This Shabbat was Shabbat Zachor, the one week each year when the Torah turns memory into a command.
In synagogues across Israel, people showed up early, checked their phones, traded a quick “stay safe,” and then stood for verses that feel heavy right now: “Remember what Amalek did to you… do not forget” (Deuteronomy 25:17-19).
Shabbat Zachor sits right before Purim on purpose.
Purim is the Jews’ Persia story, a court thriller where a charismatic villain sells extermination as policy. Tradition calls Haman an “Agagite,” linking him to Amalek, the biblical archetype of an enemy who targets the weak and wages war on Jewish existence itself. The link works as an idea. Some threats aim at territory. Some aim at leverage. Some aim at erasure.
This year, that idea lands on a weekend when Israel and Iran are trading blows, and Israelis are learning again how quickly ordinary life can turn into sirens and shelters. The Purim story happened in Persia. Modern Iran claims that heritage, and its leaders spent decades building missiles, proxies, and ideological pressure aimed at Israel.
Jewish commentators argued for centuries about what “remember” demands. Memory can harden into obsession, and it can also slide into denial. Rashi, reading the verses about Amalek’s attack, emphasizes cruelty and opportunism, the strike on the vulnerable when the people were tired and exposed. Enemies hunt for soft spots, gaps in attention, days when a society feels exhausted. Zachor turns awareness into vigilance.
The Ramban (Nachmanides) pushes the command in a national direction. A society that forgets how it was attacked loses the instinct to defend itself and loses the moral language to name evil when it appears.
Purim offers the other half of the lesson. Esther wins through timing, coalition-building, and a clear-eyed read of power. Jews in the story refuse to outsource their fate to luck or to someone else’s goodwill. They act, speak, organize, and accept risk.
A warning and a manual
That is why Zachor comes right before Purim. Zachor gives a name to a type of enemy. Purim offers a way to endure without losing identity. Together, they form a warning and a manual.
The warning is direct. Threats that aim at erasure exploit pauses, regroup, and flood the information space with half-truths and moral inversions until decent people start doubting the legitimacy of self-defense.
The manual is practical. Keep your head. Keep your people. Keep your story. In Purim, the Jews gather, fast, send messages, and build solidarity across distance. They insist on public joy after public fear, even when it feels like an act of defiance.
Many Israelis accept hardship for a shared moral reason. A Middle East freed from Tehran’s terror project would mean fewer proxy wars, fewer rockets, and more room for Iranians to reclaim their country. That hope clarifies the stakes.
Israel also has to speak in two registers at once. One is military and defensive: protect civilians, keep critical systems running, communicate clearly. The other is moral and political: Israel’s fight is with the Islamic Republic’s war machine and ideology, while the Iranian people live under the same regime that exports violence abroad and repression at home.
That distinction is a statement of purpose. Israel can target capabilities and decision-makers while refusing to dehumanize a nation with its own culture and internal dissent. Israel can speak directly, in Persian and in English, about a future where Iran invests in its people instead of proxies. It can repeat a simple truth: Money spent on missiles and militias is money stolen from families, schools, and hospitals.
Shabbat Zachor also raises a harder question: What does a hunted people do with its anger? Jewish tradition keeps pulling toward the same answer.
This weekend, unity has a concrete meaning. Follow Home Front Command instructions. Check on the vulnerable. Back the people in uniform. Care for the injured. Keep society functioning.
Purim arrives days later with its stubborn, human ending. No angels. No miracle that cancels politics. A people chooses to live, and chooses to do it together.
This year, Shabbat Zachor frames the chaos. The Torah demands that Jews recognize the pattern, protect the vulnerable, and refuse to forget who they are. Purim adds the courage to keep building a life, even when enemies try to turn fear into the main story.