-our-family-tree/

68
those distinguished either by exceptional integrity and/or generosity,] a) to judges who give a
true verdict on true evidence, and b) to those who collect charity and distribute it to the needy.

The second half of this verse (“Those who turn multitudes to righteousness [shall sparkle] as
the stars for evermore.”) applies to the teachers of young children. Such as who, for instance?
Rav answered: Such as R. Shmuel bar Shilat. For Rav once found R. Shmuel bar Shilat in a
garden, whereupon Rav rebuked him, “Have you deserted your post?” R. Shmuel bar Shilat
replied: “I have not seen this garden for thirteen years, and even now my thoughts are with the
children.”8

So, what is the link? One obvious connection is that Amalek, the progenitor of Haman’s ancestral
line, is the great-grandson of Isaac and Rebecca. The Jewish people trace their lineage back to
Jacob, the son of Isaac and Rebecca, and the Amalekites trace their lineage back to Essav, Jacob’s
twin brother.

Everyone knows that Essav was the elder son and heir to the family’s patriarchate. Yet Yaakov
disguised himself as Essav and stole the blessing (and the charge) to shepherd the burgeoning
Israelite clan through its next chapter of history. Essav then opted out of the tribe and founded his
own nation, Edom, which grew to become the Roman Empire, aka the First Reich.

69
Now kabbala asserts that children always carry something of the unactualized potential of their
parents and, really, of their entire family line.11 When a soul enters a body at conception it inherits
a lineage of neuroses that each parent transmits through his or her nature (germ cells)
and nurture (child-rearing). We are all carrying impurities from that primordial period of history
called the Breaking of the Vessels that have been passed down through our particular family tree.
HaShem gathers a pile of shards from our parents’ respective pedigrees and sends them down into
incarnation as the soul of each of us. We clean up what we can, and (hopefully) give our children
a better start by parenting them more skillfully because of the life-lessons we’ve learned.

And so is this true for Essav. As the child of Yitzchak and Rivka he imbibed
their nature and nurture no less than Yaakov. Like all children, these twins contained the genetic
stuff of their parents in every cell of their body and were enveloped by their parent’s nurture—
both as deliberate instructions and subtle role-modeling. Consequently, if we want to understand
Essav’s wayward path and the Amalekite nation that sprang from his grandson, we must start our
search with his family of origin.

Essav’s parents, Yitzchak and Rivka, were a saintly couple who devoted themselves to promoting
the ethical monotheism of their Shem-ite lineage, a mission they inherited from Avraham and
Sarah (Yitzchak’s parents). So dedicated were they to this holy task that they actually attained the
rarified status of archetype (in Hebrew, ‫מרכבה‬, literally, chariot), which means that now every
move they make has cosmic and eternally enduring repercussions that live on (in full strength)
even after they (as individuals) have passed. Yitzchak is the archetype of gevurah, a kabbalistic
term which means might, justice, discipline, awe, and restraint.

Yitzchak is best known for his stirring self-sacrifice, called the Binding of Isaac (in
Hebrew, akeda), where he willingly submitted to Hashem’s shocking command for Avraham to

70
sacrifice his beloved son (i.e., Yitzchak) and proffer him as a burnt offering. (As we know, in
retrospect, HaShem prevented the fulfillment of that command, and never actually intended for it
to occur, but was also testing their willingness to obey if, in fact, it was His will).

Our tradition extols the purity of Yitzchak’s devotion to his father expressed by his plaintive assent
to his own immolation at none other than his father’s hand.

Yitzchak spoke: “Do not feel distressed, father. You must fulfill your Creator’s will through
me. May my blood serve as an atonement for the future Jewish people.”12…They both walked
together, one to slaughter and one to be slaughtered, happy in their hearts to do God’s bidding.13…
Father, even though my heart is happy to do God’s will, my body might quiver as the knife
approaches. Tie my hands and feet well so I do not flinch and invalidate the sacrifice…Avraham
built the altar with the joy of a man who is preparing for his son’s wedding, and Yitzchak helped
him with the joy of a groom who is readying his chupa.14

This is the story we know and tell from generation to generation. And it is absolutely true…but it
is not quite the whole truth. There are other midrashim that preserve some lesser-known features
of that event.

Said Yitzchak to Avraham: “Here is the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for the burnt
offering?” Avraham answered, “You are the offering my son.” …

In that moment Yitzchak expressed through speech his agreement to be slain, but in his heart
he cried out, “Who will save me from my father’s hand?” … [Avot d’ Rebbe Natan, manuscript,
as brought by Torah Shelayma Gen. 22:7, par. 92]15, 16

This midrash shows that though Yitzchak was resolute in his decision to cooperate, another part
of him was begging to be saved from his father’s hand. While his mouth voiced assent his heart
silently screamed for help.

Another account admits that Yitzchak survived the akeda but not entirely unscathed.

