Rabbi Charles P. Sherman
Pesach Yizkor Service
April 30, 2005
The Worst Jewish Curse, My Favorite Jewish Blessing
A rather bizarre incident is recounted in the Book of Numbers, chapter 25. The chapter begins: "while Israel was staying at Shittim, the people profaned themselves by whoring with the Moabite women, who invited the people to the sacrifices for their god. The people partook of them and worshiped that god." Israelites were committing harlotry with Moabite women, which was bad enough. But, to add insult to injury, their harlotry was leading them to idolatry.
When one of the Israelites committed this crime rather brazenly; "Pinchas, son of Eleazar, son of Aaron the Priest . . . followed the Israelite into the chamber and stabbed both of them – the Israelite and the woman – through the belly." You get the idea of what position they were in if one spear thrust went through both of them. Numbers 25:14 identifies the Israelite who was skewered with the Midianite woman as "Zimri, son of Salu, who was a chieftain of the tribe of Simeon."
The Midrash asks two leading questions about this incident. First, why do we need to know the name of the man who did this disgraceful act? And, second, if we need to know his name, why do we need to know his father's name and the name of his tribe as well? Zimri's father was a tribal chieftain. Did Salu need or deserve to have the sin of his son recorded in the Torah as an everlasting disgrace? And did his tribe have to bear the shame of what Zimri did?
These are the answers which the Midrash gives to these questions. "Just as the Holy One, praised be God, attends to the praise of the righteous and publicizes their deeds, so God attends to the condemnation of the wicked and publicizes their deeds." God gives us the names of those people who do good deeds so that they can be sources of blessing and role models for us. And God gives us the names of those people who do bad deeds so that they can teach us how not to behave. That answers the first question – why Zimri was mentioned by name. People who do bad things should not get away with them. They should not be allowed to hide their deeds in anonymity; they deserve to be exposed.
But why does the Torah have to mention his father's name, Salu, and his tribe's name, Simeon? After all Zimri's father and his tribe did not do anything wrong. Why should they have to bear disgrace for Zimri's sin? Why should their names be associated with his forever?
The Midrash responds: it is in order to teach us that whoever tarnishes himself also tarnishes his family, as it is written in the Book of Proverbs (10:7) – "The name of the righteous is invoked for blessing, but the fame of the wicked rots."
What we do affects not only our name, but the names of all those who are identified with us. Take, for example, certain people whose names have become household words. If I were to say to you, this man is an Einstein – you would know that I mean that he is very smart. And if I were to say to you, this man is a Rockefeller – you would know that I mean he is very rich. If I were to say, this man is a Beau Brummel, you would know that I mean he's a fancy dresser. If I were to say, she is a Mother Teresa, you would understand that this person is saintly. If I were to say, this person is a Casanova or a Don Juan, you would understand that he is a casual lover. Each of these names has become more than a name; it has become a symbol for a whole group or category.
Similarly, some names have become symbols of evil. If I were to say that so-and-so is a Machiavelli, you would understand that I think that this person is a shrewd schemer. If I said so-and-so is a Benedict Arnold, you would know that I consider him a traitor.
But what if you were a cousin of Mother Teresa or of the Rockefellers, or Beau Brummel – how would that affect your life? What would people think about you if you were Casanova's cousin? What would people say about you if you weren't related to him, but had the same name as Einstein? How would having the same name as any of these people affect your life?
Let me give you two painful examples of people who left behind a name which embarrassed all those who happened to share it. The first was Vidkun Quisling. If you lived through the Second World War, you'd know that name. Vidkun Quisling was a Norwegian military officer who collaborated with the Nazis after they conquered Norway. They put him in charge of the country and he ruled as a Nazi puppet. After the war, he was arrested, tried for treason, and executed – and his name became part of our language. It means a person who betrays his country, a traitor.
Can you imagine what it must have been like to have been a relative of this Quisling and to carry his name? Or even to be a stranger who happened to have that same name. Even though you may not have done anything wrong yourself, if you carried the name of Quisling, you had to put up with the embarrassment and the shame which went with that name.
And, worst example of all, Adolf Hitler had a half-brother whose name was Alois. This half-brother moved to England before the First World War. Alois Hitler had three sons. One of them, whose name was William Hitler, moved to America and served in the United State Navy during the Second World War. William Hitler had three sons, each of whom went to court and legally changed his name – understandably so. These three sons now live in three different cities in the Untied States and keep their original family name a secret. Wouldn't you? Can you imagine what it would be like to be known as Hitler's nephew? Who would want to talk to you or associate with you if your name was William Hitler? Surely the Book of Proverbs was right, "the fame of the wicked rots."
