Let me tell you about what I call my “broken Hamentaschen moment.” Carol and I, along with our then young daughter, were invited to share the Purim holiday with Winnipeg’s only Unitarian church.
Unitarians are a liberal religious group deeply devoted to bettering the world and helping improve the law of humanity. Our close friend who was the president of this particular church, invited us to share Purim with his co-religionists. We did our version of a Purim Shpiel, masks, costumes, and even Graggers. Once the service was over, we all went for coffee – yes, and Hamentaschen too. I was about to bite into a very scrumptious looking one when I was approached by a congregant, someone that I actually knew from another situation. He told me what a great job we’d done but he wanted to share his misgivings about the Book of Esther. “Rabbi,” he said, “you left out Chapter 9 of the Book of Esther.” He went on to say that Chapter 9 depicts Purim as a massacre. He was right, according to that chapter, in excess of 75,000 people were killed. That moment I could feel my delicious treat disintegrate in the palm of my hand. For an instant, I lost my innocent love of Purim. From that time on, I have read the Megillah with a mixture of joy and sadness.
The Megillah itself is not in any way troubled by the slaughter described in that chapter. However, later Jewish commentators such as the medieval philosopher, Ibn Ezra, already questioned the excessive brutality described in the closing chapters of our scroll. The late Israeli scholar and philosopher, Dr. Yishayahu Leibowitz (1903-1994), a practicing Orthodox Jew, was highly critical of the Purim story specifically because of its militarism and its depiction of Jews slaughtering non-Jews. There is an urban legend that says he worked it out in such a way that he never actually observed Purim, fearing that story would dehumanize Jews in general, and Israelis in particular. Some may feel that this criticism is misplaced, after all the story is most likely a parable intended to warn us about anti-Semitism, and all the horrible things that go with it. For me, Purim is a dilemma. I’ve come to very much enjoy the artistic creativity, music, and the fun of the day. At the same time, as a practicing Jew, I strongly believe that religious stories need to be measured by a moral yardstick as they have implications for the way we conduct ourselves in the 21st century.
One of the great joys of the holiday has been watching our children and grandchildren dress up in all kinds of interesting and original costumes. We are truly blessed to be able to provide our young people with love and security. We work hard to see to it that children remain children and do not enter into adulthood prematurely. However, there are millions of children who suffer from the cruelty of war. Innocent kids who suffer from disease, malnutrition, and the cruelty of adults. It’s easy for us who live in the security and comfort of a democratic society to forget about other people’s children. This year, in addition to whatever else we do to celebrate, I want to suggest that we extend the Mitzvah of Matanot LeEvyonim, gifts to the needy, to one or another of the charitable groups that provide food and medical care for children living in war zones, for example, the horrendous situation of children in Yemen. The war there, which until recently was supported by our tax dollars, continues to brutalize children on all sides of the conflict.
My metaphor of the broken Hamentaschen is similar to the Passover Midrash that explains why we remove wine for the cup of celebration when enumerating the 10 plagues. We do this, says the Midrash, because God who saved us also valued the lives of our enemies. The plight of these nameless children surely must bring great suffering to the heart of God, as it must bring compassion, concern, and action from us, even in the midst of our Purim festivities.