And Avraham returned to the young men…. (Gen. 22:19) Where is Yitzchak? One would have
expected the verse to read: “Avraham and Yitzchak returned to the young men…” Yitzchak was
cloistered in Gan Eden for two years healing from the wounds that his father inflicted upon him
when he was very nearly slaughtered. [Hadar Zekanim, brought in Torah Shelayma 22:19, in the
notes of par. 204]17

This conveys that Yitzchak was actually harmed by that traumatic event though not a scratch was
made on his body. The midrash reports that Yitzchak spent the next two years healing from the
soul-wounds that were (unintentionally) inflicted by the akedah.

Yitzchak, as the archetype of restraint, subdued his natural instinct to fight for his life. And that
self-sacrifice was his offering, and it was so great that we (his progeny) are still drawing from its
nearly inexhaustible merit. And yet, the Torah teaches that we all carry a child inside us that

71
responds to the immediate impact of a moment independent of its corrected interpretation. For
example, even though we know we are reading a story, our body still clenches in fear.

For this reason, Hashem decided that even Moshe, the most enlightened man that ever lived, should
not initiate the plague of blood by striking the water with his staff. Why? Because striking would
be a hurtful gesture toward the river that had saved him when he floated in his ark. HaShem
understood that the child in Moshe would interpret that whack as a callous act of ingratitude,
though Moshe himself clearly knew that it was not.18

And so, it was for Yitzchak. He knew (without a doubt) that he and his father were fulfilling
HaShem’s mysterious will and that their act would produce unimaginable good. Yet the child
inside viewed the scene more starkly: His father held a knife to his throat and was prepared to
slaughter him…His trusted parent who was supposed to protect him was about to take his life.
Yitzchak’s inner child (aka, his heart) was traumatized by that event, and it was two years (or some
say three) before he could collect himself and reenter the world.

Yitzchak adopted the corrected narrative of the akeda for that really is the truest truth. Yet for a
master of gevurah it can be hard to discern whether inner consensus reigns because alternative
views have been persuaded or quashed. The Tanya says that one can never be sure.19 A midrash
reports that Yitzchak’s eyes weakened as a result of the akeda, and this refers not only to his
physical sight. It is partly why he did not see though Essav’s veneer of false piety.20

And so, in Yitzchak’s case it seems that there must have been some residue of trauma buried in
his depths that got pushed off to Essav’s line as part of the nature and nurture that was
providentially directed to that branch of the family tree.21 Soul wounds are like knots in a piece of
wood. At their heart is an intense sliver of potential but it is surrounded by a gnarled tangle of
broken threads and misshapen attributes. They are islands of chaos in the psyche that would be
invisible if not for their telltale symptoms of anger, fear and hypervigilance.

For a tsadik like Yitzchak these soul-knots (if present) are drowned out by the blaze of his
awareness. Yet when they got pushed off to Essav’s portion, there was no counterbalance. In
Essav’s psyche they erupted as chaotic impulses that took root and flourished. Their spark of holy
potential was drowned out by the stormy reactivity that swirls around a soul wound. By age
fourteen Essav was already a felon with murder, rape, and theft on his crime sheet.22

As the Ari maps out in his Treatise on Reincarnation, a soul-wound clickety-clacks down through
the generations via the nature and nurture that governs our psycho-spiritual inheritance. The
trauma gets reenacted in ways that might appear unrelated, but upon closer inspection are simply
variations on the original theme, which in this case is (the semblance of) parent harming child. It
is logical to assume that a nation of cold-blooded psychopaths like Amalek, is also a nation of
merciless parents and traumatized children. But at some point, down the line a paradigm shift
occurs when someone in the lineage finally makes the turnabout. A synchronicity of courage, grace
and circumstance converge to produce a hero who turns his or her soul-wound into a mission of
helping others and changing the world for good.

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Shmuel bar Shalit is such a one. As the redeemer of the Amalakite lineage his soul was conceived
at the akeda, but lay buried for generations until, says R. Tsadok HaKohen, Queen Esther finally
set him free. So treasured is the spark of R. Shmuel bar Shilat that, according to R. Tsadok, King
Shaul forfeit his crown to preserve its precious cargo when he spurned HaShem’s command and
gave Agag a night’s reprieve.23 Haman’s lineage was conceived that night and the spark of R.
Shmuel bar Shilat, now saved from extinction, passed with Agag’s seed to the great, great
grandfather of wicked Haman whose soul touched ground that fateful eve.24

And Esther follows Shaul’s lead when she gives Haman a short reprieve. She did not request his
death first thing but invited him to lunch with herself and the King. R. Tsadok explains that Esther
hoped (by her wine and grace) to arouse the spark of R. Shmuel bar Shilat that was locked inside
Haman’s soul. If she could revive that inner tsadik Haman might awaken to teshuva. Who knows
what miracle HaShem would employ to redeem his holy nation? The turnabout could easily be for
Haman to see the light, renounce his hatred, and dedicate his life to God and good and truth.25

