Perhaps the oldest magic trick is to make something disappear. The audience gasps; how does an object vanish? The Torah reminds us that we perform this magic trick all the time, only we do it with ourselves.
Deuteronomy 22 tells us that when you see another’s oxen or sheep lost, you should not remain indifferent. In other words, the Torah takes private property seriously, and speaks of the responsibility of every member of the community to watch out for the belongings of another.
Deeper than the civil legislation, however, is the wording: the usual translation is “you may not be indifferent”; the literal translation is “you may not disappear.”
We vanish by looking away. First we do it, even as adults, by pretending we are not there. How many times have we walked by someone who is begging and pretended we don’t see them, but really we are hiding ourselves from them? We don’t wish to be seen, because to be seen is to be responsible. To be invisible is to be unaccountable. It is not my fault – I am not even there.
We hide ourselves with our words. To tell the truth is to show someone who you are. This is how I really feel and what I truly believe. When I lie to you, I am showing a false self; in other words, I am hiding.
When people lie, they will often say they are doing so to spare the other person pain, but most often the truth is we are doing it to spare ourselves the anguish of confronting the reality of our decisions. For the same reason we say “can’t” when we mean “won’t.” I can’t make it; I can’t help; yet it is a decision, not a compulsion. Take away the apostrophe and it is just can't.
THERE ARE other allusions in the parasha to things that we hide, allusions that prepare us, in this month of Elul, for the coming High Holy Days.
There is a passage about taking a beautiful woman captive in war and deciding to marry her. The Muglenitzer Rebbe explains this as an analogy for one’s soul. There is a beautiful part of the soul, but it is captive. We do not acknowledge it or celebrate it. But the Torah teaches us to “marry” that part of ourselves that is hidden even from us. You are not allowed to let yourself disappear.
The Torah portion concludes with the admonition to remember to forget Amalek, to blot out its memory. The phrase is “Lo tishkah” – do not forget. The words recall the phrasing of the Ten Commandments: “Lo tirtzah... Lo tignov” – do not murder, do not steal. Our tradition is teaching us something about ourselves, just as the Ten Commandments do.
There is a long tradition of Amalek being turned inward, being a metaphor for the yetzer hara, the evil inclination. Certainly the Jewish tradition understands that evil exists in the world, but it also knows that you can hide what goes on inside by externalizing it. The angry person spots anger in others; the boastful one cannot tolerate the bragging of his friend. As the Baal Shem Tov teaches, whenever something bothers you about another person, ask yourself where is that trait inside of you? What trait are you hiding from yourself?
We locate Amalek not only in the world but in our own souls. Have the courage to look into the mirror. When we confess in the plural on Yom Kippur, it is not only that we are part of a greater whole; it is also that we confess to sins we think we have not committed because it is too easy to place oneself outside the circle of sinners. Yet everything the Torah teaches about the world, it also teaches about ourselves, our souls.
Remember that the first question in the Torah is the one God asks of Adam: Where are you? And Adam answers, I was hiding. This is the month of Elul, the time to show up. ■
The writer is the Max Webb Senior Rabbi of Sinai Temple in Los Angeles and the author of David the Divided Heart. On Twitter: @Rabbiwolpe