“You’re not punk, and I’m telling everyone. Save your breath, man, I never was one.”

Jawbreaker, “Boxcar”

Real Stories that Never Happened

Purim begins sundown tonight, Saturday, March 23, 2024. Composed between 400-300 BCE, the Book of Esther is the story that enshrines this festival, the only not to be mentioned in Torah – if you’re a regular reader here, you’ll know plenty about the Hebrew Bible, or Tanakh, an acronym for Torah (the “Law of Moses”), Neviim (the prophets), and Khetuvim (the Writings): T + N + Kh: Tanakh. Esther appears in the Writings.

Colloquially, the scroll (not book, but same difference) of Esther, or megillah, has made its way into familiar discourse, where Jews derive the colloquialism, “Don’t give me the whole megillah,” as in, just give me the main ideas, not all the details; not the “whole megillah.” This makes sense because part of the guidelines for celebrating Purim include hearing two public readings of the story. This time of year, Jews, at least those who observe some of the ancient practices, will be hearing “the whole megillah,” tonight and again tomorrow morning.

Two addenda: First, I cannot speak without giving the whole megillah, and I am aware of this self-realization. Now you can call me on that, in a culturally sensitive way. That’s a joke. And second, observance (or not) does not define one’s Jewish identity. The worthiness of one’s identity, one’s secure membership in our population group, and one’s right to full participation in our community has nothing to do with one’s ritual observance. I’m a smash the gatekeeping, self-identification, radical re-imagining of identity type guy. That part is not a joke.

Codified in the Rabbinic writings of the 2nd century CE, the raucous, often lewd, booze soaked, story of surviving in a foreign land has been part of the Jewish experience for more than 2,000 years. More on all this soon. I’ll share the major plot points of the story in this post, but my aim here is something very different. Something different from a primer on Purim, but I figure at least some intro is useful because this blog has been one for those who identify as Jewish, Christian, or no particular tradition at all. For me, Purim is a holiday of reclamation, of empowerment, of re-imagination, of embracing diaspora, as figuring my own life as a flea market Jew whose identity was discarded for no particular reason that is blameworthy, but for whose refurbishment and restoration is a significant portion of my identity as a tool for meaning-making and rootedness in the world.

That is Purim for me.

And also, the hamantaschen.

Composition

The story of beautiful and cunning Esther and her wise uncle, Mordecai; the villain, Haman; and the NCP (non playable character, for those without 10 year olds in your house) King Ahasuerus are the key actors in the Purim spiel.

While the setting for the story is historical enough in so far as the composition reflects knowledge of Persian court history, geography, and the treatment of Persian excess, consistent with Hellenized literature of and about the same themes, these events are completely fictitious. This isn’t a controversial take. Unlike the thrust toward inerrancy and Divine authorship that has gripped some Christian communities or the Mosaic authorship that grips some of my (figurative) siblings, this story is not to be read like the script of a Ken Burns documentary. As the Jewish Publication Society Jewish Study Bible writes in its introduction to Esther, this is a story where the characters are caricatures.

Esther reports shared themes with other narratives for Jews in foreign lands, for example, the Book of Daniel, and some similar themes appear in portions of the Deuteronomistic literature. More than this, themes found in other Wisdom literature and historical prose also appear in Esther. It’s not an altogether wrong thing to say that these texts reflect a broad engagement with the tension of maintaining one’s identity when residing in other societies.

We often date the Jewish diaspora to the destruction of the Second Temple in the first century CE, but it simply is the case that, owing to our shared ancestry with Canaanites, Jewish people have existed as intermingled tribes within Southwest Asia for thousands and thousands of years. In this way, our origin stories seek to differentiate us from those tribes from whom we emerged and to carve out our lives of inner and closed practice, as we grew (sometimes forcibly) into other empires and population groups. Assimilation has always been at hand, and assimilation has always been perceived as a threat. Should it be so?

We see the history of Jewish conspiracy theories developing over centuries, owing in part to this desire to exist as an inward-facing people, engaged in closed practices.

Theology

Interestingly, the theology for Esther differs between the Greek (LXX) text and the Hebrew Masoretic version (MT). The MT is found in most Jewish and Protestant Bibles and portrays Esther as a more secular story. There’s little mention of God or specific religious practices. The Greek Septuagint, or LXX, includes several additions not found in the MT. These additions include more overt religious practice, reference to other festivals, and theologically-laden dream interpretation.

Of course, scholars debate the reasons for these discrepancies. Some argue the LXX additions represent the original Hebrew text, which was later edited in the MT to remove more overtly religious elements. On the other hand, a so-called “Embellishment by Translators” theory posits that Greek translators themselves added these religious elements to make the story more familiar and relatable to a Hellenistic Jewish audience.

What I’ve found most interesting, owing to my own obsession with the history of the Qumran Community, is that the Dead Sea Scroll library seemed not to preserve Esther in its extensive collection. This is odd because the Book of Daniel, not dissimilar in theme, was a bestseller at Qumran. Is this owing to a straightforward conflict with the Qumran calendar that differed slightly from that maintained at the Temple? Conflicting calendars would put Purim on Shabbat every year. Or did the carnival nature of Purim conflict with their asceticism? Like the questions of deletions vs. insertions for the theology, this puzzle also remains lost to doctoral theses and research projects.

