Zachor: Our Responsibility to Remember
Author’s Note: This essay was originally written as a spoken D’var Torah (sermon) delivered at Trad Egal Shtiebel in Chicago on Shabbat Zachor, March 8, 2025. It has been adapted into a blog to expand upon the ideas shared in that setting.
Shabbat Zachor—the Shabbat of memory—is not a passive exercise. In Judaism, memory (zachor) is an action, a moral imperative. It is not nostalgia, nor is it simply a record of the past. It is a commandment to remember with purpose, to learn from history, and to ensure that we do not become indifferent to its lessons.
We are commanded:
"Zachor et asher asah lecha Amalek…"
"Remember what Amalek did to you on your journey after you left Egypt." (Deuteronomy 25:17)
This is not merely about recalling an ancient enemy. It is about recognizing the patterns of cruelty and destruction—identifying Amalek’s ideological heirs and ensuring that we never allow their hatred to take root again.
And yet, Shabbat Zachor is not only about remembering Amalek. It is about remembering who we are.
On this Shabbat, my final one as part of the leadership team at Trad Egal Shtiebel, I find myself reflecting on another kind of zachor—one not rooted in hatred but in belonging. Not in destruction, but in community.
A Shtiebel in a Park
I first came to Shtiebel when we were meeting in Gill Park, during the height of the pandemic.
It was a strange time to be searching for Jewish community. Synagogues were closed, gatherings were limited, and yet—there we were. Davening (praying) outside, in a public park, with the city buzzing around us.
I remember stepping into that space for the first time—an island of tradition in the middle of uncertainty.
Even then, there was something special about this group.
It wasn’t just that people showed up—it was how they showed up.
The way we worked together to create a makeshift sanctuary. The way we supported one another. The way we kept Jewish life going, even when the world seemed to be on pause.
That spirit—of resilience, of commitment, of belonging—has never left this community.
Since those days in Gill Park, we have moved, adapted, and grown.
We have gone from davening in a park to meeting indoors.
Soon, we will move once more.
But each time, we have not just found a new location—we have built a new home.
Because what makes this community isn’t a specific building or address—it’s us.
Zachor: A Memory of Responsibility
Shabbat Zachor reminds us that we cannot forget our past, but it also reminds us that we cannot abandon our people.
We are commanded to remember Amalek—to remember what it means when Jews are vulnerable, when we are attacked, when the world turns away.
And today, that commandment is not abstract.
We remember because Amalek has risen again.
October 7: Amalek in Our Time
On October 7, we saw cruelty unlike anything in our lifetimes.
Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and their allies did not engage in battle. They engaged in terror.
They went into homes.
They dragged grandmothers, children, entire families from their beds.
They burned.
They raped.
They murdered.
And they took our brothers and sisters hostage.
And today… even as we gather here…
Fifty-nine hostages remain in captivity in Gaza.
Fifty-nine.
Some of them may still be alive.
Some of them—we now know—are already gone.
But we cannot forget them.
Bring them home.
This is not just a slogan.
It is a sacred responsibility.
Kol Yisrael arevim zeh bazeh
"All of Israel is responsible for one another." (Talmud, Shavuot 39a)
The mitzvah of Pidyon Shevuyim—redeeming captives—is one of the greatest obligations in Jewish law.
Rambam (Maimonides) states in his Mishneh Torah:
"There is no greater mitzvah than redeeming captives." (Hilchot Matanot Aniyim 8:10)
Because when a Jew is in captivity—
We do not rest.
We do not forget.
We do not abandon them.
Milchemet Mitzvah: A War We Must Fight, A Humanity We Must Retain
Judaism is not a pacifist tradition. We do not seek war, but we recognize that sometimes war is necessary.
A Milchemet Mitzvah, a war of obligation, is not just permitted—it is commanded.
Maimonides defines a Milchemet Mitzvah as a war to defend Jewish lives and ensure Jewish survival.
This is our reality today. The war against Hamas, Palestinian Islamic Jihad, and their allies is not a war of conquest.
It is a war for our very existence.
But even in the midst of war, we must not lose our humanity.
It would be easy—too easy—to say that all of Gaza is Amalek. That there is no humanity left among them.
But that is not the Jewish way.
Even as we fight, we do not forget the cost of war. We do not forget that there are innocent people suffering. That even our enemies have families. That war—no matter how justified—leaves wounds that last for generations.
We fight to bring our people home, but we do not lose our humanity in the process.
A Light That Must Not Go Out
This week’s Torah portion, Tetzaveh, commands us to keep the Ner Tamid, the eternal flame, burning:
"V’yikchu eilecha shemen zayit zach… l’ha’alot ner tamid."
"They shall bring you pure olive oil, crushed for lighting, to keep a lamp burning continually." (Exodus 27:20)
The Ner Tamid is not just a ritual light—
It is the light of responsibility.
It is the light of community.
It is the light of the Jewish people, which must never go out.
That is what we have built here.
A Final Charge: Keep the Flame Burning
For the past few years, I have been privileged to help lead this shtiebel.
And while today marks my last Shabbat in that role, this community does not run on any one person.
Like the Ner Tamid, this community only burns because people step up to keep it alive.
Now—it is your turn.
Tend to this light.
Keep showing up.
Keep building.
Because when one of us is taken, the rest of us must fight to bring them home.
Because the way we defeat Amalek is by ensuring that we never leave our people behind.
Zachor: Remember and Act
May we always have the courage to defend our people,
The wisdom to hold onto our values,
And the strength to bring our brothers and sisters home.
Bring them home. Now.
Shabbat Shalom.