Esther’s plan actually worked…for a moment, says R. Tsadok. “Haman [left the banquet] that day
joyful and of good heart (‫)שמח וטוב לב‬.”26 Scripture does not employ that phrase (good heart)
casually. It is an honorific term for joy that comes from tasting light (and truth). When referring to
more material pleasures, Scripture adds a qualifier, and the phrase then reads, a kind of good
heart (‫)כטוב לב‬.27 There is no qualifier here, notes R. Tsadok. Esther kindled the holy spark and
Haman awakened to teshuva…for real!28

Yet when Haman left Esther’s presence, he could not sustain this awakening. His narcissistic
tantrum resurged triggered by Mordecai’s refusal to bow. Haman lost his “good heart,”
his teshuva collapsed, and the spark of R. Shmuel bar Shilat transferred to Mordecai via the
channel of hatred directed toward him. And now, without this holy spark to prop him up, Haman
plummeted to his demise.29

What enabled Esther and Mordecai to extract this precious spark when all previous generations
had failed?30 Based on the Principle of Resonance, their potent tug on Shmuel bar Shilat’s spark
must reflect an exceptional affinity they shared with his soul. Esther and Mordecai embodied the
two poles of Shmuel bar Shilat’s odyssey. Esther was orphaned at birth, a tragic fate that cannot
help but leave its wounds. And Mordecai was her protector. He adopted Esther and dedicated
himself for decades to her well-being.

Mordecai and Esther were the perfect tools for releasing Shmuel bar Shilat from his 1,252-year
exile among the Amalakite gene pool. Esther the orphan mirrored his rocky beginnings in
Yitzchak’s wounded heart, while Mordecai and Esther—hero and heroine—resonated with his (yet
to be realized) triumph over his Amalakite roots, when he would become the archetypal “guardian
of children” in the Oral Torah.

The Komarna Rebbe states that our crowning glory as a people—the lights that form the halo
around our head—are the sparks we’ve pulled from the lowest depths, from evil empires and the
like.31 This surely includes R. Shmuel bar Shilat, our shining star, mentioned by name as both
Haman’s offspring and the Jewish exemplar of one who “turns multitudes to righteousness.”

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Through Shmuel bar Shilat, Yitzchak comes full circle and beyond. His soul-wound whose
legitimate plaint was partly addressed and partly (unintentionally) stifled got pushed off to Essav’s
lineage because there was no place for it in his (and our) rectified version of that celebrated event.
In this way a sliver of Yitzchak incognito sojourned among the Amalekites, the only nation with
soul-wounds that are so malignant they leave nothing left to salvage. Yet even the Amalakites
could not exist without a holy drop of life, and that smidgen of vitality that sustained them for all
those years was the wounded sliver of Yitzchak’s soul that got shunted off to Essav’s line, rescued
by Esther and Moredecai, and eventually incarnated as Shmuel bar Shilat, the devoted educator of
children.

Yitzchak’s integration of his Shmuel bar Shilat spark—the wounded child turned guardian of
children—is illustrated by the following midrash which tells how, in the end of days, Avraham
and Yaakov will be willing (metaphorically) to “sacrifice” us, their children, for HaShem’s glory.
Yitzchak conversely stands up against HaShem, argues on our behalf, and thus assures our
redemption.

[The midrash weaves its parable around a verse in Isaiah:]

The paradox here is that Yitzchak boldly argues against Hashem, yet the midrash clearly indicates
that Hashem was actually seeking someone to do just that—to defend the children even at His
expense, even if it meant snubbing an opportunity to sanctify HaShem’s name.

And the midrash closes with another surprise. When the people turn to Yitzchak and hail him as
their savior, Yitzchak responds:

“Don’t laud me, rather praise HaShem.” Isaac will then conjure the Presence of HaShem so
powerfully that the people will actually see God’s semblance with their eyes. They will gaze
heavenward and proclaim, “You, HaShem, are our father…” (Isaiah 63:16).

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And so it must be, that in our ongoing war with Amalek, Shmuel bar Shilat (the minder of children)
is still a key player. Though the nation of Amalek is technically extinct, the battle has reconfigured
as an intramural campaign.36 Our challenge is to emulate Esther and Mordecai by applying the
Principle of Resonance to make our Jewish nation a place that exerts an irresistible tug upon all
the Shmuel-bar-Shilats trapped within the wounded children of our people (and really of the
world). And that will only happen if we turn our community into a place that embodies R. Shmuel
bar Shilat’s selfless dedication to the wellbeing of children as modeled by Yitzchak in the above
midrash.

