Stay warm

Every year, just before Purim, we read about Amalek on what is known as “Shabbat Zachor.” On the surface, it sounds like ancient history: a nation that attacked us thousands of years ago. But the Torah doesn’t present it as a history lesson, it commands us to remember. In fact, Maimonides defines it as a positive mitzvah to constantly remember Amalek’s evil in order to awaken our opposition to it. The Alter Rebbe, founder of Chabad, goes even further and explains that this remembering applies every single day.

Which raises an obvious question. If the main thing in Judaism is action, why isn’t it enough that the Torah tells us to wipe out Amalek? Why add a separate command just to remember?

Because memory shapes action. What we keep alive in our minds becomes the fuel for what we do. The Talmud teaches that when the Megillah states “these days are remembered and performed,” it means they are first remembered, then performed. Real change starts with awareness.

And yet, when it comes to actually fighting Amalek, the Torah sets strict conditions. The obligation to wage war only applies “when G-d gives you rest from all your enemies.” In other words, the timing isn’t even fully in our hands. So again: what’s the point of all this remembering if the practical battle depends on circumstances beyond us?

The previous Lubavitcher Rebbe explained that when a soldier goes into battle, he sings a song of victory before the war is won. On paper, that sounds overconfident. But this early song isn’t arrogance, it’s strategy. Confidence is what enables victory. If you walk into battle unsure, you’ve already weakened yourself.

Amalek is not just a nation from the past. In Jewish thought, every physical reality has a spiritual root. The Torah describes Amalek’s attack as “asher karcha baderech,” they happened upon you on the way. The word “karcha” also means “cooled you off.” Amalek’s attack wasn’t just physical; it was emotional. The Jewish people had just left Egypt with miracles and inspiration. Amalek tried to cool that fire.

That’s the Amalek we meet today. It’s the inner voice that says, “Calm down. Don’t get so excited.” It’s the cynicism that mocks passion. It’s the intellectual argument that drains meaning from things that once moved you.

You feel inspired to grow, to reconnect with Judaism, to care more deeply about your people, about Israel, about purpose. And then something cools it off. “Be realistic.” “Don’t be dramatic.” “It’s not such a big deal.” That cooling effect, that sophisticated cynicism, is Amalek.

And that’s why remembering matters so much.

We may not be in a position to fight some grand external battle. The world’s circumstances are not always in our control. But the inner battle is daily. Remembering Amalek constantly means to stay alert to that cooling force inside us.

Judaism doesn’t ask us to live on emotional highs, but it does ask us to protect our warmth, to not let cynicism define us.

Especially now, when Jewish identity is challenged in new ways, when it’s easy to either burn out or check out, the mitzvah of remembering Amalek feels strikingly contemporary. It’s about refusing to let indifference win. It’s about choosing meaning over apathy and mockery, warmth over cold detachment.

You don’t defeat Amalek by shouting louder. You defeat Amalek by staying warm.

That’s the deeper message of reading this before Purim. Before we celebrate survival and courage, we remind ourselves to first remember, then act; to first guard the flame, then light up the world.

Because when a Jew refuses to grow cold, that itself is victory.