I always have trouble with Purim. With the holiday, I mean, not with the pur themselves. Speaking of which, is it unusual to have a plural noun as a holiday name? If I were speaking in Hebrew (which, thank the Lord, I am not) would I need to say that Purim are a spring holiday? And I know, that’s not the way that Hebrew works, lacking the verb to be, but would I need to set my nominate in the plural to agree? Or a verb, if I were to say that Purim dawns foggy or Purim dawn foggy? Of course not, the noun Purim, meaning the holiday, is a singular noun that happens to sound the same as the plural form of the noun that means, essentially, a lottery ticket (most translations still seem to use the archaic word ‘lot’ rather than the back-formation, for reasons which I’m sure are valid and whatnot). Heck, for all I know, there’s an Israeli national lottery called Purim, and it takes a singular.
Anyway.
My real trouble with Purim is with the book of Esther, and with the celebration of it. I mean, yes, there are entertaining bits, and it’s certainly a memorable story, but in terms of the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves to define ourselves, it’s a bit ... horrible ... to have an ending where we slaughter seventy-five thousand people outright. Yes, they were “enemies”, but it’s certainly unclear that any of those “enemies” were actually planning to murder Jews, and even if so, they didn’t actually murder any Jews, nor were they taken in the attempt, but rather in a preemptive attack. Yes, Esther and Mordechai are all right (well, I have problems with how they behave, but no more so than, say, Rachel and Isaac), but the story doesn’t end with them. Unless you cheat, as I do, and leave off the bit about seventy-five thousand murders.
Another problem with the Purim story is that it typifies the Jewish Question. That is, the idea that was very popular in anti-Semitic circles in the early part of the last century that Jews could never properly be citizens of wherever they happened to live, because their first allegiance was always to Jews. This is one step away from the Sekrit Conspiracy of Bankers, Newspapermen and Movie Moguls, but it’s a small step. Now, in the story itself, there’s no question that what Haman proposes would be Bad for Persia, and so the conspiracy to destroy him is Good for Persia. There’s no conflict between being a Good Persian and being a Good Jew, on its merits. On the other hand ... the Queen is Sekritly a Jew, and conspires with her fellow Jews to overthrow the duly appointed government (the Grand Vizier or Prime Minister or whatever “above all princes” means), using trickery if not treachery, using sex and good food and all manner of blandishments to bamboozle the king.
In other words, the book of Esther seems to me peculiarly well-suited to provide persuasive fodder for the enemies of the Jews. Now, I can’t blame the book for that, as it’s the enemies of the Jews who are to blame. I can’t blame the book for a sense among Jews that we are set upon in every generation, as it is the people who set upon us in a fair number of generations that are to blame. But still, the combination of the use the book has been put to with the moral problems that are in the book itself combine to make me very uncomfortable with it.
Honestly, I’d prefer to just get on with the drinking and the cross-dressing and the little triangular cookies, and leave the story alone.
Ah, well. Happy Purim, Gentle Readers all, and drive safely (or not at all).
chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek,
-Vardibidian.
But… but… hamentaschen! Surely you can be distracted from your moral qualms by the best cookie on the planet!
Our hamentaschen came out quite well this year, despite the canned poppy-seed filling. As always happens, we made too many, and far too many of the non-poppy variety (in particular the apricot ones). Still, the other nice tradition (in addition to drinking and cross-dressing) is giving little food gifts, so we have spread the Adar happiness a bit.
Now, if YHB had been thinking ahead, the recent Boston trip would have included a visit to Boston’s Worst Bagels™, worth it in itself but doubly worth it for the fresh poppy-seed hamentaschen filling they sell by the pint. Avoid drug tests afterwards, though.
Thanks,
-V.
I also have trouble with the moral issues in the book itself. But I hate the idea of a group changing according to the based or baseless slanders of enemies. One reason is that the slanders are equally effective when baseless (cf. Jews have horns), so why bother worrying about the basis? Another reason is that you then allow your own life to be controlled by your enemies, and therefore abet them in destroying all you value. A third reason is the lack of a sensible stopping point. Should we stop celebrating Purim to avoid charges of not being good citizens, and stop celebrating Pesach to avoid the blood libel? Should we throw away all our money to avoid charges of being money-grubbing or rich? Should we rally against Israel to avoid charges of being insufficiently nationalistic at home? Should we avoid becoming lawyers or doctors or bankers or businessmen or movie producers to avoid charges of being too prominent in various fields? Should we avoid college? Which concessions are acceptable?
We should respect the laws and mores of our society because it is our society, and because we don’t want to create enemies. But trying to please our enemies can only provide a false and temporary security at best. That’s the message of the Book of Esther, which makes it ironic to then worry about how our enemies will point to the Book of Esther. And in a broader sense, we should live our lives as best we know how because we should be a light to the world. If we shutter our windows to avoid standing out, we reject our primary responsibility.
That said, I don’t know how you explain the bloody ending to a young child. Better to pass the hamentaschen.