And the truth is, we all have a wounded child inside our heart. And because we are ashamed of its
vulnerable, silly, angry, timid, delinquent or sacrilegious impulses, we try to pretend it doesn’t
exist. And yet this host of banished sparks, as long they remain disowned, provide the psychic
nurture for Amalek these days. Yet truly it is those very sparks, once they integrate, that will
become our crowning glory.

I want to bless us as individuals and as a people, that on this holiest of holy days, when the world
turns upside down, and HaShem invites our inner child to take the reins and romp and play—that
this surge of playful moxy on this child-friendly day pull all the sparks back to their roots, safe
passage guaranteed. But if we are going to keep them here for more than just one day, then we
must make it worth their while, nay preferable to stay.

Please HaShem let it finally sink into our heart, bones, cells and spaces that our wounded children
(both within and without) are the Achilles heel in our battle with Amalek. They are the “feeble
stragglers, picking up the rear,” vulnerable to ambush. And let us face the fact that when we hush
offenses of this sort, claiming to protect the Torah from disgrace, we are really just avoiding our
own discomfort—the shame that, if exposed, might finally prompt a potent teshuva and instigate
real change. The midrash makes it clear where Hashem’s priorities lie. Let’s catch the Purim
updraft and bring mashiach NOW.

Whatever is true in this teaching, let it come in, take root, and let us be transformed by it (both as
individuals and as a community) …Whatever is false let it pass through and leave no impression.
With your help, Hashem, we trust that it will be so.

‫פורים שמח … וטוב לב משתה תמיד‬

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[1] ©A Still Small Voice, 2011 / 5771

2 Since Shmuel bar Shilat is the only one named, he is, apparently, the most illustrious.

3 Mekhilta, Parshat Shelach (toward end); Pesikta d’Rav Kahana, Piska 3, Sec. 16 (toward end).

4 The defining feature of an Amalakite is a complete lack of remorse (which is also what characterizes a sociopath). And without
remorse, teshuva is impossible. And without teshuva there is no way to come clean. And yet only a person with clean hands and
a pure heart can enter eternity (the world to come).

5 R. Tsadok HaKohen (RTsHK), Pri Tsadik (PTs), Purim 2, part 2. The Talmud does not explain how these sons of Haman came
to be Jewish. R. Tsadok speculates that an Amalakite seduced (or worse) an Israelite woman and sired a child through this
unsanctioned union.

6 Sarah Yehudit Schneider. You are What You Hate—A Spiritually Productive Approach to Enemies, is an elaborated translation
of a text by R. Y.Y.Y. Safrin of Komarna on this subject.

7 Baal Shem Tov on the Torah, Parshat Noach, Amud HaTefila, ot 156-158.

8 TB BB 8b.

9 Haman is the last Amalakite mentioned by name in Biblical and Midrashic writings. There is speculation in rabbinic literature
that certain enemies of Israel (since this time) were (or are) Amalakites, but there is no clear blood lineage asserted. Most
authorities rule that since Sancherev conquered Israel and its environs and purposely mixed up the nations, we are no longer able
to identify the Biblical nation of Amalek and cannot, therefore, at this time, fulfill the obligation to extirpate the Amalakites.

10 In the Torah’s lexicon of symbols, Amalek becomes the token of pure evil. Today, there are no living people carrying that
name. Yet, according to kabbala, there are always individuals (and sometimes nations) who embody the archetype of Amalek in
every generation. Every other creature has at least a sliver of soul, a ray of God that dwell within and sustains its life. Yet there
are hollow men, who absorb their life juice through their skin.  They feed off the sparks that fly from the clashing of matter and
psyches in conflict. They are chronic provocateurs, for their survival requires exactly this. If conflict would cease, so would they,
for they have no inner wellspring from which to draw life. These empty creatures with a void at their core are the spiritual
offspring of Amalek. Like viral spores they float through history, invisible, until they find a host who is susceptible to their hate-
filled contagion.

11
In a partzuf, the lower three sefirot of netzach (N), hod (H), yesod (Y) contain the reproductive organs of the parents (seed
stock, etc.). And also, these three sefirot are understood to hold the unconscious roots of emotion (as opposed to chesed,
gevurah, and tiferet which are the conscious emotions). And so, kabbalistically, the NH” Y of the upper partzuf (or parent) is
what extends into the lower partzuf (or child) to form and sustain him or her. This means that something of these
three sefirot (from the upper partzuf or parent) are permanently present in the child as the genetic stuff that is transmitted through
the germ cells, and the ingrained behavior instilled in the child from the parents’ habitual ways of moving through the world
during the child’s impressionable years.

