A Modern Midrash for the Terminally Vile
Midrash on the Blotting of the Narcissist in Chief
And it came to pass in the days of the distracted and the disinformed, that a person arose who had no love for truth, no taste for humility, and no patience for anyone’s pain but their own.
And the people said, “Surely this is Amalek reborn, wrapped not in furs or swords but in slogans, filters, and a limitless appetite for applause.”
And the sages gathered at the coffee shops, on message boards, and in group texts, and they asked:
“Rabbi TikTok, how shall we treat this person?”
And TikTok replied:
“Block them, but also screenshot everything.”
And Rabbi Twitter said:
“Mock them with the fury of Elijah at a rain dance. Quote their lies, then footnote the facts. Use italics—many, many italics.”
But Rabbi Talmud, older and crankier, lifted his cane and said:
“You are asking the wrong question. You ask, ‘How do we ruin them?’ But the righteous ask, ‘How do we ruin what made them possible?’”
And the people were puzzled, for they wanted revenge.
But Rabbi Talmud opened the great Book of Memory and read:
“The name of Amalek is to be blotted out—not by fire alone, but by forgetting their power, unlearning their tricks, and making them unfollowable.”
And the disciples asked again:
“But shall we not shout their name from the rooftops, to warn others?”
And the sage replied:
“You may speak of them, but do not build statues of their scandal. Do not build museums of their madness. For evil adores a spotlight, and false prophets thrive on infamy.”
And then came a student, disheveled from grief, who asked:
“But Master, what of the lives they ruined, the hearts they turned bitter, the truths they stomped beneath their Gucci loafers, cowboy boots, and those objects pretending to be serious men’s shoes with white soles, who scream: please let me die in peace?”
And the Master wept, and said:
“Then you must become the opposite of them. Where they sowed cruelty, sow kindness. Where they ignored suffering, build clinics and call centers and open mic nights.”
“And as for them—blot them out with better stories.”
And thus it was written:
Not every fool deserves a podium. Not every tyrant gets a sequel.
Let their name vanish like a Snapchat. Let their legacy expire like a milk carton. Let the record show they were here—but they mattered less than they thought.
And the people replied:
“Amen, and block.”
