Drowning Out Evil: What the Purim Practice of Noisemaking Teaches About Moral Clarity

The news cycle as of late has been filled with reports of Operation Epic Fury, which is the joint U.S.-Israeli campaign targeting the remnants of Iran's military and nuclear infrastructure, as well as various members of Iranian leadership. Regardless of one's political perspective and whether this attack should have been launched, the operation is unmistakably loud. Not only is it loud in the literal sense with explosions and air power, but also in the figurative sense in terms of the Trump administration's foreign policy and how it views its adversaries. 

The idea that evil should not be ignored and should be actively opposed is not a new concept in Jewish history. In synagogues around the world, Jews will gather tonight in a ritualized form of confronting evil: the reading of the Book of Esther, also know as the Megillah. The biblical narrative describes how a Jewish woman, Esther, rises to the queenship of the Persian Empire and thwarts a genocidal plot against the Jewish people. The antagonist of the story is Haman, a royal official who persuades King Ahasuerus to authorize the extermination of the Jews. Through a dramatic reversal, Haman's plan was thwarted and the Jewish people were saved. 

This is where the noise enters the scene. Every time the name of Haman is mentioned in the Megillah reading, synagogues erupt in boos, stomps, hisses, and the rattling clamor of groggers. Although the first documented instance of this practice is in the 13th century, it is derived from the Torah. In the book of Deuteronomy (25:17-19), the Jews are commanded to blot out the memory of Amalek. Haman was the son of Hammedathah the Agagite (Esther 3:1). Agag was the king of the Amalekites (I Samuel 15:8-9), which is why Jewish tradition (Talmud, Megillah 13a).

In an age where moral categories are inverted, Purim is especially relevant. Hamas carried out despicable acts of kidnapping, rape, torture, and murder against Israeli civilians on October 7, 2023. If an attack that was equivalent to multiple 9/11 attacks happened to any other country, the international community would have sympathized with the attacked. Instead, much of the world sympathized with an anti-Semitic, homophobic, authoritarian terrorist organization. Entire populations now reframe those who call for the extinction of the Jewish state as "oppressed" and "freedom fighters.”

Then there is the new low society has reached in that more and more are of the opinion that disagreeable ideas are the same as actual violence. We see this not simply in rhetorical terms, but in real-world consequences It was that warped logic that got Charlie Kirk murdered and can continue to justify violence as a response to political disagreement.

These are but two examples to contrast the Megillah. Haman is not perceived as "oppressed," "misunderstood," or "dealing with systemic inequity." Haman sought genocide: full stop. There was no "this situation is complicated" or "the relation between Jews and Persians were complex and nuanced at the time." The Purim story insists otherwise. Power can corrupt, tyranny is real, and genocide is evil. The Megillah illustrates the moral categories unambiguously. 

At the same time, the Megillah models a form of pluralism that does not compromise moral clarity. The Jews lived among foreigners under foreign rule and navigated a world of different beliefs and customs. That diversity does not mean that we ignore when clear wrongdoing is taking place. Just like Jews in the Megillah existed in a different world were also able to recognize Haman's evil. We too must insist on certain basic truths in a pluralistic world. Acts like genocide, torture, and kidnapping are unacceptable. Purim teaches that we can live amidst difference without equivocating about what is categorically wrong or drifting into the idea that evil is "just another perspective." 

The uproar at Haman's name is not just about a tradition. It is about not having evil become normalized. It is about making sure we can distinguish between right and wrong, even in a pluralistic, democratic society. Sometimes it takes a loud, jarring noise to make sure we do not succumb to moral atrophy and indifference. 

What's Behind the Custom of Jews Wearing Costumes on Purim?

Tonight starts the Jewish holiday of Purim. I admit that Purim is one of my least favorite holidays. I am especially not a fan of the wearing costumes portion of Purim. I have never worn a costume for Purim. Although Purim is different from Halloween, it has enough overlap that it has a Halloween-esque vibe. That is what makes writing this blog entry ironic.  I am not the costume-wearing type, yet I am curious to see if I can find deeper meaning to the practice. 