12
Midrash Hagadol 20:6.

13
Midrash Hagadol 22:8.

14
Yalkut Shimoni, Parshat Vayera, chalek 21, 99.

15
In Hebrew:

…, ‫ אין לעוזר אלא הקב” ה שנא’ עזרי מעם ה’ עושה שמים וארץ‬,‫ ולבו היה אומר מי יצילני מיד אבי‬,‫באותה שעה היה יצחק מסכים בפיו‬,…

16
Another midrash that conveys the pain and ambivalence of both Yitzchak and Avraham: “Staring with unbearable compassion
into his son’s eyes, Avraham lifted Yitzchak and laid him on the altar that they had just prepared together. Yitzchak gazed
heavenward. Avraham was crying, his tears flooding his eyes and dripping down his body until he became completely drenched

76
with tears. He spoke to Yitzchak: ‘My son, since you took this first step of offering your life, willingly, at HaShem’s command,
may your selfless deed call forth a reprieve from on high—your Creator should respond from on high and prepare a
substitute korban that will be offered in place of you.’ At that moment [Yitzchak] sobbed and wailed and his eyes let loose their
tears? He looked toward the Shekhina, raised his voice and spoke the following verse: ‘I lift my eyes to the heavens from whence
comes my salvation.’” Yalkut Shimoni, 22:101.

17
The full Hebrew citation:

‫וישב אברהם‬, ‫ויצחק היכן הוא אלא שנטמן יצחק בגן עד ושתי שנים כדי לרפאתו מן החתך שחתך אביו כשהתחיל לשחטו‬:

18
Eliyahu Desser, Michtav M’Eliyahu, vol. 3, p. 100-104. Moshe understood that really, the hitting itself would elevate the
water, not degrade it. That river would become the instrument of an awesome revelation of Divine might and presence. It would
move out of the category of “ordinary” into an elite class of objects that transcended their “natures” and proved the truth of God,
through miracle, to the eyes of all. This was an honor, not a disgrace. And still Moses could not do it because of the subtle
callousing effect it would have on his heart.

19
Likutei Amarim (Tanya), Chapt. 13. Pri Tsadik, R. Tsadok HaKohen, Par. Zachor, ot 2. R. Tsadok actually says that the
mitzvah of remembering Amalek is a call for tsadikim to remember that as pure as they have become, they must constantly
remind themselves that there are still Amalakite impurities lurking in the depths of their soul.

20 Gen. R. 65:10. And his eyes were dim from seeing: “As a result of that akeda; for when Abraham bound his son Isaac, the
ministering angels wept…,and their tears dropped from their eyes into Isaac’s eyes, and left their mark upon them, and so that
when he became old his eyes dimmed….Another interpretation dim from seeing: At the akeda, when our father Abraham bound
Isaac on the altar, Isaac turned his eyes heavenward and gazed at the Shechinah…therefore, said HaShem, his eyes shall be
dimmed for that impertinence.”

21 BR Gen. 68:11. “…The grime (pesolet) within Avraham passed into Ishmael, the grime (pesolet) within Yitzchak passed to
Essav….”

22 Pesikta d’Rav Kahana, Piska 3.

23 RTsHK, PTs, Purim 2. See: I Samuel 15 for the story of Saul and Agag the Amalakite.

24 Ibid.

25 Ibid.

26 Esther 5:9.

27 Esther 1:10.

28 RTsHK, PTs, Purim 2.

29 Ibid.

30 Every person contains two souls, a vital soul transmitted by one’s parents that integrates their two respective blood lines, and a
Divine soul that has a lineage of its own, perhaps unrelated to one’s parents (or perhaps not). These two souls (vital and Divine)
fuse together at conception. Shmuel bar Shilat’s vital soul was conceived via the illicit union of an Amalakite male descendent of
Haman and a Jewish female. The Divine soul that joined up in that union was the holy spark (originating with Yitzchak) that
Esther and Mordecai extracted from Haman.

31 R. Y.Y.Y. Safrin. Zohar Chai. II:33 (‫)ד” ה כד אתייהב‬.

32 Isaiah 63:16. The verse actually uses Yaakov’s other name, Yisrael, but because I didn’t want to confuse readers that were less
versed in Bible knowledge, I substituted the more familiar name, Yaakov, which is actually the name that is used in the
subsequent midrashic [aggadic] discussion.

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33 “We will do and then we will understand” (Ex. 4:22).

34 Rashi, Num. 14:29.

35 TB Shabbat 89b.

36 RTsHK, PTs, Purim 2.

The Amalek Within

Rabbi Yehudah Leib Altein writes:21

In Parshas Zachor, we read Hashem’s command to “Remember what Amalek did to you on your
way out of Mitzrayim.”

Why is it so important to recall Amalek’s assault on Bnei Yisroel? We can understand why this
was necessary in days gone by when Amalek was still around. Through remembering what Amalek
did, the Jews would retain their animosity toward them and fulfill the mitzvah of destroying them.
But Amalek has since intermingled with the other nations, and even if we would know who they
are, we currently do not have the power to destroy them. Why, then, is remembering Amalek still
so significant?

