Newsletter6

During the recent blizzard, I was reading America, a Catholic magazine published by the Jesuits. I was surprised to see a small article by one of my classmates from Rabbinic School at Hebrew Union College.

Rabbi Dan Polish was explaining to the Catholic readers the similarities of Purim and Mardi Gras about which I had once written an article for a comparative religion class over fifty years ago. The department of inter-religious cooperation of The Anti Defamation League, then associated with B’nai B’rith International, published that article, as I worked for ADL in the summers during my rabbinic training.

That also was the Purim that I snuck a Dixieland band into the choir loft of the sanctuary of HUC during the Megillah reading (the Book of Esther). When Vashti’s name was mentioned at the beginning of the Megillah, the band popped up and played “The Stripper.” The mood was Mardi Gras and Purim, both, as the band accompanied the reading. Three professors left the service in protest. It was the 60’s and the band was part of the outrageousness of Purim. Celebration! Release! More on this another time.

We know that Purim is the last day before the month’s spiritual and physical preparation for Passover, just as Mardi Gras is the last day before lent, the month-long spiritual preparation for Holy Week and then Easter, which is on the last day Yontif of Passover.

Purim and Mardi Gras are blasts of Jubilation and excess, imbibing and gorging, before solemn religious preparation for major Holidays.

However, what my classmate didn’t say, or what might have been edited in the article, was that Mardi Gras is about personal release, before a period of individual atonement, and Purim is a community release in celebration of redemption. We were saved from Haman in Persia. We were saved from the Amalakites, the metaphor for Jewish oppression over the millennia. Our ancient faith was saved from destruction, time and again over the years. Against all odds, our people survive, and it is incumbent upon us, to preserve Judaism, and the Jewish people in our own time in our own place. In our own way.

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Nevertheless, as the holiday approaches, I am reminded of a Purim, of a Megillah reading, without joy. A somber Purim. No one was laughing.

It must have been 1946. It was Purim. The magnificent synagogue (I later learned) was a copy of an historic synagogue in Poland, except this was a brick structure, not wooden as in Poland.

This was the “Conservadox” shul.

We belonged to both Congregations in town. I had never been here for Purim. The mood in the shul felt somber as we walked up the stairs to the huge sanctuary.

At the Reform Temple across town, the Rabbi’s wife, who was from Palestine (the Land so called pre-Israel) led happy Purim songs as she sang and played the accordion. There was clapping and there was singing the songs that we had learned in religious school. Everyone sang.

I remember a quiet as we came up the stairs, almost like that on the High Holydays.

The table on the landing was covered with small, white, pieces of chalk. People were picking them up as they went into services. My father explained that the chalk was to write Haman’s name on the bottom of your shoes. I remember that it seemed scary when he put Haman on my sole. It was like stepping in something on our farm.

There was a group of strangers sitting together at the front near the bimah. Their clothes seemed different. They seemed sad. Before the service, the Rabbi spoke to them in what I thought was “Jewish” ( Yiddish) which I heard at my father’s parent’s home. This was the first time that I heard Yiddish at services.

During the Megillah reading Rabbi Shapiro paused before saying Haman’s name and then seemed to shout it, and then there was a thunderous sound in that sanctuary. Drowning out the sound of the groggers, that thunderous noise came from the congregation as we stomped our leather shoes on the wooden floor to blot out the name of Haman written on our soles. I can still remember my fear rising as the colossal sound rose each time the villain was mentioned. People constantly rewrote Haman’s name as it was blotted out.

The strangers down front seemed to be crying. It was upsetting against the din.

Years later I learned why that Purim was so somber. The “new people” were new immigrants, Holocaust survivors, who were sponsored by the congregation.

They had Haman on their souls as well.

Hitler had killed their families. Nearly killed them. Probably in post traumatic stress, my guess is that for many of them, they couldn’t feel that Haman was really defeated.

As for the congregants, World War II had just ended. Jews were still behind barbed wire in refugee camps in Germany and throughout a Western Europe. There was fighting in Palestine. The State of Israel had not yet been established. (Later I learned that many in the congregation were involved in illegally sending arms to Israel, as were many in the Reform congregation. )

While the redemption of Purim was an historic reality, I think that it hadn’t yet wholly sunk in for those Jews in that shul that year. Perhaps it was so that night at the Reform Temple and in other congregations as well.

The frightening thunder of the shoes on the wooden floor, blotting out Haman’s name, (looking back) might have been an effort to will themselves to feel the redemption that had indeed, taken place.

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I also researched Mardi Gras cancellations.

Other than during a strike by city employees in 1979, the parades were only cancelled during wars: The Civil War, WWI, WWII, and The Korean War.

Perhaps that’s what the people in the shul were feeling that Purim. They were grateful for redemption, even though redemption was not complete.

Their thundering feet might have been a prayer of thanksgiving and defiance. Their stomping feet might have been the release that year.

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Just as we conduct model seders (s’darim) before Passover, so will we have a Model Megillah reading during Shabbat Services on the second Friday in February. Read on for a catalogue of Purim themed drinks for the ad lo yadah. (Holy Confusion)

So, this might not be a year for costumes, except for the kids, (though wear one if you will) but we can energize the Model Megilla on Zoom and take up our tradition of “crazy hats,” or the hat of your favorite team, for the reading of the Megillah.

The Levins will lead us in joyful Purim songs. Join us!

Love,