Hiddenness. The idea of being hidden is a major motif in Purim. Not once is G-d's name mentioned in the Book of Esther. It is commonly understood in Jewish tradition that G-d performed His miracles in a hidden fashion, as opposed to a combination of coincidences and good timing. Esther also conceals her Jewish identity. Much like G-d hides Himself in the Purim story, we use costumes as a method to hide ourselves while celebrating the salvation of the Jewish people.  

Minimizing shame. One of the four mitzvahs on Purim is to give money or food to at least two needy people. On this day, Jews do not scrutinize almsgiving. Jews simply give, no questions asked (Talmud, Bava Metziah, 78b). Since poor people did not want to be known as paupers, the custom arose for them to wear masks to hide their identity and preserve their dignity (Lubavitcher Rebbe). 

Inevitability of non-Jewish influences. I have met Jews who think that for centuries, Judaism has existed inside in a vacuum. Nothing could be further from the truth. Jews have interacted with non-Jews and incorporated various aspects of non-Jewish life. The Jewish concept of the afterlife (Ha'Olam HaBa) was likely a result of from Zoroastrian or Hellenistic influences, whereas the Jewish concept of reincarnation were likely influenced by non-Jewish religions. The Chanukah practices of the dreidel, latkes, gift-giving, and the song Maoz Tzur all had non-Jewish influences. The post-Passover practice of making a challah in the shape of a key mimics a Christian practice. 

Costumes on Purim is no exception. Masquerades date back to the Roman era. The practice of wearing costumes during Carnival started in the 12th century. In contrast, the practice of wearing costumes on Purim was not first explicitly mentioned until two centuries later (i.e., until the early 14th century) by Rabbi Kalonymus ben Kalonymus. It also came with some opposition, either because it could violate the Torah prohibition of cross-dressing or because the costumes could be viewed as a form of debauchery that could lead to frivolity. In spite of the opposition, it ended being a widely accepted practice. Rather than look down on this piece of history, Jews should embrace the value of integration, which in this case means interacting with non-Jews (and even taking certain aspects of non-Jewish life) while still maintaining a distinct Jewish identity. 

Rags to riches. At the beginning of the story, Mordechai was fasting and was wearing a sackcloth (Esther 1:4). At the end, Mordechai is dressed in a king's robe (Esther 6:7-11) and took Haman's position (Esther 10:3). Queen Vashti was obsessed with beauty and good looks (Esther 1:11). In contrast, Mordechai shows that our character and having righteousness prevailing over evil is more important than external appearances. The costumes remind us that appearances are deceptive and that true meaning is often hidden below the surface. 

Embracing the topsy-turvy nature of life. There is a phrase in the Purim story that captures this concept well: ונהפוך הוא, or "and it was turned upside-down" (Esther 9:1). It seemed as if the Jews were going to be wiped out (Esther 3:13), but it was the Jews' enemies that were (Esther 9:1-2). Haman tried to hang Moredechai, but it was Haman that ended up being hung at the gallows (Esther 7:10). What was meant to be a day of destruction ended up being a day of redemption. As philosopher Albert Camus would point out, the world is an absurd one that often cannot be readily or easily explained. Wearing costumes could be seen as an embrace of the absurdity that is life, or at the very least, that life comes with unpredictability and elements of surprise that no one could see coming. 

An act of liberation. Much like the Esther story has multiple turnarounds, wearing costumes allows Jews to be someone different and subvert what is expected for a day, especially since costumes are an individual expression of creativity. To quote author Emuna Braverman, "We spend our lives very defended, working so hard not to be vulnerable.....Somehow, wearing a costume frees us. We are no longer our everyday selves bound by those self-imposed everyday rules. We are someone different , someone who is open to life, to the gifts and challenges the Almighty sends us, to seeing the good in them, to recognizing it's all a gift."

Ta'anit Esther: How Fasting Before Purim Is a Metaphor for Our Potential for Personal Growth

Purim is a topsy-turvy Jewish holiday. On Purim, Jews wear costumes, eat a lot of food, are permitted to drink a larger-than-normal amount of alcohol, and can even cross-dress. For a time that encapsulates so much joy, it seems peculiar at first glance that there would be a fast right before Purim. The fast day before Purim is known as Ta'anit Esther (תענית אסתר). 

