Try to remember the kind of SeptemberWhen life was slow and oh, so mellowTry to remember the kind of SeptemberWhen grass was green and grain was yellowTry to remember the kind of SeptemberWhen you were a tender and callow fellowTry to remember and if you rememberThen follow, follow
These lyrics from the nostalgic song “Try to Remember” open the off-Broadway and world’s longest-running musical (1960-2002), The Fantasticks. The words invite us to remember the past as a salve for whatever issues we may face at the moment.
Remembering is one of the pillars, one of the cornerstones, of Judaism. The Jewish year begins with Rosh Hashanah (Head of the Year). It was not known by that name until the time of the prophet Ezekiel in the sixth century BCE (Ezek. 40:1). In the Torah it is called zichron t’rua, “remembering by [shofar] blasts” (Lev. 23:24). In addition, in the Rosh Hashanah liturgy, we recite a special Mussaf section called Zichronot (Remembering), and in the haftarah that day we read that “the Lord remembered” Hannah (I Samuel 1:19).
Not only do we start the year with this emphasis on remembering, but the whole Jewish year places a high value on memories of the past. Ten days after Rosh Hashanah, during Yom Kippur, which also includes Zichronot in Mussaf, we pause for the first of three Yizkor (May God Remember) services observed during the year as we remember family members no longer with us. Relatedly, every year on the anniversary of someone’s death, we mark that day by following the yahrzeit (Yiddish for “year’s time”) rituals of lighting a memorial candle and saying the mourner’s Kaddish.
The theme of remembering in the Torah
Remembering is also woven throughout the annual reading of the Torah, referenced in all Five Books of Moses.
“Remember, I am with you. I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land”
Genesis 28:15
In Genesis, 150 days after the Flood, “God remembered Noah” (Gen. 8:1); and in Jacob’s stairway to heaven dream/vision, God declared, “Remember, I am with you. I will protect you wherever you go and will bring you back to this land” (Gen. 28:15).
“God remembered God’s covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob”
Exodus 2:24
In Exodus, the text reads “God remembered God’s covenant with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob” (Ex. 2:24). In this week’s parasha, Tetzaveh, the words “zikaron” (remembrance) and “l’zikaron” (for remembrance) appear in the same sentence describing the function of the stones of the ephod, the priestly vestment of the high priest (Ex. 28:12). We are also commanded in Exodus, during the Revelation on Mount Sinai, “zachor et yom hashabbat (remember the Sabbath day)” (Ex. 20:8).
We noted above in Leviticus the use of remembering and its connection to Rosh Hashanah (Lev. 23:24).
In the Book of Numbers, we are informed of an offering called minhat zikaron, a meal offering of remembrance (Num. 5:15).
This Shabbat is one of the four special Shabbatot before Passover and is called Shabbat Zachor, the Sabbath of Remembrance, because we read the verses from the Book of Deuteronomy as we take out a second Torah, telling us: “zachor et asher asa l’cha Amalek,” remember what Amalek did to you” (Deut. 25:19). This special Shabbat always falls on the Shabbat before Purim, connecting the actions against the Jewish people by Amalek in the Torah and by Haman in the story of Purim.
This overview of the use of words related to memory and remembrance in the Five Books of Moses is not exhaustive (they are used some 50 times); but, along with the liturgical uses of memory, it raises the question:
Why so much attention and significance to memory in Judaism?
RABBI IRA Eisenstein offers an insight. At a convention of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical Association some 30 years ago, he explained that one way to understand the function of the past is by how we direct a rowboat. When we row a rowboat, our back is to the direction we are rowing. If we look over our shoulder all the time to see where we want to go, that would be uncomfortable and a waste of time and energy. So what do we do? We line up the rowboat to where we want to go, and then we find something behind us that becomes our marker that we keep our eyes on as we row forward. As Eisenstein taught, in this way we can understand how something behind us – the past, if you will – becomes our compass, directing us into the future.
In other words: in Judaism, remembrance of the past is not a passive activity but a connective dynamic about yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Commenting on “God remembered” (Ex. 2:24), Nahum Sarna writes: “The Hebrew stem z-k-r connotes much more than the recall of things past. It means, rather, to be mindful, to pay heed, signifying a sharp focusing of attention upon someone or something. It embraces concern and involvement and is active, not passive, so that it eventuates in action. As Menahot 43b has it: ‘Looking upon leads to remembering, and remembering leads to action’” (The JPS Torah Commentary, Exodus, p. 13).
In Judaism, remembering is not values-neutral but about our responsibilities; thus Moses declared, “I am making this covenant both with you who stand here today in the presence of the Lord our God, and also with the future generations who are not standing here today” (Deut. 29:15).
To this, [American author] James Baldwin adds, “History is not the past. It is the present. We carry our history with us. We are our history.”
In the Haggadah, we quote Rabban Gamliel: “In each and every generation, a person is obligated to see himself as if he left Egypt, as it is stated (Ex. 13:8): ‘And you shall explain to your child on that day: For the sake of this, did the Lord do [this] for me in my going out of Egypt.’ Not only our ancestors did the Holy One, blessed be God, redeem, but also us [together] with them did God redeem, as it is stated (Deut. 6:23): ‘And God took us out from there in order to bring us in, to give us the land which God swore unto our ancestors.’”
The Jewish past is always present – we invoke it and remember it as a guide for our actions today; this is our transgenerational obligation. Thus, at the beginning of the Amida prayer, we invoke our biblical ancestors.
Golda Meir reminds us of this challenge when it comes to remembering the past: “One cannot and must not try to erase the past merely because it does not fit the present” (My Life, p. 231).
Yiddish writer I.L. Peretz adds: “If you have no past, you have no future either; you are a foundling in this world, with no father or mother, without tradition, without duties to what comes after you, the future, the eternal.... You have moods but no character; desires, but no will – no great love, no great hate – you [merely] flirt with life...” (Kol Haneshamah Mahzor, p. 385).
As far as we know, we are the only living creatures with a sense, a real connection, to the generations that preceded us, including those we have never met, as well as with those who will follow us. Other living creatures have relationships and associations to their known parents and their children, but not to their genealogies beyond that.
The focus on remembering the past in Judaism is quite profound. In essence, when we remember, it makes us more human and, specifically, more Jewish.
Or, as the song from The Fantasticks concludes:
“Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow, follow, follow.” ■
The writer, a Reconstructionist rabbi, is rabbi emeritus of the Israel Congregation in Manchester Center, Vermont. He te’aches at the Arava Institute for Environmental Studies on Kibbutz Ketura and at Bennington College.