A Message from the Rabbi: Preparing for the Purim Feast

We continue our collaboration with the Rabbi Adin Even-Israel Steinsaltz Institute and publish materials specially prepared for member communities of the EAJC. This article is published posthumously, following the passing of the great thinker of our generation, scholar and Hasid, Rabbi Steinsaltz, of blessed memory.

The connection between Purim and Yom Kippur is well known. Our sages noted that "Yom Kippur (the 'Day of Atonements') is a day 'like Purim'" (in the Kabbalistic book Tikkunei Zohar, 21:57b, there is a play on the phonetic similarity of the words: "Yom HaKippurim – Yom ke-Purim"). The similarity between them lies in the fact that neither is a normal continuation of ordinary life.

On both of these holidays, we break out of the boundaries of our Ego and act as though we are not ourselves: on Yom Kippur, we achieve sincere repentance, while on Purim, we go beyond the limits of rational thought, becoming intoxicated to the point where one "cannot distinguish between Haman and Mordechai."

However, there is a fundamental difference between these two ways of transcending the mundane: Yom Kippur is essentially a day of forgiveness and absolution of sins, "the day itself atones" (Yoma, 86b) even without prior internal work on the part of the individual. In contrast, "breaking the patterns" on Purim requires careful preparation; the temporary loss of mental clarity must stem from an awareness and understanding of what the individual wishes to achieve through this "breakthrough," otherwise there is neither meaning nor benefit to it. Thus, Purim could easily become merely a day that began and ended, leaving behind nothing but a headache and soiled clothes (in which case all the "efforts" are in vain, as one could have limited themselves to the halachic minimum regarding "until one cannot distinguish," namely, sleep).

A common element of the Purim holiday, although not mentioned in the sources, is the masquerade. In the Book of Esther – the Book of Concealment – there is a series of "disguises": the sages relate that Haman was actually just a bathhouse attendant and barber from the village of Kartzum (Megillah, 16a), who merely costumed himself as a ruler. Esther "disguised herself" by concealing her people and her origin. Most importantly, the miracle of Purim is performed in a "disguised" form. Sometimes salvation comes through obvious miracles, but here the miracle is hidden under a mask, so that everything appears conventional and salvation seems to occur through natural laws.

Nature itself is the mask of the world, and the gematria (one of three methods for "revealing the hidden meaning" of a word by assigning numerical values to letters; widely used in Kabbalistic texts in Hebrew and Aramaic, ed.) of the word "nature" (teva), being equal to the gematria of the word G-d (Elokim), shows who is actually hidden behind it. Sources state that nature is so named because meaning sinks in it (in Hebrew, the words for "nature" and "to sink" share the same root). Only the outer shell is visible, not what is hidden inside.
Thus, on Purim, intoxication is required to perceive the things that hide beneath the masks. The miracle of Purim does not end with many of the peoples of the land embracing Judaism, as this, too, was ultimately only a mask. The miracle, in part, is that the Jews themselves shed their masks. It took the cruel decree of Ahasuerus for them to remove them and resolve that they were Jews; so everyone must attempt to tear away the mask that hides what is concealed.

From a physiological standpoint, alcohol is a substance that depresses brain activity (an extreme degree of this suppression can be seen in someone who has consumed a large amount of alcohol and fallen into a sleep from which it is very difficult, nearly impossible, to wake them). The suppression occurs gradually: in the first stage, the activity of those centers that control certain behaviors (both positive and negative) is suppressed – thus allowing dormant and hidden things to emerge. An alcoholic drink does not provide direction. Its role is to allow other things to be revealed.

What manifests during intoxication can be highly unusual and diverse: some people fall into joy, others may begin to weep. In some, all kinds of vulgarity come to light, while in others, conversely, only holy things emerge.

For intoxication to benefit a person, rather than making them base and unsightly, the purpose of this process and the form that the transcendence of the ordinary should take must be determined beforehand. It is necessary to consider in advance where this breakthrough should lead, calculating how the release from the bonds of the mundane will unfold.

Just as in Halacha (Jewish law) an action that originates in a specific intention is regarded as the fulfillment of that intention, the same applies to intoxication: everything depends on the intention a person had before they began to drink. If they drink to get drunk, cause a disturbance, or fall asleep quickly, these goals will ultimately be achieved. But if the intention is to enter a state of intoxication so that something significant may emerge – even if they do not know beforehand exactly what (Purim, after all, is a day of mysticism and incomprehensibility) – it offers a special opportunity to act not by ordinary rational calculations, but to rise above them.

A person should say: I am now stepping outside of common sense and logic, I have the opportunity to cross my ordinary boundaries; on Purim, I can seize the occasion to touch things that I cannot reach throughout the entire year.

In life, we often find ourselves afraid to take initiative; sometimes we must make a decision, but we lack either the time or the courage to do so. Life is structured so that there are never pauses, and the wheel of time cannot be stopped at any point. We grow accustomed to looking at everything statically, each person telling themselves: "I am who I am, everyone knows me this way, and this is how I must remain." On Purim, an opportunity is provided to deviate from stereotypes of thought, as everything is in motion and changing.

This applies not only to the fulfillment of commandments and service to the Almighty, but to other areas of life as well. We require assistance to stir us and move us from our place, and although Dutch courage from a glass of wine is not genuine courage, a good drink may still suffice for us to dare to make a decision to change our lives from this moment and for the future.

Sometimes a person fears the consequences of the profound changes they intend to make. They tell themselves: "If I begin to ascend various steps and levels, who knows where I will end up?" Likewise, when we pray or are engaged in serving the Almighty, apprehensions arise: "What if I become too righteous a person?" Purim is a suitable time for radical changes, for decisions we have postponed due to various fears generated by reason. The suppression of rational control, on one hand, may provide me with the opportunity to commit all the transgressions I have always wanted to commit, but on the other hand, it will grant the opportunity to perform those commandments I have always wanted to perform but never dared to.

Purim is a time to leap to the other side in order to continue and remain there tomorrow. Transcendence occurs not only during the time of intoxication: it is a fitting occasion to break free – since, one way or another, we have already shaken off the familiar track.

Throughout the year, there are many things we would like to do or say, but we fail to do so. Sometimes these are things that do not conform to the rules of politeness, and sometimes we are uncertain if they truly express our opinion. When Purim arrives, words of a different kind suddenly emerge from us and others, expressions of special value. I might want to say to someone: "When I see you, it warms my heart," but I cannot, because we have known each other too long and too well, and it feels awkward to put into words the fact that we are kindred spirits. On Purim, one can say all sorts of things. Perhaps tomorrow we will both forget this drunken conversation, but a certain impression will remain forever somewhere inside. Where do these declarations come from? Just as on Yom Kippur a person can say: "Time has now lost its usual meaning, the tape of time can be rewound, and I can act as though I have never sinned," so on Purim I can say everything and do everything, as if the world were newly created.

Purim is a holiday when masks are shed, and one cannot know in advance what will be found beneath them. Exactly what will be revealed depends on the question: how do we enter this holiday? Purim is a day of unrestrained joy and eccentricity, the only day on which Jews are permitted to lose their balance, a day on which we are commanded to suspend consciousness in order to open new doors. What lies behind them? That depends on how we prepare for their opening.

To all our dear readers, a happy Purim from the Rabbi Steinsaltz Center (of blessed memory). L'chaim, l'chaim!