From this we learn that a name is something very precious. How we use it affects not only us, but all those others – our siblings, our children, our grandchildren, even the reputations of our parents and grandparents who are deceased. So, friends, we need to act in such a way as not to tarnish our name – for our own sake and for the sake of all the others who carry the same name that we do.
Zimri did not just bring disgrace upon himself; he brought disgrace and dishonor on his whole family and on his tribe. And so did Quisling. And so did Hitler. And so does every wicked person. The first lesson we can learn from the Midrash on the story of Pinchas is that we must be careful about how we live because what we do not only affects our own reputation, but also the reputation of those around us, those who bear our name, and those who are related to us – whether they be in our past or in our future.
Lesson two. Our Jewish tradition teaches that when we refer to a parent or a teacher, we are supposed to say "zichrono livracha" – may his memory be a source of blessing; or "zichrona livracha" – may her memory be a source of blessing. Sometimes you will see Zion Lamed after the name of someone who is deceased; that is what it means – zichrono livracha. May his memory be a source of blessing. To explain why we do this, let me ask you to picture an imaginary conversation between a child and his father.
The child asks his father why he always says zichrono livracha whenever he mentions the name of his father, the boy's grandfather. The father explains that each time he does that, he is keeping his father's memory alive and thereby keeping him alive. He says to his son: "Look, my father was too young when he died. He should have lived another 20 or 30 years at least. I figure that by talking about him and mentioning him, I am giving him another 60+ years of life."
"But, Pop, he is not alive really," says the boy.
"Maybe not, but his memory is. And that is a great source of comfort to me, and I know that it would have been to him."
"It seems kinda creepy to me, that's all," says the boy.
"Look, son," says the father, "there are plenty of people in this world today who are alive
and breathing who might as well be dead. No one notices them; they make no impact on the world. When they die, no one will ever miss them. They are the living dead. My Father, zichrono livracha, had an influence on the world. I knew him for eleven years, but in that time he taught me the value of hard work, of concern for family and for honest living. He loved me and I loved him. So, for me, he is still alive."
And the boy says, "Okay, I guess that makes sense."
And we hope that it does – for the boy's sake and for his father and grandfather's sake.
My friends, is that not what you and I try to do when we come here for Yizkor? We enable those whom we loved, who are no longer alive, to be alive a little bit longer, at least in our hearts. By thinking of them and by making mention of them, we insure for them a little bit more life – not physical life, but spiritual life.
Let me be very personal. Nancy and I are pleased to sponsor the kiddush luncheon following this service in memory of our parents. Nancy's father died at the end of March, my father in mid-April, my mother in mid-May. A Pesach season doesn't occur without us having very fond memories of our parents. Two weeks from today marks my mother's 35th yahrzeit. But I guarantee you that she was at our seder table last Saturday night.
So let me conclude by telling you what I consider to be the worst Jewish curse. The words are yimach shemo v'zichro – may his name and his memory be obliterated. May it be as if he never was. May he not leave behind even a vestige of his being. May he disappear when he dies and leave nothing whatsoever of his essence behind.
It is the reason we drown out the name of Haman when the megillah is read. We are saying: let his name not be heard. It is the phrase many Jews use when they refer to Hitler and to the Nazis. They say yimach shemom v'zichram – may their name and may their memories be erased and obliterated.
Of course that can not ever really be done. It is impossible to completely obliterate the results of any person's life, much as we might like to. The very fact that we use our noise-makers when Haman's name is read calls attention to his name. But this is still the worst Jewish curse. Who can imagine a worse fate, a worse punishment to wish upon our enemies than that they leave nothing and no one behind who cares about them and who wants to continue their ways.
So what is my favorite Jewish blessing? Zichrono livracha – may his memory continue to be a source of blessing. Isn't that even better than wishing someone a long life? A long life inevitably comes to an end. But if you live a good life, if you teach well by example – which is the only way anyone really teaches anything – then there is reason to hope that, even after your mortal life is over, it will not be totally over. You are not completely dead when you die. As we Jews understand it, if you leave behind people who understood what you stood for and who will continue your values, then you will forever live in the hearts and souls of those who remember you.
And so the prayer I offer for us today, in this moment before Yizkor, is: may our memory as well as those whose memories we have come to recall today live on, and may they be a source of wisdom and a source of guidance to those whom we leave behind.
I was deeply moved by this message of Rabbi Jack Riemer, and I am proud to share it with my congregants.
