Purim is a genuinely unhinged holiday. It invites raucous, transgressive behavior right into the sanctuary. The more noise produced, the better. It’s as if the tradition wants us to install a decibel screen and get the groggers and foot-stomping to over 100dbs. We are allowed, only on Purim, to cross-dress. And all of this is fueled by liquor. In the Talmud, Megillah 7b, it is written that a person is supposed to drink on Purim until they cannot tell the difference between “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordechai.” Really.
Essentially, Purim is the official opening of a collective Jewish steam valve. It provides some room to play for the deepest part of the human personality, the unruly id. For Jews who live in a tight system of boundaries and communal expectations, Purim cracks open all kinds of transgressions, but just for a day. It’s costumes, whiskey, and carnival—yay!
There is, however, another side to this revelry. The Purim story narrative emphasizes the plight of a Jewish community whose security depends on the goodwill of non-Jewish sovereigns. The decision of Queen Esther, a hidden Jew who comes out of the closet, turns the tables on her people’s persecutors, setting the stage for a massive score-settling—the Jews of Shushan and surrounding parts of the kingdom slaughter 75,000 men. Everyone is terrified of the Jews, and they live happily ever after.
Our congregant, Rick Lipof, sent me a piece from Jewish comedian Elon Gold’s pre-Purim stand-up shtick. Gold says that Hamas doesn’t know Jewish history, that had they read the Megillah, they would realize that “those who seek to destroy us will be destroyed.” The crowd cheers, and the monologue continues.
Gold is a funny guy. But then, as I listened, I began to think about the Purim story more deeply. Previous generations of persecuted Jews may have viewed the expression of joy at the triumph of the Jews of Persia at the expense of their would-be exterminator and his accomplices as a delicious revenge fantasy. But here, I emphasize “fantasy.” Rounding people up we define as our enemy and murdering them has never been a big to-do item on the Jewish list.
Sure, there are times throughout history when Jews have sought vengeance. It is inevitable that some would succumb to that deep, primal reflex. There are also examples of ultra-Orthodox rabbis who justify such behavior. But Jewish teachings on vengeance challenge individuals to rise above the instinct for retribution, advocating instead for a pursuit of justice tempered with mercy and forgiveness, where possible. This approach seeks to break cycles of violence and reflect divine attributes of justice and mercy.
We avoid the last verses of Megillat Esther. We don’t teach it. We don’t cheer about it. We don’t put it on the Jewish ethical smorgasbord. It is repellant. As a fantasy, it certainly gives us that feeling if only we had it. If only we could casually dispatch every enemy of the Jewish people. But we do have a higher standard, as awkward and nagging as it may be. We will defend ourselves always. And even in battle, there must be standards.
It’s hard to be a Jew. It’s hard to uphold a standard of justice and mercy in a world of pain and violence. Celebrate Purim with joy. Acknowledge this once-a-year loosening of Jewish norms. And then return to the endless work that lies ahead.
Before Shabbat 