Rabbi's Reveries

When I was in high school, I went through a phase where I wanted to celebrate Judaism publicly and proudly. I was annoyed that Christian holidays like Halloween, Christmas, St. Valentine’s Day, and St. Patrick’s Day were observed in school, but the only one of my holidays that anyone knew about was Hanukkah. I didn’t need others to celebrate the Jewish holidays with me, but I wanted to express my Jewishness in school in ways beyond the necklace I wore. I wanted to live my Jewish life in otherwise secular spaces, not just in my home and synagogue.

That year, instead of dressing up in costume for Halloween (which, to be fair, I hadn’t done for a number of years), I dressed up on Purim. If that wasn’t odd enough in my high school of 2000 kids, of whom maybe 50 were Jewish, I went in a particularly nerdy homemade costume. I wrapped myself in a swath of starry blue fabric, wore a crown, and held a glittery star wand so I could be the Queen of the Night from Mozart’s Magic Flute. I was the only person in costume. And no, I don’t have pictures.

Despite this strange-to-them behavior, my classmates and teachers were very respectful about the whole thing. They wondered why I was dressed up and what I was dressed as (how many high schoolers are into opera?), but no one gave me a hard time. If anyone thought or said anything mean or obnoxious, it wasn’t in my presence. I had to do a lot of explaining, but I never felt unsafe.

While I didn’t dress up for Purim during the rest of my high school experience, it was the perfect holiday to experiment with how I navigate and negotiate my Jewish and American identities. Purim tells the story of Jews who were so fully integrated into Persian society that they could shed or put on their Jewish identity at will. Esther, for example, is so completely Persian that she can live in King Ahasuerus’s court without anyone knowing that she’s Jewish. Nevertheless, she makes her Jewish identity known when it’s needed to protect her fellow Jews. Meanwhile, Mordecai’s more obvious Jewish identity—at least in practice if not also in dress—bothers no one except for Haman and his cronies. Both of them had different but equally successful ways of navigating their Jewish and Persian identities.

We learn from Mordecai and Esther that Purim is a quintessential holiday for those of us who are fully engaged with the secular culture around us and deeply committed to maintaining our Jewish identities. We might choose to share our Jewishness more prominently and publicly or we might choose to keep it more private unless there’s good reason to share. And we might choose differently depending on the situation or how we feel at any given moment. As we approach our Purim celebrations, I invite you to reflect on how you navigate and integrate your different identities and how each of them brings fullness and blessing to your life.

Chag Purim sameach!