The Hidden Comes To Light: Purim 2021

 The Hidden Comes To Light: Purim 2021

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

As far as the Talmud is concerned, there is only one megillah (scroll): Megillat Esther, the Scroll of Esther. Even though five scrolls were ultimately included in the Bible, only this one has merited the importance of being known just by its form—THE megillah—rather than by its content, and the Talmud devotes an entire tractate to the laws and customs associated with reading this all-important scroll.

The entire thing (the whole megillah, as it were), is a bit like hamantaschen, the Purim pastry that we love so much. For it’s what’s hidden within the form that really matters, not so much the casing (though, admittedly, the entire cookie is delicious, not only its content).

One can find all sorts of messages secreted within the rolled parchment that contains the story of the miraculous (or not so miraculous) redemption of the Jews of ancient Persia. Even Esther’s name contains a hidden meaning. It could obviously refer to the Near Eastern goddess Ashtart, or it could more subtly refer to the Hebrew word hester, meaning “a hiding place.” There is much that is hidden here, including Esther’s Hebrew name—Hadassah—that she is commanded not to reveal. At least until the time comes for that.

Other than that, the Scroll of Esther takes a pretty classical comedic form: There are three pairs of characters: three males (one righteous, another a buffoon and a fool, the third totally and irredeemably evil); and three females (again, one righteous; a second whose pride overcomes her sensibility—the mark of a fool; and the third, totally evil). The symmetry obscures the fact that in most other comedies of this type there is yet a seventh character—often a clever servant who pulls the strings and manipulates the unfolding of the story. In Esther, of course, that missing element is a pretty important one: God. Yet nowhere in the story is God mentioned, and the absence is too conspicuous to be coincidental.

Throughout the Scroll of Esther there are many clues that point to God’s presence, but the moral of the story necessitates that it be not God who arranges the sequence of events—events that at first must seem perfectly random—but rather that it is we, human beings, who are ultimately responsible for the outcome of the story. It isn’t chance so much as our choices that determine the course our lives take. As Mordecai tells Esther, “If you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another quarter, while you and your father’s house will perish.” 

There is no doubt in Mordecai’s mind that the Jewish People will survive the doom planned for it by the evil Haman; we have, after all, outlasted every empire that has tried to annihilate us, from ancient days to the most recent. At the same time, however, Mordecai understands that it is not divine but rather personal intervention that is responsible for the safety of individuals and their families. It is going to be Esther’s heroism that will bring about Haman’s downfall, with God simply sitting there, confident in the knowledge that the outcome of the story is pretty certain, safe as it were in the hands of the wise Mordecai and the courageous Esther. 

Purim means lots, referring to the roll of the dice by which Haman picks the date for the execution of his evil plans. But the reversal of fortune that sees Haman hanging from the very gallows he had built for Mordecai proves the point of the megillah: That very little is up to chance, yet so much more is up to us. It’s as important to understand history as it is to take a stand that might change otherwise-predictable outcomes.

In most Jewish communities it is customary to tell the story of Esther twice: Once in a traditional reading, in Hebrew along with the special chanting tropes. The second is often a satirical retelling called a Purim spiel. It’s telling that in most Purim spiels, at least in modern America, the traditional and literal ending is altered somewhat. No mention is made of how the Jews were granted the right to defend themselves. Maybe that’s because this bloody ending is a bit much for our sensitive and squeamish audiences (though in light of so much pop culture and particularly Hollywood movies, I tend to doubt that). Or maybe that’s because self-defense is so “unbecoming” of us Jews, who are expected to be super-human in our self-control and aversion to violence.

But the message of the importance of self-defense (and that’s exactly how this plays out in the ancient Scroll of Esther) is not lost on any modern Israeli today.

It’s been almost exactly 2000 years since we Jews were last able—or permitted—to defend ourselves against marauding, violent mobs. For far too long Jews have held on to an impossible faith in a God Who parts seas to save us, and Who, at the very last moment, plucks the innocent out of the ovens. The final important message of the Scroll of Esther is that we are obligated to defend ourselves and one another, and NOT wait for God to pull some hidden strings. Yet this message for too long has lain hidden beneath the veneer of comedy and wishful thinking, turning this vitally important book into not much more than a jest or a drunken dream.

Until modern times. Now we know better—or at least we should know better. 

For too many of us, especially in America, self-defense is not something we consider every day (or, thankfully, ever). Yet the Scroll of Esther teaches these three lessons: First, of course, to have faith in God’s eternal plan. Second, as we play our part in God’s plans, to be brave and to overcome our doubts and fears. Third and not least, when self-defense is called for, to stand firm with all our might. It’s a basic human right, one denied our People for thousands of years, yet one we must proclaim, insist on and stand for. 

We cannot take our chances on survival. Megillat Esther and the holiday it gave birth to—Purim—are not about philosophy or faith: They are all about the actions we must take and the stand we must make against evil and its perpetrators.

© 2021 by Boaz D. Heilman