e-geress Vol. 1, No.8 March10th 2000. 3rd Adar II 5760
Publisher: Rabbi Yechezkel Fox
Editor: Rabbi Yisrael Rutman
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On Rosh HaShanah we blow the shofar. On Yom Kippur we fast. On Pesach we eat matzoh. On Purim we wear masks and get drunk. Wear masks? Get drunk? Unfortunately, too many Jews believe that Purim is nothing more than Judaism’s equivalent of New Year’s Eve, a consolation prize awarded us by the Sages for living lives of moderation the rest of the year. Ironically, this utterly mistaken belief reveals the very essence of Purim. The Purim story, as told in the Book of Esther, does begin with a party, a wild, unrestrained, fraternity-style bash. It was the year 364 B.C.E., and the Persians had good reason for celebration. Five years earlier they had conquered the Babylonians, the nation that had conquered the Jews 65 years before that, destroying the Temple in Jerusalem and driving the Jewish nation into exile. The prophet Jeremiah had prophesied then that the Jews would return to their homeland; but the 70 years of Jeremiah’s prophecy had expired, and Jewish redemption remained an improbable dream. The Persian king Achashveirosh felt the dark cloud of impending doom removed from above his head, brought the captured vessels of the ruined Temple out of storage, and used them in his rejoicing over the shattered hopes of the Jewish people. And the Jews did give up hope. They did not consider that perhaps Achashveirosh’s calculations were off, that the 70 years of Jeremiah’s prophecy might be reckoned from a different starting point. They did not consider that it was within their power to refuse when the king insisted on their attendance at his party. They did not consider that Mordechai, the leader of the generation, was speaking sensibly when he told them they must not attend a festival celebrating their own spiritual subjugation. And they did not consider that there could be any connection between their attendance at that party and their imminent destruction nine years later when Haman gained the king’s permission to order their extermination. In short, the Jews of Persia saw themselves as victims of circumstance, helpless to effect their own redemption. The enemies threatening their very lives loomed so ominously near that no reasonable plan for action could be formulated. All was lost. Divine Providence, however, is not bound by natural laws or human logic. Indeed, the story of Purim appears to be a long series of random, disconnected events: the king kills Vashti, his first wife, in a fit of anger; Mordechai overhears a plot to kill the king; Esther is chosen over thousands of women to become queen; Haman rises to power, threatens the existence of the Jews, then suddenly falls from grace; and the Jews are saved. Did all of this come to pass through the agency of coincidence? True, every step along the way was entirely natural, but the definition of nature depends very much on one’s point of view. Consider how, when the Jews entered the land of Israel after forty years of living off manna in the desert, they saw that by placing tiny bits of food beneath the surface of the earth, whole fields of produce would sprout up in that place. Miraculous! they cried. And so it was. Precisely this is the lesson of Purim. Through our celebration of Purim we are reminded to look beneath the surface, to recognize the miracles in our world and in our history and in our daily comings and goings, to never settle for superficial explanations or excuses. There is divinity all around, waiting for us to take notice. In a very real sense we spend the whole year preparing for Purim, making ourselves sensitive to the unimaginable depth that awaits our exploration of every person and every phenomenon. One who understands Purim as merely a Jewish New Year’s Eve views it so superficially that he entirely misses the point. And so we wear masks on Purim as a declaration that what appears on the surface is often nothing but a mask concealing genuine meaning and genuine substance. And we get drunk -- or perhaps just a little tipsy -- to strip away our own masks, to reflect that reality almost never reveals itself easily or willingly, but only through diligent and patient investigation. On Purim we allow ourselves a day of living without pretense, without show, without any facade, to spend a few hours without needing, wanting, or hiding behind the “natural” world of physical cause and effect, reminding ourselves of the profound, guiding hand that subtly reveals itself in every aspect of our lives. by Rabbi Yonason Goldson 
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