Purim spiel

I was a carrot for Purim last week. Carrot-orange clothes and green hair, lipstick, and boa. Stephanie was a cucumber, Nellie was a tomato, and together we made a great-tasting Israeli salad.

This is the first year I’ve ever worn a Purim costume. Friends and family were somehow able to coerce me into a Halloween costume, but my Hebrew school teachers were never able to convince me to wear a costume for Purim. As I began in college to see religions from a historical and sociological perspective, I booed Purim as a celebration of a military victory and a day of revelry that didn’t fit into what I knew Judaism to be. But in studying the Megillah of Esther over the past three weeks at Pardes, and watching the holiday unfold here in Jerusalem, I learned to appreciate the value of a holiday in which everything is turned upside-down, and exuberance is encouraged.

A few weeks ago, stores begin to sell gift baskets of food and sweets, which are given to friends to fulfill the Purim obligation of mishloach manot. Then other stores began to stock wacky-colored boas, funky hats, and sundry costumes and makeup. As the holiday approached, a feeling of festivity began to fill the marketplaces, the buses, and children’s faces. Parents led their costumed children to school, and security guards faces were painted with clown makeup or stickers.

Dressing in costume for Purim originated with the 15th century Italian Jews, influenced by Catholics who were celebrating carneval, before the beginning of the Lent season. Men and women of all shapes and colors cross-dress, secular people wear ultra-orthodox garb, and the ultra-orthodox wear borrowed clothes from friends in other sects. Children dress as adults and adults as children. No fear is implicated in the holiday as there is with Halloween; there is an aura of wholesome fun and mystery, and the happiness of getting a day off to celebrate.
It is considered an obligation to drink wine on Purim day until you can’t distinguish the name of Haman (the evil mastermind of the intended genocide of the Megillah) from that of Mordechai (the admirable hero who assists Esther in saving the Jews), as long as you won’t do anything to transgress any other commandments. For the first time, you can see young yeshiva guys, in their black pants, pressed white shirts, and kepot, holding bottles of liquor and stumbling through the streets. It is the only time I’ve ever seen people drinking alcohol while people are chanting from ancient scrolls in the synagogue.

On the 15th of Adar, Purim outside of walled cities like Jerusalem, I watched a yeshiva Purimspiel at a local yishuv outside of Jerusalem. The guys cross-dressed and imitated their teachers’ personalities, and their own wandering searches for a soul-connection with G-d, which took many of them from their American lives as Phishheads and brought them to the study of Torah. The highlight for me was the commercials—Tosaf-Oats, the cereal for all Torah-learners (based on the 15th century commentary by the children of Rashi, the Tosafot), and Lotion Hara, an easily absorbed cream that will prevent you from speaking negatively about other people (the sin of slanderous speech, known in Hebrew as lishon hara).

In Israel, hamentaschen, which for American Jews represent Haman’s three-cornered hat, here are called oznayim Haman, “Haman’s ears”. Instead of associating Haman with George Washington or the Pilgrims who also wore silly hats, last week I thought that if Haman had really been listening, and was not merely able to hear what he was hoping to, he could have altered his plans and saved his own life and reputation. On Purim, our senses are blurred with wine, noise, colors, and food. Despite distractions, we are obligated to hear every word of the megillah reading (the other three obligations of Purim are to give charity to poor people, give gifts of food to friends, and share in a festive meal). I like this world, where cookies give recommendations for my life, and for the life of this noisy culture.