On the Jewish holiday of Purim, Jews are commanded to recite the story of Esther, and to remember her courage in speaking up for the Jewish people. For those who regularly observe the holiday traditions, it is a time that elicits strong memories.
The Memories and Customs of Purim
For some, their understanding of what Purim means is symbolized by their first recorded experience of the holiday as a small child. For others, it is the carnival spirit of celebration that they most remember, or the smell of hamantaschen cookies baking in the oven. Or it may be the story itself that is read aloud each year that holds a special memory.
For me, while all of those traditions are important, the spirit of the holiday is captured by a very different memory. It is one that returns to me each year, and has, over time come to symbolize the very significance of Purim itself.
Celebrating Purim in Israel
The year was 1974, and the location was the Galilee Valley in northern Israel, where I was enrolled as an Ulpan student studying Hebrew. The Yom Kippur War had just ended, and the PLO terrorist attacks that plagued the northern border with Lebanon had just begun.
The kibbutz on which I lived was seven miles from that border, and not far enough to escape the threat of attack. Therefore, the community had been ordered to suspend the customary Purim party in the dining hall that year, much to the disappointment of both adults and children. The kibbutz I was on was not particularly religious, but it was known for its celebrations of Jewish holidays.
For me, the sense of danger hadn’t yet sunk in – at least not enough to keep me sequestered in my room. Like many, I found it hard to believe that the party had been canceled. After some thought, I decided to walk over to the dining hall to have a look.
I followed the darkened path through the kibbutz, toward the light that was shining on the porch. The grounds were dark, and eerily silent. As I rounded the corner, I came to an abrupt halt. Standing at the entrance to the hall was a figure, stock still and almost invisible in the darkness. Almost, that is, except for his face.
Painted in brilliant colors and partially shadowed by his Israel Defense Forces helmet, was the brightest clown face I had ever seen. His uniform was the standard khaki green and was overwhelmed by the luminous white, reds, blues and yellows of his mask. His Uzi hung from his shoulder just inside his grasp, and despite his clown face, he was clearly on guard. If my naive presence startled him, he didn’t show it.
The Cursed Haman and the Blessed Mordechai
What struck me at that moment was the incongruity of his appearance. He was stationed on alert, yet his face was defiantly painted for everyone to see. Had there been an attack that night, terrorists would have had no problem finding a target.
Each Purim, as I remember this image, I am reminded of the strange mitzvah that is given to the Jewish people on this night, to drink “until one can no longer distinguish the cursed Haman and the blessed Mordechai.” The rabbis have many interpretations for this commandment. Some propose that it is because the gematria (the numerical significance) for “cursed be Haman” and “the blessed Mordechai” are exactly the same. Others support Maimonides’ suggestion that one isn’t really supposed to get drunk, but drink until one falls asleep.
Why Jews Celebrate the Festival of Lots
To me, however, the soldier’s out-of-place costume speaks at the very essence of what Jews celebrate on Purim. Yes, the clown face was his way of defying the reality of danger, but it was also his way of blurring the line between fear and courage, between uniformed soldier and Jew.
Every Jewish holiday offers us a different glimpse at what it is to be Jewish. But none tugs at our sense of self as hard as Purim. The “Festival of Lots” (as the holiday is called in English) is about one’s identity as a Jew, and the risks inherent in living up to that membership. As the Megillah tells it, Esther discovered that it wasn’t enough to represent her people as queen; she had to be willing to risk the danger of the king’s wrath to do what was right for her community and her family.
The young soldier on the steps of the dining hall that night had already come to terms with who he was - and his unwillingness to overlook that it was Purim. And that’s the funny part about identity: his memory, like the story of Esther, speaks loudest of all in the actions it inspires others to do.
Readers may also be interested in reading: The Bnei Menashe Jews - A Miracle of Jewish Survival, and
Why Many Jews Support the Opening of A Muslim Center Near Ground Zero
Sources:
Jewishmag.com
Ou.org
Chabad.org
Jan Lee - Jan Lee has been writing for online and print publications for more than 20 years and have been published in five countries.
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