February 7, 2006

My favorite festival: Purim

By Debbie Weissman for JCCenters.org

Purim is both the most particularly Jewish of all our festivals, and the most universal. It is particularly Jewish because, as mentioned, it reflects the Jewish experience in Diaspora. Mordecai is the first person in the Bible to be called "Yehudi",… On the other hand, the "practice" of Purim most clearly reflects non-Jewish and even pagan festivals. Costumes, masks, drunkenness, dancing, laughter and fun!

Every one of the Jewish festivals contains two elements that we might call "theory" and "practice." "Theory" would be the story and/or the meanings and ideas of the festival; "practice" would refer to the ways in which we actually celebrate. Some of my good friends dislike the "theory" of Purim, some the "practice" and some, both! (How people like that, who don’t enjoy having fun, drinking, acting silly, etc. can be my friends, is a mystery that goes beyond the scope of this short piece.) With regard to the "theory," I can more easily understand how they feel. After all, the Scroll of Esther appears to be a violent and anti-feminist story filled with revenge against the Gentiles. Many also do not see any connection between a story of the deliverance of a Jewish community in Exile and the carnival-like atmosphere in which the deliverance is celebrated.

To be fair, a number of tragic events happened in the 1990's on or around Purim, which made it increasingly difficult for some Jews, especially in Israel, to continue celebrating as before. The first of these was in 1992, when the Israeli Embassy in Buenos Aires was blown up; the second was in 1994, when Baruch Goldstein, a Jewish settler, went into the Cave of the Machpela in Hebron and took revenge on Palestinians for such atrocities by himself massacring 29 Muslim worshippers. In 1996 and 1997, there were terrible bombing attacks in Tel-Aviv on Purim. So, it's no wonder that for many people, the day has very negative connotations.

Nonetheless, Purim happens to be my favorite Jewish holiday. I also happen to believe that it is holiday of great depth and complexity, and, for me, fascination. I am also aware of its dangerous potential. Even the rabbis in the Talmud were aware of this danger, as we can see in a Talmudic passage (B'rachot 7a): "Said Rabbi Sh'muel the son of Yehudah, 'Esther sent a message to the rabbis, saying, "Make me (my festival) a fixed date in the calendar, for all the generations." They sent back to her, "But you and your story arouse ill-will against us among the nations." She sent back to them, "But I'm already written in their chronicles!"'"According to this passage, Esther understood the power of her story to arouse ill-will. Her argument was simply that the story was already known. Purim throughout Jewish history was often an opportunity for Jews to vent their legitimate anger and frustration at the surrounding nations. One can say that the Book of Esther immortalizes the dream of the Exilic Jew: "…and it shall be turned to the contrary, so that the Jews shall rule over their enemies."(9:1)

Let us try to see what all of this may have to do with costumes and carnivals. By Purim, we have reached the twelfth month of the Jewish calendar year, the month of Adar. The Talmud says that from the beginning of this month, “we increase our joy.” The joy of Adar is because of the festival of Purim, celebrated on the 14th of the month, except in Jerusalem, where it is celebrated on the 15th. Every now and then, when the 15th of Adar falls on a Shabbat, the Jerusalemites celebrate three days of Purim, on the 14th, 15th and 16th!

Another strange feature of this festival is that on Purim, it is a religious commandment to become intoxicated to the point where we can no longer distinguish between “Blessed be Mordecai” and “Cursed be Haman.” And, in Israel at least, for almost a week before, you may see children (and sometime even adults!) dressed in costumes, while on the day itself it is not only permitted but mandated to poke fun at the things most sacred to us.

On the surface, Purim commemorates the rather strange sequence of events described in the Book of Esther. In ancient Persia, a megalomaniac leader (Haman) convinced a foolish king (Ahasuerus) to allow a massacre of all the Jews. Through the intervention of the king’s adviser, Mordecai, and his beautiful niece, Esther, who had been chosen queen in a beauty pageant, the evil was averted, or, more correctly, the Jewish community was granted permission to defend itself. The story progresses through palace intrigues, as well as a series of banquets and parties. At the end of the book, Mordecai and Esther declare a festival for the Jewish people to celebrate their salvation from destruction, by giving gifts to the poor and packages of food to friends. This is the only book in the Hebrew Bible in which the name of God isn’t mentioned, even once. (In many Christian editions of the Bible, there are additional chapters in the Book of Esther, originally written in Greek, in which the name of God does appear, but, as mentioned, they are missing in the Hebrew.)Jewish commentaries on the Book of Esther have suggested that it is only "on the surface" that the story appears to be lacking a divine dimension. Thus, it emulates our own perceived everyday reality, which sometimes also appears to be godless; God’s intervention in the world is discernible when we probe below the surface and add the prism of faith.