In the Purim narrative, Esther approached King Ahasuerus in the hopes that he would intercede on behalf of the Jewish people. She fasted three days beforehand and asked that the Jewish people do the same (Esther 4:16). While we do not fast for three days, this "minor" fast (i.e., it is from dawn to dusk and does not have additional restrictions) on the 13th of Adar does beg the question of why. 

It is interesting to think of Yom Kippur at this time of the year. While Yom Kippur can be translated as Day of Atonement, the phrase יום הכיפורים can also be translated as "a day like Purim." This makes sense since Yom Kippur is a fast day and Purim is proceeded by a fast day. Fasting exists in Judaism for different reasons. Most communal fasts exists as an act of commemoration, such as Tisha B'Av. The fasting on Yom Kippur is for repentance and making up for one's imperfections. As for Purim, the Book of Esther is not explicit on the motive, although Jewish liturgy for Ta'anit Esther provides some clues. 

In the morning, we recite Selichot, or the penitential prayers. In the afternoon, there is the Aneinu blessing, which is done for supplication. But after the afternoon Torah reading, there is a special haftarah reading that is read on fast days: Isaiah 55:6-56:8. It is a combination of wronging one's imperfections, asking for help and [internal strength], and to get focus on what is important. 

This is why it is important to contrast the fasting that the rest of the Jewish people were doing when they found out the news (Esther 4:3) and Esther's fast (Esther 4:16). After all, we are observing the Fast of Esther. What did Esther's fast show us? The fact that we are allowed to listen to music and prepare new clothing on Ta'anit Esther (Piskei Teshuvot, 686:2) indicates that the fast is not about wearing sackcloths, being hard on ourselves, or feeling helpless. 

Esther's story reminds us that not only is there a time to leave our comfort zone and show solidarity, but there is also a time where we have to act instead of depend on G-d to intercede and fix everything. Similar to fasting on Yom Kippur, Esther takes the fast as an opportunity to summon the inspiration and courage to confront King Ahasuerus and ask him to call off the genocide. 

Life is fragile and full of curveballs. I'm not here to say that life always has happy endings. There are numerous examples in Jewish history, never mind world history, to remind us of that sad truth. At the same time, we are not meant to sit around to wait for life to happen to us. 

Sometimes, we do not have control over situations. Other times, we can still exert influence. It is in those times that were are to call upon our gifts and strengths. We have the potential to take a dire situation and transform it into something more redeeming. When life gives us genocidal threats, we create redemption.....or turn lemons into lemonades, something along those lines. Redemption comes through a growth process. 

That process doesn't happen to people who lounge around in palaces where we can expect to be protected from every one of life's moments of nastiness, heartache, unfairness, and grief. You think a pandemic would have made this lesson hit home, but we cannot escape risk or suffering. I think Esther realized that in the Purim story. 

The fast provides some guidance for how we should live. We are to take the courage to face what is in front of us. We use what is at our disposal to make the situation better. We plan and prepare to the best of our ability. Even after all that preparation, whether spiritual or otherwise, we accept whatever may come, exactly like Esther did (4:16) when she said "if I perish, I perish (וכאשר אבדתי, אבדתי). That is what the fast is supposed to represent. We don't get everything we want in life and we might not be able to fix everything. But if we don't take the courage to face our own challenges, our lives will not get better. Problems are inevitable in life. Through facing and surmounting our challenges can we relish in the joy that life has to offer. 

May you have a meaningful and easy fast! 

Why Does Purim Occur on the Jewish Month of Adar?: An Insight on Purim and Happiness

A little over a week ago, the Jewish calendar reached the month of Adar. The Talmud (Ta'anit 29a) says that when the Jewish month of Adar begins, we increase our happiness. The Talmud continues to say that Jews should proceed with litigation in the month of Adar because of the good luck that is inherent within the month of Adar. During the month of Adar is the holiday of Purim. Purim commemorates the biblical account of the Book of Esther. In this Book, we see the story of how the Jewish people, who were at the time in exile in Persia, were saved by the cruelty of Haman, the king's vizier. What does the miracle of being saved from extinction have to do with happiness?

