It delights me when reading halakhic texts that are frankly dry to discover a glimpse of the dramas of daily life in centuries past. One such glimpse is on view in the discussion of the special Shabbat before Purim, known as “Zakhor” for its Maftir instructing us to remember the despicable attack of Amalek on the Israelite refugees on their way out of Egypt. It is considered a biblical commandment to read this text each year. But what if you don’t possess a Torah scroll, or don’t live near a minyan?

Rabbi Yosef Karo instructs Jews who live in small under-resourced communities that struggle to make a minyan to try to spend Shabbat Zakhor in a bigger town so that they too can hear this passage chanted from the Torah. Rabbi Moshe Isserles adds that if this is not possible, then they should read the passage with its cantillation (but without the Torah blessings) from a book at home (Shulchan Arukh, Orach Chayim 685:7). 

From these two titans of Jewish scholarship one discerns a realistic and compassionate approach to the needs of small-town Jews who struggle to meet their obligations in isolation. By the time he composed the Shulchan Arukh, Rabbi Karo was the leader of an influential and prosperous Jewish community in Safed, with a reported 200 students attending his lectures. Rabbi Isserles was the son of a wealthy merchant in Krakow and likewise played a dominant role in what was then Poland’s largest Jewish community. It is touching that these leaders of major Torah centers worried about the Jews of small towns, offering helpful suggestions for how they too could fulfill their ritual obligations. 

Indeed, Purim celebrates the contributions of regular Jews who manage to fulfill their sacred duties with dignity and strength. Esther may have become the queen, but she was an orphan plucked from obscurity to play her heroic role, as Mordecai reminds her, “And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis” (4:14). Aside from Mordecai, we do not hear about any influential Jews–no sages, prophets, warriors or wealthy leaders play a role in the reversal of fortune. Instead, we listen as Esther instructs, “Go gather all the Jews in Shushan, and ask them to fast on my behalf” (4:16). We heed her even today, fasting on Ta’anit Esther before the festival begins. 

Jews understand the obligation to defend ourselves, and as a group we take responsibility for protecting one another. The Megillah emphasises the ritual responses of giving gifts to the poor (matanot la’evyonim) and sharing food with others (mishloach manot) as the essential mitzvot of Purim. These expressions of social solidarity are designed to dignify every family in the Jewish community. Far from an example of the wealthy and secure saving themselves, Purim teaches us to care for one another. 

This message may be viewed as a “tikkun” or repair for a moral failure that marred the Exodus from Egypt. This Shabbat we will read the “Zakhor” passage from Deuteronomy 25 that commands us to remember Amalek’s attack. Verse 18 states that Amalek “attacked from the rear, picking off those who straggled behind you, and you were weary and tired, and did not fear God.” The rabbis noticed an odd feature of this verse–the final words “and did not fear God” presumably refer to the Amalekite attackers, who acted with insolent violence against Israel. Yet they could also refer critically to “you,” the Israelites. Did your leaders not notice that the frailest members of the community were falling behind and becoming easy prey for Amalek?

Purim is a festival of joy and silliness. For all of the costumes and raucous celebrations, for all the delicious food and drink, Purim is also a serious festival. It strengthens Jews who live in troubling times, reminding us that our strength comes from faith–In God, to be sure, and also in each other. When we care for the most vulnerable members of our community, then our moral strength draws divine protection, making us worthy of blessing.