The story can also be analyzed as a paradigm for the Jewish Diasporic experience: assimilation, anti-Semitism, relations with the authorities, responses of the community to distress, self-defense. Indeed, the Encyclopedia Judaica lists over one hundred special, local Purims. For hundreds of years, whenever a Jewish community felt a sense of release from impending disaster, it declared a local celebration, using Purim as a model. Since one of the important responses in times of trouble is Jewish solidarity (“Go, gather together all the Jews…” Esther 4: 16), the commandments mentioned above—gifts to the poor and portions of food (Esther 9:22) ---are commandments which promote social solidarity.

One of the major customs on Purim is dressing up in costume. On a certain level, the festival is really about identity—personal, as well as group—and the relationship with the Other. One of the ways to relate to the Other is, quite literally, by getting into his or her shoes. Or, perhaps by confronting the Other within us.

The Hebrew word for "to dress up in a costume," is "l'hitchapes." Since "l'chapes" means "to search for" and the prefix "hit" is used for reflexive activities we do to ourselves—to get dressed, to get washed, and so on—we could say that to put on a costume is, literally, to search for oneself. In order to dress up, we have to know who we are, so that we will dress up as who we are not. Or, perhaps, as who we would like to be? Or, even, as who we really are deep down inside –the self that doesn't get much of a change for expression during the rest of the year?

A well-known Rabbinic dictum, not originally mentioned in connection with Purim, maintains: “A person’s character is evident through his anger, his cup of drink and his pocket. Some say also his playing/laughing” (Talmud Eruvin 65b.) Unfortunately, the alliterative nature of the Hebrew—ka'aso, koso, kiso-- is lost in translation, but still, we can take this statement and apply it to Purim. We’ll go in reverse order: With regard to playing and laughter, Purim is the quintessential occasion for Jewish humor, and the origins of the modern Hebrew and Yiddish theater lie in the satiric Purimshpiel (Purim play.) The “pocket” of the Jew is evident in the outpouring of charity and gifts. Drinking, as we said earlier, is mandated, but hasn’t generally led to violence or other unacceptable behavior. But we did say that there is a strong element of historic anger. How is that to be dealt with?

The tradition of Purim provides us with a wonderful model of how aggression, even when justified, can be channeled in a non-destructive way. There is a Biblical commandment to “blot out the memory of Amalek” (see Exodus 17 and Deuteronomy 25:17-19.) At first glance, this seems to be, God forbid, a prescribed genocide. Haman was a descendant of Agag, the Amalekite (see Esther 3:1 and I Samuel 15:8.) The way we fulfill the commandment of wiping out the memory of Amalek is that when the Book of Esther is read in the synagogue on Purim, we make noise at every mention of Haman’s name. What a wonderful way to sublimate feelings of anger and aggression. If only all of us could find such creative ways of dealing with frustration!

Thus, we may even say that Purim is both the most particularly Jewish of all our festivals, and the most universal. It is particularly Jewish because, as mentioned, it reflects the Jewish experience in Diaspora. Mordecai is the first person in the Bible to be called "Yehudi", with the meaning of "Jew," and not just with the meaning of "someone from the tribe of Judah"—after all, he was from the tribe of Benjamin. No longer "Hebrew" or "Israelite," but "Jew."

On the other hand, the "practice" of Purim most clearly reflects non-Jewish and even pagan festivals. Costumes, masks, drunkenness, dancing, laughter, fun---all these remind us of the Carnival or Mardi Gras, which occur roughly around the same time of the year. They also remind us of what anthropologists have called "rituals of role reversal" among African or other tribes. Is this purely co-incidental? Is Purim really at its core a seasonal festival to mark that uncertain, even sometimes anxious time that isn't exactly the end of winter or the onset of spring? What is it all about—a deeper spiritual reality, identity and the Other, uniqueness and assimilation, universalism and particularism? Just an excuse to "let loose?"

We'll have to postpone our final decisions on these questions for a while; I have to go prepare my costume.

Happy Purim!
Debbie Weissman, Jerusalem