Purim: Unmasking My True Identities

There are many things I'd like to share about Purim in itself. Nothing more important, though, then how it can transform us as individuals. However, to begin, I'd like to explain a little about a very misunderstood holiday. 

Superficially, I've always explained Purim as the Jew's St. Patrick's day and Halloween. In reality, there is nothing further from the truth. I'll admit there are costumes and people who go overboard and get themselves stone-cold drunk. Nevertheless, this is not the essence of the holiday. 

Purim, in short, is a typical history lesson where a tyrannical Persian king tries to get rid of his cruel, but beautiful, wife (the granddaughter of Nebachnezzer), while the top official is planning his own coupe d'eta. So how do the Jews fit in? The top official was petitioning to wipe out our people (how original). The king, serendipitously for us, married a Jewess after killing his first wife, who had made him king. No Gd is mentioned and no open miracles were preformed. This holiday, though, is used as a comparison for our holiest day of the year: Yom kippur. 

Our day of atonement, Yom Kippur (יום כיפור), is only LIKE Purim (פורים). We see this by looking at the names alone. If you split up the name for our day of atonement is says, "יום כי פור" lit. "A day like Purim" (the plural of פור is פורים). Why is our holiest day really Purim and not Yom Kippur? And how does Gd fit in? 

For the sake of brevity (which I've been working on) I'll hop right to it. Purim is Gd helping us, the Jews, in the diaspora in which we currently reside. He doesn't split seas or call out to us in a booming voice. Gd helps us by setting everything into place. You could simply call the events of Purim luck, chance, or destiny. I call it Gd's hand. Purim is holier then even Yom Kippur and the rest of the holidays because whereas Gd signs his name in all those occurrences, on Purim he signs "Love Anonymous" and the Jews understood. 

If anyone was still wondering where the costumes and booze fit in, here is where my narrative begins...

What is a costume? To most of us, costumes are a facade to hide our identities. On Purim, it's a day to get rid of the facade we wear everyday! We unmask our inner selves. We let down our "walls" simply because we changed our surroundings and external output. Similarly, alcohol does the same!   "A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts." It's not about dressing up or getting drunk, Purim is all about unmasking our true identity! This is, sadly, often the identity we try to cover or deny the most. 

During the Purim chagigah (party) at my school I had an amazing insight to my own identity. I came dressed up as myself from high school. I wore a thin hoodie layered with a black teeshirt pulled over, jeans, a red wig, flat-brim, converse, and all my facial piercing in. Getting dressed I felt "liberated" from my religious "facade." But, a few minutes after getting dressed, I realized my jeans felt awkward. My shirt felt too boyish. The hat didn't feel normal. I looked in the mirror and my red wig looked too attention-grabbing and so did all my piercings. I got on the subway and no one looked twice! Was this "normal"? 

I whipped out my Ipod and started to daven birkas hashachar (morning blessings). Woah, did Gd see me like this? A wave of uneasiness befell me. I looked around and saw a religious lady looking at me. Did she know this was a costume? Did I?

After arriving at school I got a lot of "woahhhhs." Someone asked me if I was dressed like a punk/tomboy. When I explained this was how I dressed in high school, a girl said, "I can't believe how much you've changed!" That's when I realized how much I've changed too...

That wasn't the end of my costume experience though. Later, I did a costume switch-up. I was supposed to be a uber-religious Beis Yaakov girl going to her fourth year of seminary for th school Purim shpiel! Pleated skirt mid-calf, blue button-up blouse to my neck, black stockings, flats, hair pulled back into a pony, and piercings removed. It was a switch-up indeed! 

I got compliments from the staff (they thought now this is what I should look like!). I was tugging at my collar and skirt. Were these shoes too tight? Who wears shoes with out socks? They felt funny. My hair felt unnaturally tame. Why was this skirt awkwardly hitting my legs? I looked in the mirror. Who was this girl?! Not me, that's for sure!

As I ran into the bathroom to change back to my high school getup, I realized neither of the costumes were "me." I'm not pious or punk. I'm not a rebel or religious. I'm not frum or fitting-in. I'm not a "Rebekah" and I'm not an "Aviva". I guess I'm a messy, beautiful product of my diverse exposure and choices. Nothing said this more then how I spent my actual Purim. 