1. The Hebrew month Adar (אדר) has the same root as the Hebrew word for "strength" (אדיר). This correlates with the fact that the zodiacal sign of Pisces corresponds with the month of Adar. Pisces is the sign of the fishes. What do fishes have to do with Purim?
• Fish are seen as a fertile species, and thus are a symbol of blessing and fruitfulness. 
• I wrote a homily about four years ago on why fish have fins and scales. Fish are a metaphor for how we should behave. Fins help us propel forward, and scales protect us when life is bumpy. 
2. In the Exodus narrative, Adar was the last month that the Jews spent in Egypt. The month of Adar commemorates as the prelude to the Exodus, which leads to the receiving of Torah and commemorates freedom. Happiness is rooted in our freedom because it gives us the ability to reach our fullest potential. 
3. Jewish tradition teaches us that when the Jews accepted the Torah at Mount Sinai, it was done so under duress. The Talmud teaches (Shabbat 88a) that G-d held Mount Sinai over the heads of the Jewish people to accept Torah. However, it was during Purim that the Jewish people accepted the Torah voluntarily. The voluntary nature of accepting Torah and mitzvahs teaches us that we accept G-d out of love and not fear. Pirke Avot teaches that while fear is sometimes necessary, it is out of the love of G-d that we truly become close to G-d. Purim is such a happy moment because we come to G-d out of love, and not fear. 
4. Haman selected the month of Adar in attempts to annihilate the Jewish people not just because the Jewish people lost their Temple and were already down. Haman chose Adar because it was the month that Moses passed away. Haman took that as a sign to destroy the Jewish people. While that 7th of Adar was when Moses passed away, it was also the day when Moses was born. This reminds us that a fork in the road could be a crisis or an opportunity. Looking at research on happiness, about 40 percent of happiness is our own choice. We have the ability to take that 40 percent and choose what to do with it, much like the Jewish people decided what to do in terms of making the best of their situation.  
5. Some of the Purim practices liberate us from our usual routine and has the potential to encourage happiness. Mishloach Manot, the practice of sending gift baskets to at least two friends on Purim, encourages us to give. Giving is significant because research shows that giving leads to greater health and happiness. The practice of drinking on Purim tries to find a balance between not being sober and being drunk in order to connect to G-d in a different way. Wearing costumes is a way to reveal a different part of ourselves that we might not reveal other days of the year. Exploring different venues can help us find a different way of being happy that we might not have previously thought possible. 
6. Purim is a time where we turn things upside-down. Things that are normally not encouraged (e.g., drinking a fair amount of alcohol) or even forbidden (e.g., cross-dressing) are permitted on Purim. It turns life upside-down for a day. R. Geoff Mitelman brings up the idea that is the fact that life gets turned upside-down is the reason why we should be happy on Purim. The word Purim (פורים) comes from the Hebrew word "lot" (פור). During the entire Purim story, the fate of the Jewish people was uncertain. Purim is a reminder that we don't have full control over our lives, and that chasing after a security blanket or a bubble in which nothing hurts us ever is not only impossible, but precisely the wrong way to go about happiness. Sukkot teaches us a similar message: The sooner we get comfortable in the insecurity of life, the happier we will become because we are not chasing after something so elusive. 

To tie all of these ideas together, Purim is about how we choose to react to our circumstances. Life is not always fun. There are times where it is downright cruel and uncertain. The story of Purim is taking a moment of darkness, a moment where it looked like the Jewish people would be no more, and to transform it into light. And that's the point: the ability to make life a happier one comes from us. It is an internal process, and chasing after external validation or success leaves one empty. Am I saying that it's easy? Of course not! I'm working on it myself, and it comes with difficulty. However, the month of Adar reminds us that we take control over what we can and adapt to the rest. I'll end with the Serenity Prayer:

G-d, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. 

Parsha Ki Tisa: The Half-Shekel, Purim, and a Lesson on Giving

Purim is a Jewish festival of joy. Jews dress up in costumes, read from the Megillah, and enjoy the festivities. There is a somewhat peculiar custom for the holiday of Purim. On the night of Purim, one is supposed to give three half-shekels (מחצית בשקל). While the practice of giving three half-shekels on Purim dates back to Moses Isserles (the Rama), the practice is derived from the Torah. This Purim custom acts as a commemoration to recall when the Israelites donated three half-shekels to the Temple treasury during the Jewish month of Adar. As a matter of fact, the practice comes from this week's Torah portion:

G-d spoke to Moses, saying: When you take a census of the Israelite people according to their enrollment, each shall pay G-d a ransom for himself on being enrolled, that no plague may come upon them through their being enrolled. This is that everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel as an offering to G-d. Everyone who is entered in the records, from the age of twenty years up, shall give G-d's offering: the rich shall not pay more and the poor shall not pay less than half a shekel when given G-d's offering as an expiation for your persons. You shall take the expiation money from the Israelites and assign it to the service of the Tent of Meeting; it shall serve the Israelites as a reminder before G-d, as expiation for your persons. -Exodus 30:11-16

The fact that the word for offering (תרומת) appears three times in this passage is why we give three half-shekels. But it brings up an interesting question: why pay in half-shekels? Why not a whole shekel? A few explanations:

• Perhaps it is because we are supposed to "put in half" while G-d "puts in the other half." This is to represent that personal effort (השתדלות) and trust [in G-d] (ביטחון). It means that we cannot simply wait for G-d to solve everything, but that we need to take action. This is very apropos for the Purim considering that G-d is not mentioned at all in the Purim story, and is traditionally considered to be hidden throughout the Book of Esther.
• In Exodus 30:12, the verse says "when you take a census." Going off the Midrash (Midrash Psalms 91:1), Rashi took that to mean that G-d showed Moses a coin of fire. The message is that both fire and the shekel can be beneficial or destructive, depending on its use (Noam Elimelech). The R. Mendel of Kotzk interprets the Midrash as that if one is to seek atonement by giving funds to charity, that deed should be done with a fire, i.e., a burning passion for serving G-d. 
• Exodus 30:13 says that each Israelite shall pay G-d a "ransom for himself." The fact that R. Benno Jacob see this offering of the half-shekel as the anticipatory shedding of blood in battle, the offering of the half-shekel is teaching us that life is a gift and that we should be happy to be alive. Tobiah ben Eliezer (the Lekach Tov) said that because we don't have a Temple anymore, we show this gratitude for being alive by giving to the poor.
• On the one hand, we cannot do it by ourselves. We are not meant to live in isolation (Artscroll), and the fact that the half-shekel represents a lack of wholeness drives that idea home. On the other hand, we have a unique contribution to make. Without our contribution, service to G-d is incomplete. The fact that everyone, regardless of socioeconomic status, shows that we all have a contribution to make, whether it was the Israelites to the Temple or what we have to contribute the world as a whole. 

To tie these interpretations together, whether it is our words, thoughts, and deeds, we can serve both G-d and our fellow human beings by giving. We don't sit on the sidelines and let G-d do it. We are meant to contribute, and are reminded that what we all have to contribute to the greater goal is important. Much like the Midrash teaches, we are meant to perform that giving with that fire to help out others. Purim is the season of giving that reminds us that joy is in giving. May our contributions to this world be given with a fiery passion!

Mishloach Manot: Why Give Food on Purim?

'Tis the season of giving. No, I'm not referring to Christmas. I am referring to the Jewish holiday of Purim. Under Jewish law, there are four mitzvahs related to the holiday of Purim. The first two are hearing the reading of the Megillah and having a festive meal, also known as a seudah, towards the end of the holiday. The other two mitzvahs have to do with giving. One is to give [money] to at least two poor people, and that money needs to be enough for a meal (מתנות לאביונים). Today, I would like to focus on the fourth mitzvah: mishloach manot (משלוח מנות). Literally meaning "sending of portions," the practice of mishloach manot entails sending gift baskets of food and drink to family, friends, or other people in one's life. Unlike with the mitzvah of giving [money] to the poor, this mitzvah specifically involves giving food and drink. But why? Why does it have to be food and drink, and why does the food and drink need to be ready to eat?

The origins of Mishloach Manot are intriguing, as are the laws behind it. The prooftext used for the practice is the Book of Esther (9:19), where it says that the 14th of the month of Adar is a day of gladness and feasting, of joy, and "and of sending portions to one another" (ומשלח מנות איש לרעהו). As for the reasoning behind the mitzvah, one reason is provided by 15 c. rabbi Yisrael Isserlin, in which he said that the food was to ensure that each individual had enough food to fulfill the mitzvah of the Purim seudah. This explanation has some difficulties not only because the recipients of the gift baskets can be either rich or poor, but also because it is a statistical likelihood that at least one person will not receive a gift basket. On the other hand, that could also explain why giving money to the poor is also a Purim mitzvah: even if a poor person does not receive mishloach manot, they would still receive money to celebrate Purim. And even if they do receive food on Purim, they can use the extra money to ease their financial woes. This explanation also bolsters the reason as to why mishloach manot has to come in the form of food, as opposed to some other good, e.g., clothing.

