The shul is a sea of white. A somber hush spreads through the crowd as the aron kodesh is opened. The haunting strains of Kol Nidrei begin….
“Like the beginning of my article?”
“Hey, didn’t you say you’re writing about Purim…?”
“Oy! You’re right. My editor will have a fit. I better start over…”
The shul is a burst of color. The baal korei makes his way to the bimah as the brightly-costumed children squirm in anticipation. The lilting tune of Megillas Esther begins.
From kittels to clown wigs, from fasting to feasting, no two Yamim Tovim seem further apart than Yom Kippur and Purim. The two holidays are diametrically opposed to one another. Yet we are taught that Yom Kippur is a day that is merely k’Purim, like Purim. Could it be that Purim, with its sticky lollipops and hamantashen crumbs, is actually loftier than Yom Kippur, a day when we resemble the angels? How is that possible? What is the big deal about Purim?
Well, we know we are not angels. What we might not remember is that we are in fact greater than angels (sticky lollipops and all), because we dwell in a physical world and yet have the ability to transform that physicality into kedusha, holiness. The Arizal writes, furthermore, that Purim is greater than Yom Kippur because on Yom Kippur we relate to Hashem from a place of fear, while on Purim we relate to Him from a place of love. It was on Purim that the Jews reaccepted the Torah from love. (And when they accepted the mitzvos of Purim, they reaccepted the Oral Torah from love as well.)
So Purim is about love, and when done properly, it can bring about a veritable explosion of love for Hashem – for His Torah, His mitzvos, and His special nation. But how do you love Hashem?
It’s not an easy task, Harav Avigdor Miller, zt”l, once said, although it is in fact the highest level of serving Hashem. Harav Miller explained that, just as when our enemies fight us they’re really fighting Hashem, the converse is true as well: When a person loves other Jews, he is really loving Hashem. And what is the effect of the mitzvos of Purim if not to increase the love, peace, and unity among us? We give tzedaka and mishlo’ach manos, and we dance, sing, and celebrate together. As we don our costumes on Purim day, our differences melt away, and we are all friends. Purim is a day to love our fellow Jews.
“I know…I know…but should I do the brown-checkered ribbon or the green-striped?”
Let’s take a closer look at the four mitzvos of Purim and see how ordinary people (who just happen to be greater than angels) have used the mitzvos of Purim to show their love of other Jews and to propel themselves higher. Perhaps they will inspire the rest of us to look past the ribbons and the cellophane and to tap into the holiness of this extraordinary day.
Mitzva #1: Matanos La’evyonim – Gifts to the Poor
The Rambam, in Hilchos Purim, states that it’s preferable to spend more money on matanos la’evyonim than on your seudah or on mishlo’ach manos. Through this halacha, the Rambam teaches us the big secret of Purim: “There is no greater happiness than to gladden the hearts of the poor, the orphan, the widow, and the convert, because in that way we resemble the Shechina (Hashem).”
“Green-striped, for sure. Hey, do you think cotton balls will work for my Marshmallow Fluff ’n Stuff theme?”
Rabbi D. has personally experienced this happiness through his private collecting and distribution of matanos la’evyonim. He started collecting years ago for a family he knew personally, and his list has grown over the years, some needy people even approaching him directly. “These are all fine, upstanding families,” says Rabbi D. “They all have jobs, but when Yom Tov comes they really struggle.”
Rabbi D. starts a few weeks before Purim, going around to different shuls. In some shuls he leaves a pan with his name, and people drop in money, which the gabbai holds for him. “People want to give,” says Rabbi D. “They give eagerly and generously, some of them dropping pretty big bills in the pans. I think they feel good to be giving to people in their own community.” People call Rabbi D. all day on Purim to ask if they can still give.
The most heartwarming part for Rabbi D. is distributing the money on Purim. “The families are so grateful and appreciative,” says Rabbi D. “It really makes my Purim!”
Money is not the only way to gladden hearts. Chayala S. remembers when she was single, and she was asked to put on a magic show for families that had lost a parent. She showed up at the homes on Purim, performed her show, and left. “It was so random,” says Chayala. “I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me, and everyone was just able to enjoy themselves.”
Now married with her own children, Chayala still tries to bring joy on Purim to those in need. In recent years, she has brought her kids to juggle for a bedridden woman. Her children feel good about themselves, and Chayala feels good to be passing on this beautiful tradition.
Mitzva #2: Mishlo’ach Manos
Mishlo’ach manos is undoubtedly the mitzva that keeps us busiest. This mitzva was instituted to strengthen our unity. Haman accused us of being a scattered people, but we rose to the challenge of Purim in fine form and united as one.
“Marshmallow Fluff ’n Stuff? Sounds heaven! Just watch out for the mess...Remember what happened last year with your makkas barad theme, with Italian ices on a Sterno?”
Mrs. M. will never forget when she was in seminary in Israel “just a few years ago.” She was passing a beggar sitting on the street when she witnessed a cute little boy, dressed as a water carrier, approach this man. The boy handed the beggar a big, beautifully-packaged mishlo’ach manos containing a homemade cake and a wine bottle. “My mother made this for you,” the little boy informed the delighted beggar.
“My camera was broken,” Mrs. M. says wistfully, “But I still have a picture in my mind of that happy beggar.” Years later, when Mrs. M. was living in a small out-of-town community, each week, she and her kids would greet an elderly man who worked behind the deli counter of the local grocery. He was mute, or so they thought, and her kids called him Simon the Pickle Man, because he sold pickles.
