Purim, the festival of laughter
March 17, 2016
Purim is different. Jewish festivals are certainly a time of rejoicing,
yet they all contain an element of seriousness. Surely, there is a
commandment to rejoice on Passover, Shavuot and Sukkot, sometimes even
to extremes, but this joy has its definitions and boundaries; overall,
it is a serious kind of joy.
On Purim, however, even when the festival is strictly observed according to all the rules and regulations — Megillah reading, Purim gifts, donations to the poor and Purim banquet — there is an overriding mischievous atmosphere, sometimes even a riotous one. Of course, its expressions differ from place to place and from one group to another, but Purim always involves an element of jest.
On Purim, however, even when the festival is strictly observed according to all the rules and regulations — Megillah reading, Purim gifts, donations to the poor and Purim banquet — there is an overriding mischievous atmosphere, sometimes even a riotous one. Of course, its expressions differ from place to place and from one group to another, but Purim always involves an element of jest.
Come to think of it, this light-headedness is
somewhat odd. Although Purim is a day of joy, it was preceded by an
extremely difficult and threatening period. The Jewish people have
always faced threats, troubles and battles with those who wanted to
defeat them or conquer their land. Most of these wars, however, were not
so different from the kinds of clashes that every nation experiences.
The event that preceded Purim was far more
serious: it was not a war but a genocide plan, with the aim of wiping
the Jewish people off the face of this earth. It was the very first
manifestation of a phenomenon, which today we call anti-Semitism,
extreme anti-Semitism.
In this specific case, Haman was overcome and
hanged on the tree, and all his assistants were defeated. Yet history
proves that he left behind numerous descendants and disciples.
Anti-Semitism may have started with Haman, but by no means did it end
with him. The descendants of Amalek are still in this world, and they
are sprouting, growing anew in many times, and places. It does not seem
that they have disappeared yet, not even in our enlightened,
cosmopolitan era.
* * *
Anti-Semitism has often been explained and
even justified over the course of time: the reasons given have been
religious, racial, and cultural. But even if there is an element of
truth in these excuses, the very proliferation of explanations points to
a more basic problem, one that is not always articulated: the
continuous existence of the Jewish people through thousands of years of
suffering and distress is miraculous, a mystery which defies logic.
Moreover, the same is true of anti-Semitism. This hatred is as
mysterious as it is real, and all the explanations for it are external,
and often also temporal and haphazard.
It is possible to defend ourselves against
enemies who have a reason for hating us; that defense may sometimes
resolve issues and even bring about mutual reconciliation. Against
anti-Semitism — because of its illogical nature — there may be means of
defense, but there is no way that we know of to uproot it. Over the past
several centuries, Jews have tried different methods to resolve this
issue: from total assimilation on the one hand, to the establishment of
an independent state on the other. None of these attempts has solved the
problem. They have changed or shifted the riddle; yet anti-Semitism
still remains.
Therefore, we have only two possible responses
left. The first is to do the best we can – as we did in the days of
Esther and in other generations – to defend ourselves from evil and
fight it. This should be done in any case, in order to gain some respite
from the outbursts of hatred.
The second option is to laugh. We laugh not
only about the downfall of anti-Semitic individuals or groups, but also
about anti-Semitism’s absurdity, ridiculousness and inner
contradictions. These cannot be confronted with or defeated by
counter-arguments, but only with laughter: laughter about them and about
us.
This laughter is the reflection of our
intrinsic reactions. When faced with such an insoluble impasse, we can
despair, disappear and abase ourselves — or we can laugh.
* * *
Laughter does not mean that there is a
solution, for there is none. Instead, our laughter says – “I am not a
part of this.” If we manage to laugh, it is because we have succeeded in
extricating ourselves from its mess.
Through laughter, we pull ourselves out of
history and we become immune to the guilt, the blame game and the
anxiety. Through laughter, we declare that we are free even of our
irrational bond with Haman’s hatred. We laugh at Haman, Ahasuerus and
all their successors because we are the ones who will endure. Our
enemies will survive only as the punch line of jokes.
The day after Purim, we begin thirty days of
preparation for Passover. As Judaism teaches us, elation must find
expression in action. Our joy that “He has not assigned our portion as
the others, nor made our destiny the same as multitudes,” is expressed
both in good spirits and in the serious activities that follow the
laughter.
* * *
Thus, we prepare for Passover. We clean the
Chametz, which also purges whatever is external to us. We scour and
scrub our innermost essence – our destiny assigned by the One who has
“chosen us from among all the nations.”
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz
