History rarely arranges itself according to the Jewish calendar. Empires rise and fall without consulting our parshiot. Wars are not scheduled around our festivals. The world’s great powers do not wait for our liturgy before making their moves.

And yet, from time to time, history and Torah seem to speak to one another.

On the Shabbat before Purim, as Jewish communities across the world stood to hear Parshat Zachor — the Torah’s command to remember Amalek — news broke that Ayatollah Ali Khamenei and Mahmoud Ahmadinejad had been killed in coordinated strikes that dismantled the leadership of a regime that had, for decades, openly called for Israel’s destruction.

The timing felt almost biblical.

Parshat Zachor is brief, but its words reverberate across the centuries:

“Zachor et asher asah lecha Amalek.”

“Remember what Amalek did to YOU.”

The Torah addresses the Jewish people in the singular — lecha, to you. Not to you as a collection of individuals, nor to you as competing factions, but to you as one.

Because Jewish survival has always depended on this paradox: we are a people of immense diversity, yet at decisive moments we must see ourselves as a single moral entity.

Amalek attacked the stragglers, the weary, those who had fallen behind the camp. The Sages saw in this not only a military tactic but a spiritual truth: Amalek strikes when a people is fragmented. It exploits weakness at the margins.

Centuries later, Haman — a descendant of Amalek — described the Jews as “a certain people scattered and dispersed.” His confidence rested not merely on political influence but on division. A fragmented people, he believed, could be destroyed.

Mordechai understood the deeper danger. His response was not first political but communal:

“Lech kenos et kol haYehudim” — “Go and gather all the Jews.”

Before Esther approached the king, before the decree was overturned, before history pivoted — the people had to become one.

Our tradition teaches that the Jews merited salvation in the Purim story because of that unity. The gathering was not symbolic; it was transformative. They fasted together. They prayed together. They re-accepted the covenant together. In coming together, they restored what Haman had claimed was broken.

The miracle of Purim began with unity.

This year, as news spread on Parshat Zachor that the leadership of an Iranian regime committed to Israel’s destruction had been killed, the resonance was unmistakable. But Jewish history cautions against simplistic conclusions.

The Torah does not command us to remember Amalek’s defeat. It commands us to remember Amalek’s attack. The focus is inward, not outward. The question is not what became of them, but what becomes of us.

Empires have declared the Jewish story finished before. Egypt enslaved. Rome destroyed. Medieval powers expelled. Modern regimes attempted annihilation. Each spoke with certainty. Each now belongs to history.

What endured was covenantal identity.

The singular lecha still challenges us. Do we experience ourselves as one people? Religious and secular. Israeli and Diaspora. Traditional and progressive. Politically diverse, culturally varied, spiritually searching.

Judaism does not demand uniformity. It sanctifies argument. But it insists on shared destiny. Disagreement within covenant strengthens; division that denies covenant weakens.

If this alternate history moment teaches anything, it is this: Jewish survival is not secured solely by the disappearance of enemies. It is secured by the strengthening of internal bonds.

When we identify as one unit, they cannot defeat us.

Purim is the festival of hidden miracles. God’s name does not appear in the Megillah. Redemption unfolds within history — through timing, courage, and human decision. But the Sages understood that the hidden miracle was not merely political reversal. It was the renewal of unity.

So too here. The fall of a regime may alter geopolitics. It does not guarantee peace. Amalek, in Jewish thought, is not only a nation but an ideology — the belief that the Jewish people have no right to exist.

The ultimate defeat of Amalek is not the fall of a tyrant.

It is the refusal of the Jewish people to become scattered and dispersed.

As Jews stood that Shabbat to hear Zachor, perhaps the words felt different. Not ancient memory alone, but present instruction. Remember what Amalek did to you – and ensure that you remain one.

May our brothers and sisters in Israel be granted protection and wisdom.

May Jewish communities across the globe stand united, proud, and unafraid.

May we merit the kind of unity that made salvation possible in the days of Mordechai and Esther.

May our disagreements elevate rather than divide, and our diversity become a source of strength.

And may we see the day when no nation seeks Israel’s harm, when children grow up without the shadow of threat, and when the hidden miracles of history give way to revealed peace.

The Torah speaks to us in the singular.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)