There is also a second and complementary reason that is traditionally provided for the practice. According to 16th-century rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz (Manot Ha Levi), the practice is about engendering goodwill and a sense of Jewish unity. In the Book of Esther (3:8), Haman described the Jewish people as "one nation dispersed and divided." While giving tzedakah is preferably done under anonymity, the mitzvah of mishloach manot is not complete unless one knows the identity of the giver since the purpose is to create goodwill towards others, regardless of socio-economic status. This is certainly not to say that we disregard non-Jews (because Jewish law tells us to also have respect for non-Jews, help non-Jews and have interpersonal relations with non-Jews). There is a time for universal values and interaction with the greater world (e.g., it is permissible to give to non-Jewish poor people in order to fulfill the Purim mitzvah of מתנות לאביונים), and there is a time for interactions with one's fellow Jew. Giving mishloach manot is a time to focus on the latter because while one of the goals of Judaism is engendering a more universal, moralistic ethos, one still has to start somewhere, and given the shared experience that Jews share, Jewish unity is a good place to start.

I've touched upon this idea before, and it is an idea that can be expressed in the adage of "three Jews, five opinions", which is that Jewish unity is a hard thing to come by. There are secular Jews who look at religious Jews as crazy, and there are religious Jews who look at non-Orthodox Jews as heretical. Regardless of where a Jew falls on the religious spectrum, there is a tendency to look at another Jew's practice as either too lax or too stringent. While the phenomenon of judging others based on disagreements or disputes is not unique to religious life (e.g., reactions to the 2016 United States presidential election), we are meant to use mishloach manot as a means to transcend such conflict and come together as a people. Abraham Lincoln was one to say that "a house divided against itself cannot stand," and the same goes for the Jewish people. Being Infinite Oneness, G-d is the perfect example of unity. While the Jewish people cannot exhibit unity to that extent, there is still something to be said for unity since greater cohesion leads to greater efficiency, whether that is in terms of doing particularistic mitzvahs (e.g., kosher food, Shabbat) or more universal mitzvahs, such as helping the poor or loving one's neighbor.

Mishloach manot is not just an expression of Jewish unity, but in more general terms, of giving and doing acts of loving-kindness for others. Purim is meant to be a holiday of joy. Giving is meant to be a manifestation of that joy, of that ability to bring people together. Through the act of giving mishloach manot, we are reminded that unity is more important than divisiveness, peace more important than conflict, and joy more important than misery.

To Drink or Not to Drink? On Purim, That Is the Question

Purim is a Jewish holiday commemorating the redemption of the Jewish people from the Persians after Haman's attempt to exterminate the Jewish people: another example of "They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat." One of the more peculiar practices on Purim is that of a festive amount of drinking. In the Talmud (Megillah 7b), Rava opines that it is a mitzvah for a Jew to drink until "he can longer distinguish between 'blessing Mordechai' and 'cursing Haman.'" Certainly at first sight, the Talmud tells us it's a mitzvah to get drunk on Purim. On the other hand, Noah's drunkenness had bad results, not to mention that Proverbs 23:30-35 doesn't present drunkenness positively. If Judaism views drunkenness in a negative light, how can we resolve the mitzvah of drunkenness on Purim with Judaism's condemnation of drunkenness? Can we resolve them?

After researching rabbinic commentary and factoring in Jewish values, these were the following possibilities I derived:

1. This mitzvah is an exception to the norm. Although drunkenness is normally considered lewd behavior with negative repercussions, this is a day where we throw that notion out the window to the point where we consider it a mitzvah to get drunk (Rambam, Laws of Megillah 2:15; Tur, Orchot Chayim 495). The pivotal events of Purim, whether that would be the downfall of Queen Vashti (Esther 1), Haman's execution (ibid 7:1-10), or Esther's ascent to power (ibid 2:17-18), were all associated with wine, hence the mitzvah (Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 7b; Shulchan Aruch, Orach Chayim 695:2). What could be the personal significance of drinking on Purim? For some, the mitzvah is a supra-rational moment in which one is in touch with their G-dly self. Others view it as a chance to appreciate the unity of the Jewish people, and thus be able to that express joy and love in that given state. I like the idea that it can crumble our sense of security, and to some degree, self-control. Realizing that we are not in control of nearly as much as we'd like to think helps generate a similar feeling the Jews felt during the Purim story. Anyone can become drunk. To take a mundane act like drunkenness and elevating it to a holy status is a challenge and a joy.
2. Getting drunk on Purim is in fact not a mitzvah. Drunkenness can lead to terrible things happening. If we finish reading the passage in the Talmud (Megillah 7b), we see that being the case. After the Rava states his opinion, there is a parable of Rabba and Rav Zeira. They both get drunk on Purim. In a drunken stupor, Rabba stabs Rav Zeira with a knife. Rav Zeira is revived back to life due to a miracle. The following year, Rabba invites Rav Zeira to drink with him on Purim, and he refuses. This story would explain why R. Ephraim ibn Avi Alragan (12 c. rabbi) ruled against drinking on Purim; R. Ephraim felt that this parable negated Rava's opinion. Furthermore, in the Mishnah Torah (Hilchot De'ot 5:8), Maimonides states that a drunkard is a despicable sinner because he loses his self-control, his wisdom, and is thus prone to committing acts like that of Rabba. 
3. Have a bit more than usual. R. Ephraim ibn Avi Alragan read the story literally. Rabbis such as the Maharsha and R' Avraham (son of Maimonides) read the story figuratively and treated the parable as a caveat. This would make sense since it wasn't uncommon for the Talmudic rabbis to use hyperbolic parables to illustrate a point, which in this case would be "don't take your drinking too far or this is what happens." R. Yosef Caro took it to mean "drink a little more than accustomed" (Beit Yosef, Orchot Chayim 495). According to Maimonides (Hilchot Megillah 2:15) and R. Moshe Isserles (Orach Chayim 695:2), one is meant to eat the festive meal and drink enough where the alcohol-induced drowsiness makes one fall asleep. R. Moshe Isserles, or the Rema, points out that the point of falling asleep is when one cannot distinguish between Mordechai and Haman. Hey, I guess passing out beats stabbing someone with a sword! 
4. You're only meant to get tipsy. Here, I define tipsy that point between being buzzed and being drunk. This is why I like that R. Nathaniel Weil interpreted the word "until" (עד) as "up to [and not including]" drunkenness. The word used for drunkenness in the Talmudic passage, לבסומי, comes from the same root as בשמים (the fragrances used on Havdalah). R. Isaiah Horowitz (Shney Luchot HaBrit) points out that actual drunkenness in the Talmud is referred to as מבוסם, not לבסומי. If one has to have enough to drink to have the "fragrance" of alcohol, this could arguably be under Point #3, but I would contend that it fits better under "being tipsy" because it is the typical minimum under which one would need to drink and have the "fragrance" on them. I think this is a good compromise scenario because if one only reaches tipsy and doesn't go into the territory of being drunk or completely wasted, one can find spiritual joy (per Point #1) while still avoiding the problems in Point #2.

Conclusion: Although there were concerns about being wasted and committing sins while under the influence, the rabbis never got rid of the practice. They limited its indulgence to the point of not reaching excess, which is something we should keep in mind to make sure we don't go overboard. Each individual is different. Some people are alcoholics, in which case, they shouldn't drink on Purim (Chofetz Chaim, Biur Halacha, Orach Chayim 695, Note 1); the same goes for those who know they'd be a danger while drunk. Others have complete control over their drinking and can handle self-control without a problem. Most people fall somewhere in between those two extremes. The wide variety of chemical reactions to alcohol is probably why the rabbis never quantified the amount one had to drink in order to fulfill the mitzvah. That is why I clarify that this blog entry's function is to elucidate upon rabbinic commentary and present possible interpretations to the tradition of drinking on Purim. If you have questions or [personal] concerns regarding this tradition, you should bring them up with your rabbi. Ultimately, the Rema gives a good perspective on this practice. He says that whether we drink more or less than normal, the important thing is that our drinking on Purim is for the sake of Heaven. Regardless of how much you decide to drink, I hope that you find joy on Purim!