21
http://merkazanash.com/tetzaveh5778

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In addition to being an actual nation, Amalek represents a negative spiritual concept. Just as a Jew
possesses the Seven Nations on a spiritual plane—the seven negative character traits—he similarly
possesses a spiritual Amalek, whom he must remember, so that he may detest it and do his best to
eradicate it.

Amalek differs from the other nations in that while the other nations will ultimately serve Hashem
(in the era of Moshiach), Amalek will meet a bitter end: “First of the nations is Amalek, and its
end is to be destroyed forever.” This is reflected in their spiritual counterparts as well. Other
negative traits can be dealt with and solved; Amalek, however, has no antidote.

What exactly is this spiritual Amalek, and why is it so terrible and incorrigible?

The Reckless Bather

When the other nations heard about the miracles of Yetzias Mitzrayim and Krias Yam Suf, they
all stood in awe of Bnei Yisroel and felt a tremendous respect towards them. It was in this context
that Amalek launched their attack.

Rashi explains this by way of a mashal: “There was a hot bath that no one dared enter. Along came
a reckless individual and jumped inside. Although he got burnt, he cooled it off before the others.”

The rash bather was burnt from the scalding water, and the water remained just as hot as before.
Yet, he “cooled it off” before the others by mitigating their fear of the water’s heat. “There’s no
need to fear,” he demonstrated. “It’s not that bad. So, what if I got burnt? If I could do it, you can
too!”

This was Amalek’s intent when attacking the Jewish nation. They knew they would be defeated,
but their goal was to cool off the prevailing feeling of respect toward the Jews. Amalek couldn’t
bear the fact that all the nations were in awe of Bnei Yisroel and their God. To undermine that
sentiment, they launched what they knew was a foolhardy attack, with the goal of showing
everyone that fighting the Jews was possible.

Irrational Chutzpa
There are two reasons why someone can lack respect toward a man of great stature. For one person,
the reason is because he fails to understand the man’s greatness. If this is the reason behind his
lack of respect, there is a simple solution: All that’s necessary is to explain to him the man’s
tremendous qualities. If he is on a higher level, he can be told that the man possesses great
intellectual and emotional qualities; if these traits do not speak to him, he can be told of the man’s
physical strength and so on. In any case, developing an awareness of the man’s greatness will
evoke feelings of respect.

But then there is the mechutzaf, the insolent mocker. He is aware of the man’s greatness, and he
knows full well that he is nowhere near his caliber. Yet, he has chutzpa, and is out to demonstrate

79
that he will not be affected in the slightest. Explaining to him the man’s outstanding talents will
not deter him; to the contrary, he will react by showing everyone that he can still show disrespect.

These two attitudes can also be reflected in a person’s self-image. If a person holds himself high
because of a certain reason, it can be rectified simply by explaining to him that his view is incorrect.
For example, if a wealthy man is arrogant due to his financial success, he can reflect on the idea
that the money is not his but Hashem’s. If one is blessed with a good head and has studied a lot of
Torah, he can be told that there is no reason to feel haughty, as this is why he was created.

But say you have a person who is arrogant without any basis. He himself knows that he has no
redeeming qualities, but he nonetheless holds himself high. Such irrational yeshus cannot be
remedied.

Or to put it this way: If a person sins because of a ruach shtus, because he doesn’t realize the true
value of Torah, of Hashem, and of a Yid, he can simply learn about it and his conduct will improve.
But if a person is aware of it all and still consciously ignores it, getting him to change his ways
will be an uphill battle.

Amalek was the “first of nations” to start up with Bnei Yisroel, although they were aware of the
Jews’ greatness. Since their opposition was irrational, it cannot be cured: “its end is to be destroyed
forever.”

Severing the Head

This can help us understand another statement regarding Amalek. After the war with Amalek,
Moshe said: “Hashem has lifted His hand and sworn that He will fight against Amalek for all
time.” Hashem’s name in this possuk is spelled kah, comprising of the first two letters—
yud and hei—but not the last two, vov and hei. Rashi explains that this is because Hashem’s name
is incomplete until Amalek will be wiped out.

The first two letters of Hashem’s name represent intellect (chochmah and binah), and the last two
letters represent emotions and actual implementation (midos and malchus). By nature, when a Jew
studies a concept in Torah, his emotions are aroused to act accordingly. The separation of the first
two letters from the last reflects Amalek’s goal: to detach intellect from emotions, so that what we
learn should not have an effect on our feelings and conduct.

This concept is hinted to in Amalek’s name, which includes the word malak, to separate the head
(intellect) from the rest of the body (emotions and conduct).

Fighting Amalek—Today
Amalek is not just an ancient nation, but exists today as well, in the form of a cooling-off attitude.
As the Rebbe once expressed it, when a person sees a wondrous phenomenon, Amalek comes
along and says: “Why are you getting excited? Don’t you know that Hashem can do everything?”