Well, Mrs. M.’s three-year-old son took a liking to Simon. When this little boy got his new tzitzis, he went behind the counter and asked Simon to kiss them. Simon then turned to Mrs. M. and said, “I used to look like this too, before they grabbed me away from the Rebbe’s tish.”
“You could have blown me away,” Mrs. M. recalls. On the way home, she and her children discussed the incident and decided to bring Simon his own mishlo’ach manos on Purim. “And since then,” she adds, “We try every year to find someone in town no one else would have thought of and bring them mishlo’ach manos.”
Then there’s the Cohen family from Lakewood, a lively bunch who are always looking for adventure. Years ago, they lived within walking distance of a nursing home. Every year, Mrs. Cohen would gather all the children from her development, and they’d walk in costume, pied-piper style, to the nursing home, where they’d deliver everyone’s left over and repackaged mishlo’ach manos. “It was a win-win for everyone,” says Mrs. Cohen. “The kids loved it, the seniors loved it, and since we went right before the seudah, when all the parents were busy setting up, the parents loved it too!”
Mitzvah #3: The Purim Seudah
Mrs. Cohen grew up in England, where her father was a community rabbi. Every year her mother would set up long tables with refreshments and drinks, and the Jewish college students who lived nearby would come and partake. Mrs. Cohen recalls the room being packed with students singing and swaying to the Jewish music. And every year her father would propose a challenge. The students could present the first half of any verse in the Torah, and he’d have to finish it. If he finished it, he had a l’chaim, and if he couldn’t finish it, the students had a l’chaim. “He never lost a challenge,” Mrs. Cohen remembers. “I was always so proud.”
Of course you don’t need to be a big kiruv rabbi to invite someone to your seudah. Mrs. M. (of Simon-the-Pickle-Man fame) shares that every year her family tries to think of someone to invite to their seudah who most probably wouldn’t get another invitation. “The truth is,” she adds thoughtfully, “It usually adds a lot to our seudah.”
“Oy, shalach manos is so complicated! And on top of all that, my carrot gallows with hanging roast chicken legs that I made for the seudah keep falling on my cubed-potato palaces! Aaaaah...”
Nechama B. remembers being on the other side of the coin, how good it felt to have someone think about her. She and her family were new in town, and she was feeling alone during the community’s bustling Purim preparations, when an old friend thought to invite them to the Purim seudah. “It meant the world to me,” Nechama recalls. “Somebody remembered us.”
Although the following example is not of a seudah, it is about a party, and it’s too good to leave out. A group of girls in Lakewood make a Purim party each year for special-needs children for a few hours on Purim day. Everyone comes in costume, and they all dance and exchange mishlo’ach manos. It’s fun for the girls, fun for the kids, and most importantly, it gives the families a much-needed break on this very busy day of the year.
“Seriously! And I’m totally stressed out about our costumes. We’re doing Snow White and the seven dwarves, but we only have six children. Know of any costume places that rent out children? I’m so overwhelmed!”
Mitzva #4: Krias Hamegillah
Rabbi Moshe Juravel spends his Purim leining Megillah for anyone in need: the elderly, the hospitalized or anyone else who can’t get to a regular Megillah reading. According to Rabbi Juravel, “It’s kema’at (just about) all I do on Purim,” and his seudah begins just moments before shkiah.
The Juravel home becomes a clearing house for people to call if they need to hear Megillah. People call at all times of day and night, and the Juravels don’t turn anyone away. But Rabbi Juravel is quick to clarify that it’s a group effort, with his wife fielding the phone calls and a whole crew of bachurim going anywhere and everywhere they are needed.
Over the years, they have had the opportunity to touch many people, from the elderly Yekkishe man who got to hear the Megillah read in the old Yekkishe tune, to the man who was considered unresponsive by the doctors but suddenly banged at the mention of Haman’s name. Rabbi Juravel tells of one time when a woman was in labor for most of Purim. At three o’clock in the afternoon, she had the baby, and Rabbi Juravel showed up shortly afterward. “We even got a call from Lakewood once,” he shares. Someone was in the hospital and needed to hear Megillah. “I sent my son,” he says, the nachas evident in his voice.
Not everyone can lein, of course. “If you can’t read Megillah, you can drive,” says Rabbi Juravel. “Or you can lend a Megillah.” There are many ways to help.
Something everyone can do on Purim is to have others in mind when davening. Purim is an auspicious day for tefilah. Just as we don’t turn away from an outstretched palm on Purim, Hashem doesn’t turn away from our tefilos. That’s why some busy mothers specifically try to go to neitz (minyan at dawn), and to the first Megillah reading of the day, so that they can have some uninterrupted davening before the chaos of the day begins. Others have made it a point to complete sefer Tehillim together with a group as a zechus for someone in need.
“You know...I’m almost done with this article, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe we have our priorities a little mixed up….”
“You mean, like, Purim is really about loving our fellow Jews and increasing peace and unity among us, as well as gladdening the hearts of widows and orphans, thereby displaying our love of Hashem, which confirms our reacceptance of the Torah from love and transforms our mundane, physical acts into acts of kedusha, making Purim even holier than Yom Kippur and people even higher than angels?”
“Exactly!”
“Wahoooooo! I can do that!”
A freilichin Purim to all!