2-25-2018 Addendum: This past Shabbat, I went to a shiur (class) on this very topic at my synagogue. Although my conclusion remains the same, I added a few new sources not previously in the initial piece in order to enhance the halachic analysis. 

There Is Nothing Jewish About Halloween

Tomorrow is Halloween, and that means events such as costume parties, pumpkin carving, watching horror movies, and children trick-or-treating. While it might be a fun time of year for many of those around me, it made me ask whether this celebration is or can be Jewish in nature. After giving much thought to the matter, I have answered in the negative for the following reasons:

1) Halloween's origins. In contrast to the holiday of Thanksgiving, Halloween's origins are decidedly non-secular in nature. For many historians, Halloween has pagan origins (Celtic holiday dating back to the 5th century BCE), and was subsequently influenced by Christianity to become All Hallow's Eve, the day preceding All Saint's Day. Due to its religious origins, a Jew is forbidden to celebrate it. One can argue that the religious elements of Halloween have been extracted from the holiday, and now, it's only a secular holiday in which children eat lots of candy. Although it is [theoretically] possible to remove religious origins from a holiday, it is still difficult, if not impossible, to remove it completely. And even if you want to ignore traditional Judaism's prohibition on observing religious holidays of non-Jewish origin, there are other Jewish reasons not to celebrate Halloween.

2) Imitating the non-Jew. Based on Leviticus 18:3, Tosafot laid out two different types of actions done by the non-Jew that cannot be imitated (Avodah Zarah 11a). The first is idolatrous acts. Even if you want to argue that Halloween is not "idolatrous," there is still the matter of the second category: foolish customs found in the Gentile/non-Jewish community. In order for an action to be disqualified from this categorization (e.g., a physician wearing a special garment to identify himself as a doctor), one needs to be able to explain the rationales of the actions independent of Halloween. Since none of the Halloween traditions can be explained in such a rational manner, Halloween and the customs that come along with it have to be considered un-Jewish. 

3) Choosing Life. Deuteronomy 30:19 tells us to choose between life and death, and how we approach Halloween is no exception. With all of the skeletons, ghosts, and zombies, not to mention having a goal of "scaring people to death," Halloween is a glorification of death. No matter how you market it, Halloween is very much rooted in the motif of death, and that has no place in Jewish life. 

4) "Trick or Treat." Think about that phrase for a moment. "Trick or treat." What first and foremost annoys me about the practice about trick-or-treating is the presumptuous self-entitlement mentality that comes along with it. Not only is it belligerently demanding to say "Trick or treat" because you feel entitled to candy from your neighbors, but if you don't give candy, you threaten your neighbor with a "trick" (read: punish your neighbor for not giving into your indulgence, i.e., that coercion is strong enough where one could make a halachic argument for giving candy only). Commanding that someone give you something for nothing while threatening the individual with a "trick" does not line up with Jewish values in the slightest.

5) Taking versus Giving. If you, as a Jew, are worried about not being able to dress up in a costume, don't worry because we have a time of year for that. It's called Purim. Rather than inculcate the mentality of taking like Halloween does while perpetuating an obesity problem, what Purim does is inculcate the joy of giving by requiring two mitzvahs: a) sending baskets of food to at least two family members or friends (משלוח מנות), and b) giving money to at least two poor people. 

To live a Jewish live does not mean to live a monastic lifestyle. It doesn't mean self-deprivation, and it certainly doesn't mean living separately from people who aren't Jewish. However, it does means in order to live Jewishly, there are certain distinctions we have to make because Jews have a different mission in life, and as such, certain boundaries have to be drawn. Halloween is a holiday for certain non-Jews, and Jews have their own holidays. There are certain holidays, such as Thanksgiving or Fourth of July, where the Jew and the non-Jew can come together because there are no religious qualms to speak of. Conversely, there are certain holidays such as Halloween, Christmas, and Easter, and these are instances in which Jews need to say "Look, they have their holidays. We have our holidays. What makes this pluralistic society so wonderful is that we can each observe our own holidays in the same country, and it doesn't cause conflict." Jews don't need to celebrate every non-Jewish holiday out there because quite honestly, there are more than plenty of Jewish holidays that a Jew can celebrate.