We can trace the early observance of Purim to at least the 2nd century BCE, shortly following its composition. The Mishnah, a foundational Rabbinic text compiled around 200 CE, devotes a whole section (Tractate Megillah) to the laws of Purim observance, including details about reading the Megillah. While these exact dates are unknown, the public reading of sacred literature was common practice for the largely illiterate Second Temple population, and Purim’s story naturally lent itself to this format.

Plot

In short, Esther, a young Jewish woman, hiding her identity, becomes Queen of Persia after King Ahasuerus holds a beauty pageant. (It is more sexually suggestive than this.) Her uncle Mordecai goes on to serve the king loyally. Mordecai uncovers a plot to assassinate the king and saves him. Mordecai refuses to bow down to Haman, the king’s arrogant advisor. Insulted by Mordecai’s defiance, Haman convinces the king to allow him to wipe out all the Jews in the kingdom, recall Esther’s hidden her identity. He, Haman, casts lots (purim) to choose the date for this massacre.

Mordecai pleads with Esther to use her influence with the king to save the Jews. Esther, risking her own life, invites the king and Haman to a series of banquets. Here comes the booze! At these banquets, Esther cleverly reveals her Jewish identity and exposes Haman’s plot. The king saves the Jews and orders Haman impaled on a 50 cubit spear built initially by Haman for Mordecai’s execution! Pretty brutal, bro.

Aware of Mordecai’s good deed and the king’s favor of Esther, the king rescinds the orders to slaughter the Jews, and instead, new orders are issued that the Jews are authorized to take up swords against their enemies; the very ones who were preparing to do them in. Purim becomes a joyous holiday celebrating deliverance and courage.

And killing enemies. So there’s that. We’ll get to it.

The Jewish festival trope appears again: They tried to kill us. They failed. Let’s eat!

Themes

Despite the victorious end, and to say a word on that briefly at the top, the inclusion of vengeance fits the narrative, but by that, may we not infer violence as an ideal. Recall, this is not a report from history. This story is one of guidance and solidarity for navigating a Jewish life outside of a wholly Jewish community.

A key theme, in fact, is vulnerability: The Jews in the story are a minority group living under the rule of a foreign king. This reflects the reality of many Jews throughout history who have faced precarious situations in exile and diaspora, as we touched on earlier.

Along with vulnerability, we also encounter the tension between assimilation and Identity. Esther hides her Jewish identity at first, highlighting the challenges of maintaining traditions and cultural identity while living among a different majority. Ritual observance itself is largely absent from the story. And yet, even in exile, Esther uses her position as queen to advocate for her people, and this may urge us toward considering the resilience and resourcefulness of Jews who have navigated positions of power within non-Jewish societies.

I think for me, this all culminates with, I guess I’d say, celebrating in diaspora: Purim itself becomes a symbol of Jewish perseverance and joy found even outside the Land of Israel. I think this theme is significant for at least two reasons. First, and I already hinted at this above, my Jewish identity is both profoundly important to me and yet very tenuous in the world, having the clear marker of matrilineal descent yet uncoupled from a Jewish childhood. After discovering this hidden identity (though, mine was hidden from me, unlike Esther who hid hers), I’ve been deeply engaged in study and learning for 25 years in the ongoing act of t’shuvah. And second, I’ve been a vocal critic of the political state in this blog, and I celebrate this ancient story that reminds us of our solidarity, outside of the land.

Modern Jewish Thought and Postmodern Identity

The Book of Esther and Purim have been a rich source of exploration for Jewish scholars throughout history, with many connecting the story’s themes to laws and interpretations about Jewish identity. Maintaining identity in exile is not the least of these, and the unity of the Jewish people facing annihilation by Haman stresses the importance of Jewish unity. Our laws and interpretations, whether we actively observe them or allow them into our lifeworlds as the ether that we breathe without knowing it, stresses the importance of communal responsibility and supporting each other.

Purim, from the perspective of modern Jewish thought, presents to us a challenge: How might we grapple with the concept of a unified Jewish identity in a world where Jews are geographically dispersed and culturally diverse? How do our reactions about Israel, the nation-state, challenge our unity in diversity of thought?

The Book of Esther is a reflection on this fragmented identity. Esther navigates two worlds, Jewish and Persian, and ultimately saves her people without relying on overt displays of religiosity. We are both hidden and unified, and for me, this is a model for diaspora existence. Swapping hamantaschen with those on the inside, keeping somewhat to myself otherwise. Is this the model of Jewish life?

Purim celebrates the possibility of a multifaceted Jewish identity, where Jews can embrace different cultural influences while still maintaining a strong sense of ourselves as a people.

I close by reference to the opening quote, “You’re not punk, and I’m telling everyone.” My own insecurity with my identity is something I’ve found more commonplace among our people. No doubt a whole lot of us are unequivocally Jewish in conviton, temperament, etc., but us on the fringes exist, and if you ask me, there’s a lot of room for us to grow; to redefine; to reimagine. It’s totally middle finger punk rock to tell old Ezra and Nehemiah in their restoration of the Temple following the Babylonian Exile that no, we will not engage in ancestry purity tests or dissolve our intermarriages.

I think Esther’s got our back on this.

The late, great Joe Strummer of The Clash was asked once to define punk rock music, and he countered, I’m paraphrasing, by saying that punk isn’t a genre so much as it is an ethos, one that says, “Give us some truth.” I think Esther is a book of multilayered truth, even though nothing in the book is historically factual. Some would argue that this is the best kind of truth there is.

Chag sameach, fam. xx. -a.