While at my parents' house for Shabbos, I was making sure the tape on the refrigerator light wasn't slipping and there was enough food out for seudat shlishi if it did. As shabbos left, I was doing Havdalah as my dad had already started the car. On our way to Chabad (to listen to the megillah reading), I was wondering if my father would regret not going to the Reform synagogue he habitually attends. Sitting in the Chabad, I enjoyed seeing all the costumes and colours. The Rabbayim and their Rebbetzins were hilarious alongside their made-up kids! I had a very nice time and following the event, I headed to my friend's house for our bi-weekly game of D&D. All my high school friends were already sitting around the dining room table and I jumped in. I was NOT going to let my pixie die in combat! After a long night casting spells and learning skills, I went to sleep on the couch. The next morning we got coffee and I walked to Chabad for the next megillah reading. The children were wall-to-wall! After sticking around for a bit, I floated to my best friend's house where I spent the rest of the morning enjoying coffee and getting ready for the trip to Lakewood. Around two, my mom picked me up and we drove to Lakewood for the seuda (meal) at my friend's house. Her kids were adorable in their jungle-themed costumes! People were coming in and out with mishloach manos (bags of treats) and greetings of a "Freilichin Purim!" I think it was the most enjoyable seudah I've ever had. Afterward, I got on a bus Brooklyn-bound where I got home and went straight to bed. But after I had said the shma, ready to fall into a deep sleep, I decided to take the opportunity to say a word to my creator. 

What did I have to say on one of the busiest and varied day of my life? Thank you. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to spend Shabbos with my family, even though they aren't religious and it is often extremely difficult. Thanks for letting me remain friends with people who respect my "crazy" religious transformation, despite the fact it is so different from the high school me. Thanks for the Chabad that bridged these two worlds, even though I'm not there so often. Thanks for my best friend who has done nothing but support and cheer me on, while keeping my spirits high and my mind grounded. Thanks for my amazing friends in Lakewood for not just inviting me, but my mom too! Thanks for everything. Thank you for my life. Thank you for my journey. But, I also asked Him, "if you could, give me clarity!" In a world full of facades, I asked for clarity. I want to make the right choices and do the right thing, but I don't want to loose who I am... who ever that is underneath the costume.

When Everything Goes Wrong

It is currently motzei shabbos (saturday night) and I am utterly exhausted! This shabbos was a horrible series of misfortunate events.   On my way to Monsey, my friends and I got stuck in two hours of traffic. When candle lighting time came, we were essentially in the "hood." Eighteen minutes until shabbos to go, the guy driving decided to polymorph into a race car driver. 120 mph, five run red lights, and a panic attack later we made it into Monsey territory. During that car ride I said tehillim, did teshuva, and prayed harder then I ever had before. I must of said the shma a hundred times. Who said yom kippur only comes once a year??

Thank Gd, we made it into the eruv so we could carry our belongings, which we did for about a half-an-hour until we got to the house we were eating by. Luckily, we made it during the middle of the meal. Here, I figured the hardships had ended. Only if! I had some amazing chicken soup, but that was when my head started to spin. Was it from the panic attack from before? Maybe some left over anxiety, I told myself. Uh-oh. I started to feel nauseous... and that was the dreadful moment when I recalled I had just been taking care of a friend with a stomach virus two days prior. 

I politely left and went to the house I was sleeping at and laid down. As I got into bed I felt my body say, "nope!" I ran to the bathroom on right on time. For the rest of the night I was figuratively "praying to the porcelain gd". Luckily, however,  I managed to get two hours of sleep in between every dash to the bathroom to throw-up. Lets not call it a very pleasant night. In the morning, I was achey, tired, and still nauseous. I definitely had a fever.  By then, my extremely amazing friend had woken up and was taking care of me. She was a life saver! Coming in and out of conscious, I finally woke up at four in the afternoon with no fever. On getting out of bed, I decided to go to sudat shlishi (the third meal) and get some hot tea to sooth my woes.