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All of a sudden Amalek is professing Hashem’s greatness, as long as he can succeed in cooling
him off!

Every individual can find some form of Amalek within himself. There are some areas in which he
is simply mistaken; if that is the problem, the solution is to study the subject—both
the halachos and the depth of the issue as explained in Chassidus—and he will improve his
conduct. But sometimes he knows full well that a certain activity is wrong, and he is aware of its
severity, yet he tells himself: “Nu, and therefore?” This attitude comes from Amalek and must be
combated.

How do we combat Amalek? The Torah relates that Moshe instructed Yehoshua to “select men
for us and go out to combat Amalek,” indicating that the soldiers were to be anshei Moshe, men
who lived up to Moshe’s reputation. Moshe was the humblest of all men, possessing a bittul that
surpassed intellect. This essential bittul, a kabolas ol that extends beyond logic, is the antidote for
the essential yeshus of Amalek, allowing Hashem’s name to be complete.

Rethinking Amalek in This 21st Century

Steven Leonard Jacobs writes:22

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file:///Users/jungar/Downloads/religions-08-00196-v2.pdf, Religions 2017, 8, 196; doi:10.3390/rel8090196
www.mdpi.com/journal/religions

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American Jews Speak English, but Our Sacred Texts Are in Hebrew
What happens when the most authoritative guardians of the tradition are
sometimes baffled by the tradition themselves?

BY

ADAM KIRSCH writes:23

You don’t have to spend much time in a Reform or Conservative synagogue to realize that
American Judaism has a language problem, one that’s simple to describe but hard to solve.
American Jews speak English, but our sacred texts—the Torah readings, the prayers—are in
Hebrew. As a result, most of us don’t know what we’re hearing, or even what we’re saying, during

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https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/belief/articles/daf-yomi-93

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a prayer service. Yet if you try to reduce the amount of Hebrew in the service, by saying prayers
in English, you lose the sense of connection with ancient tradition that is such a large part of Jewish
spirituality. The only real solution to this dilemma would be for every Jew to become fluent in
Hebrew, but we will be waiting a long time before that day comes.

It was consoling to read Daf Yomi this week, then, and realize that this is not just an American
problem; it’s been with Judaism since the Babylonian exile. The language of the Tanakh is
Hebrew, but by the time the Talmud was compiled, the Jewish people even in the Holy Land no
longer spoke Hebrew as a native language; instead, they spoke the closely related Aramaic. And
Jews in other parts of the classical world didn’t even know Aramaic, conducting their lives instead
in Greek. Indeed, Philo of Alexandria, the biblical commentator who lived in the 1st century C.E.,
based his detailed explication of the Torah on the Greek translation known as the Septuagint; it’s
not certain that he even knew Hebrew at all. Judaism has been a religion of and in translation
almost since the beginning.

The language question emerges in the second chapter of Tractate Megilla, when the Talmud raises
the question of how the Book of Esther should be read. It might seem obvious, but the Mishna
begins by clarifying that the text must be read in the order it was written: “One who reads the
Megilla out of order … has not fulfilled his obligation.” Further, like the Torah, it cannot be read
from memory: A physical text must be there for the reader to look at. Later in the chapter, we learn
that this should ideally be a dedicated scroll that contains just the book of Esther. If it is part of a
larger book, say a scroll containing all the Writings, at least the pages of the Megilla must be
noticeably shorter or taller than the other pages. This is to make visible to the audience that the
reader is fulfilling the mitzvah of Purim by reading the Book of Esther, and not some other biblical
text. Nor can you use just any ink in writing a Megilla: The Mishna lists several substances that
are forbidden, including samma, orpiment, and komos, a type of tree resin.

The Mishna goes on to say that the mitzvah is fulfilled only if the Megilla is read out loud; reading
it silently to yourself does not count. How do we know this, the Gemara wonders? After all, the
scriptural basis of reading the Megilla is Esther 9:28, which says, “And that these days shall be
remembered and observed throughout every generation, every family, every province, and every
city; and that these days of Purim should not cease from among the Jews, nor their memorial perish
from their seed.” Nothing is said explicitly about reading a book, just about “remembering.” But
Rava finds an answer, by using the favorite exegetical tool of verbal analogy with another biblical
verse. Just as Esther commands us to “remember,” so in Exodus we find God telling Moses, “Write
this for a memorial in the book”; “Just as there [it says] in a book, so too here, in a book,” Rava
explains in Megilla 18a.

Even so, the Gemara points out, this analogy only proves that we must read the Esther story in a
book. It doesn’t prove that the book must be read aloud, as the Mishna tells us: “Perhaps it requires
merely looking into the book.” How do we derive this further rule? Again, the rabbis have a
scriptural explanation, based on yet another instance of the word “remember.” “Remember what
Amalek did to you,” reads Deuteronomy 25:17, and then two verses later, “You shall not forget.”
One of the key principles of Talmudic exegesis is that the Torah does not use redundancy for no
reason: If the Torah says “remember” and then “do not forget,” it is because we are meant to learn

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two different points of law. So, the Gemara explains, “do not forget” refers to “the heart,” while
“remember” refers to “the mouth”: We must not just remember silently, but out loud.

