If you have as long a history as the Jews, it is not difficult to find parallels between past events and later ones. But on closer inspection, it becomes apparent that it is not Judaism’s uninterrupted existence that drives the fascination with historical parallels; it is the fascination with historical parallels that has driven Judaism’s uninterrupted existence.

For centuries, Jews survived by reading the present through the lens of biblical archetypes. The question is: is this sustainable? Is it even desirable? And more importantly — does this habit still serve us in a sovereign Jewish state?

I ask this specifically now because I feel that if one more Jew whines that the current military operations against Iran are an echo of the events commemorated and celebrated during the Jewish festival of Purim, which this year fell on the evening of March 2, I may very well eat my sheitel.

Just so we’re clear, by “historical parallels” I am referring to interpretations of later experiences of the Jewish people as repetitions or echoes of earlier biblical archetypes. Examples of such parallels include:

The Book of Genesis recounts how an Egyptian Pharaoh is afflicted with disease after taking the wife of Abraham, and ultimately sends the patriarch away laden with precious gifts. Later, in the Book of Exodus, another Pharaoh violates moral law, suffers plagues, and finally expels the Hebrews, who take Egyptian gold with them.

The biblical description of Ishmael as one destined to “live by the sword,” and his fraught relationship with Isaac, is frequently invoked as a foreshadowing of modern Jewish–Muslim relations.

The first city in the land that Abraham enters is Shechem, which later becomes the city destroyed by his grandsons Simeon and Levi after the rape of their sister Dinah by the city’s prince.

The attack by Amalek on the weak and feeble at the rear of the Israelite camp in the desert is often paralleled today with the October 7 Hamas attack on Israel, which struck Israel’s southern communities.

It is important to clarify that these “examples of history repeating itself” are not the same as cyclical patterns occurring in the realm of human nature, to which the words “there is nothing new under the sun” in Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) allude.

Kohelet expounds a universal philosophical observation directed at individuals. The Jewish fascination with biblical archetypes is something different: it relates specifically to Jews as a community and as a people, and to Judaism itself.

The oldest source suggesting that biblical events function as templates for later Jewish history is the phrase “maaseh avot siman labanim” — “the actions of the fathers are a sign for the children.” These words appear in Midrash Tanchuma, compiled between the 7th and 9th centuries, and the idea was later developed and particularly championed by Ramban (Nachmanides) in the 13th century.

From there, this interpretive enterprise flourished, even as the enterprise evolved beyond simply drawing lessons from the patriarchs:

The well that rises to meet Rebecca in the midrash becomes a foreshadowing of the miraculous well that accompanies the Israelites in the desert in the merit of Miriam; the struggle between Jacob and Esau becomes a template for the struggle between Jerusalem and Rome; the six days of creation are mapped onto six thousand years of world history; and Egyptian slavery foreshadows later Jewish exiles.

Even minor details, often added to the narrative by midrash itself, become symbolic templates. Orpah, in the Book of Ruth, sheds four tears and walks forty paces with her mother-in-law Naomi before taking leave of her. Later interpretation credits her with becoming the ancestor of four giants — including Goliath — who taunt Israel for forty days before being defeated by David, the descendant of Ruth, Orpah’s sister.

In short, connecting present events to biblical archetypes became something of a growth industry.

But this interpretive device was not merely literary. It was existential.

During centuries of exile, Jews lacked a shared physical territory. By layering meaning upon the biblical narrative — stacking layer upon layer of interpretation on the original archetypes, crafting parallels and patterns — Jewish thinkers created a portable and shared heritage.

This became a kind of territory that Jews could carry wherever they went, or wherever they were forced to go. The original stories were familiar. The parallels were reassuring. In times of chaos, patterns create order. If earlier generations survived crises, then surely this crisis would pass as well.

Biblical heroes also provided moral models. Typological interpretation was therefore not only comforting but pedagogical.

This interplay between historical parallels and memory therefore lies at the heart of Jewish exile and Jewish survival.

But here lies the paradox.

Today, the actions of the fathers may no longer “provide a sign for the children”.

Because in Israel in 2026, Jews inhabit a historical situation that has never existed before: sovereignty in the Land of Israel, but without a Davidic king, without a Sanhedrin, and without a Temple in Jerusalem.

The portable heritage that once sustained a dispersed people now confronts a new reality: secular political power.

So the question becomes unavoidable.

Does calling Hamas or Iran “Amalek” actually bring clarity to a chaotic moment — or is it simply a way of avoiding deeper engagement with geopolitics?

Does declaring the events of October 7 a chain of “miracles” help us confront what went wrong — or does it soothe us into avoiding the root causes?

And are the cultural battles now raging in the streets of Bnei Brak, Tel Aviv, and Jerusalem really illuminated by invoking analogies from the internal Jewish strife of Temple-era history?

Or are we simply whining about “historical parallels” because they are easier than confronting the unprecedented coupling of political sovereignty with spiritual exile?

History has indeed placed a new intellectual responsibility on us. Responding with historical parallels may be a little like using AI to write an essay: Comforting. Efficient. Familiar.

But not necessarily the same thing as thinking.

After 77 years of statehood, it is finally time to try.

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)