It is at this point that the language question raises its head. We know that the Megilla must be read
out loud from a book, but does that book have to be written in Hebrew, or is a translation also
valid? The Mishna’s answer at first seems to be contradictory: “If he read it in translation or in any
other language … he has not fulfilled his obligation. However, for those who speak a foreign
language, one may read the Megilla in that foreign language. And one who speaks a foreign
language who heard the Megilla read in Ashurit [that is, Hebrew], has fulfilled his obligation.”

A whole series of questions immediately presents itself. First the Mishna says that reading the
Megilla in translation is invalid; then it says that it’s permitted to translate the Megilla into the
language an audience understands; then it says that Hebrew is always valid even if the audience
doesn’t understand it. (Actually, what it says is that Ashurit—the “Assyrian” script in which
Hebrew is written—is valid; but does this refer to the language or merely the script, so that a
foreign language written in Ashurit is also OK? According to the Koren Talmud, later
commentators disagree on this point.) Which is the correct procedure?

The Gemara boldly attempts to unravel the Mishna’s answer. Perhaps the reason why reading in
translation is forbidden is that it violates the rule about reading the Megilla aloud directly from a
text. In other words, perhaps what the Mishna means to forbid is looking at a Hebrew text of the
Megilla and translating it out loud into Aramaic for an Aramaic-speaking audience. After all, this
would essentially be a form of reading from memory since it requires the reader to come up with
a translation in his head. But no, the Gemara decides, this is not what the Mishna means. Even if
you were reading an Aramaic text aloud, it would still not qualify.

But how are we to reconcile this rule with the Mishna’s next statement that “for those who speak
a foreign language, one may read the Megilla in that language”? The answer, according to Rav
and Shmuel, is that the Mishna doesn’t mean just any foreign language, but specifically Greek.
Here we see that Greek enjoyed a special status as a language of Judaism, even though it was not
actually a Jewish language (not unlike English today, perhaps). Indeed, a little later on, Rabban
Shimon ben Gamliel rules that books of the Bible can be written in only two languages, Hebrew
and Greek. This fits with the legend that the translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, known as
the Septuagint, was guided by God. When King Ptolemy of Egypt ordered 72 Jewish sages to
translate the Bible into Greek, each one came up with exactly the same text, an obvious miracle.
The story helps to lend authority to the Greek Bible in a way that would have been appreciated by
the many Jews, like Philo, who knew no other language.

Still, Rav and Shmuel’s elegant solution doesn’t go uncontested. Unfortunately, there is
a baraita that says, “If one reads the Megilla in Coptic … Elamite, Median, or Greek, he has not
fulfilled his obligation.” This seems pretty explicitly to contradict what Rav and Shmuel said about
reading the text in Greek. Matters get more complicated still when the Gemara mentions
another baraita that directly refutes the first one: “If one reads the Megilla in Coptic to Copts …
in Elamite to Elamites, or in Greek to Greeks, he has fulfilled his obligation.” The principle at
work here, the Gemara decides, is that it is acceptable to read the Megilla in any language so long
as the audience understands that language.

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By that logic, it seems that it would be halachically acceptable to read the Megilla in English to an
American congregation, though I don’t know what the actual law is on this point. Still, the Talmud
preserves a special place for Hebrew: Hearing the Megilla in Hebrew always fulfills a Jew’s Purim
obligation, even if he doesn’t understand what he’s hearing. This may seem to contradict the
Gemara’s earlier logic, but it is not so. Rather, “it is just as it is with women and uneducated people
[ami ha’aretz]”; these categories of people usually don’t know Hebrew, yet they are still able to
discharge their obligation by hearing the Megilla in the holy language.

And then Ravina intervenes with a remarkable statement. Even the sages, he points out, do not
always fully understand the Hebrew they are reading; even they encounter words whose exact
meaning has been lost with time. The most authoritative guardians of the tradition are sometimes
baffled by the tradition. Indeed, they sometimes have to turn to “women and uneducated people”
for guidance, as we learn in a series of anecdotes. The sages, we read, “did not know what is meant
by the word seirugin,” until one day the maidservant in Yehuda HaNasi’s house “said to the sages
who were entering the house intermittently rather than in a single group: How long are you going
to enter seirugin seirugin?” This showed them that the word meant intermittently, which in turn
clarified one of the rules of Purim, that the Megilla may be read seirugin, at intervals, rather than
all in one go. It’s pleasing to think that, on occasion, even the greatest teachers of Torah could be
taught something by the common Jew.

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