Once at the meal, I felt a gazillion times better. I was in very good company. Many people walked over to see how I was or just to introduce themselves. People I've seen before stuck around to play Jewish geography (to see where we had last met). In fact, one of the men there recognized me. We used to attend the same conservative synagogue in NJ about five years ago! Talk about coincidences! I have to say during shabbos, just about everything that could go wrong did. We almost didn't make it, we nearly died in the car ride there, and I got a stomach virus. Nevertheless, on the flip side, we made it, we didn't die, and I only got a fraction of the stomach virus (which lasted a quarter of the time) that my friend had had. My amazing friend, who was taking care of me, had been saying all shabbos long, "Gd is greater then we give him credit for." Boy do I agree!

Epilogue: On our way to the Brooklyn bound bus, we were running late (could anything go more wrong?!). When we finally got there a congregation of people slowly amassed. Turns out the bus was running late too! Eventually it got there, but it was filled! No more misery, I cant handle it! I was telling myself. I could have not possibly waited for the 12:30 bus in one piece. Well, lo and behold, my prayers were answered! An empty bus was following the full one by ten/fifteen minutes. Not only did we get a bus, but we got an empty one so I could lay down on the seats! What was even better then even that, though, was the offer we got at the bus stop. A girl, who had been staying at the same house as us, had her car at the bus stop. She offered to drive us from Boro Park to where we lived in Flatbush. What a miracle! 

When everything goes wrong, you start to realize how much and how often everything goes right. Gd is truly greater then we give him credit for!

The Middos Market

I love working in the fringes of society. From the crack-in-the-wall jobs, like my recent job as a cashier at a kosher supermarket, you get to see the every day  life of the society your working. Also, it's these small fringe jobs that can give you the power to change someone's mood. How many times has the nice cashier put you in a better mood or the mean taxi driver set you off? I loved making people smile and put them in a good mood, despite my actual job description: ring up items.

I saw the people who were rushing, upset, or annoyed and turned their frown upside down into a wide grin because of a little kindness. How many mothers appreciated someone trying to help them! How many people on food stamps appreciating the effort to keep their EBT cards out of sight from the people behind them in line! I love the power I had as a lowly cashier to make someone's day.

But there were also some downsides. For example, because I dealt with people from all the corners of the earth, I came across people who were not so nice. Whether they spoke to me disrespectfully instigated by my piercings (I'm still human) or just because they were in a grumpy mood, I found that the NYC pace is not good for middos (lit. attributes, someone's virtues).

Some religious people really surprised me and not in a good way either. I expect a much higher level of conduct from the religious community. Sadly, though, it took working at a market to realize that people are still people no matter in what garb.

I spoke to a rebbitzen, whom I adore, because I was upset over disparaging remarks about my Spanish coworkers from some frum employees and customers. That's when she said something interesting about middos in NYC.

Her husband comes from out of town, like myself ("out of town" is a description of anyone who was raised in the middle of "nowhere" [read: outside the Five-Towns/NY region]).  He used to bike ride to friends' houses and sit under apple trees in the spring. On moving to Brooklyn, in high school, he was shocked by the lack of consideration and pushyness devoid of proper middos. He told his wife, like she told me, he suspects that the lack of middos is because of the lack of space.

This made a lot of sense to me. With people fighting over car spaces in front of Eichler's (the Jewish book store) instead of parking in a large New Jersey parking lot, anxiety results. The same with getting your kid into the right school in an overpopulated city with thousands of kids. The same with the small checkout counter at the overpriced kosher supermarket. Without space this overcrowding has created a religious community insensitive to certain middos, especially patience and consideration.

Thank Gd I became religious and know plenty of amazing righteous orthodox Jews. In fact, I believe that they are the majority. However, sadly, there is a discrepancy between Judaism and the Jew. As an old (and somewhat disturbing) adage goes, "The worst representation of Judaism are the Jews." Sadly, it is sometimes true. Especially with middos in the market.

On a happier note, there were more then the people I cheered up. There were plenty of people who surprisingly cheered me up! One day I was going home to Jersey and at the train station platform, by my apartment, there was a women who looked disheveled and, to my assumption, a drug user. I was in a rush but managed to give her a smile as she passed. I thought she looked lonely and a little lost. She smiled back and stopped to tell me she thought I was absolutely beautiful and that she loved the red dye I used for my hair. We parted ways never to cross paths again, or at least that is what I thought.

During the next week at work, I was having a bad few days. A grumpy old Israeli woman yelled at me. She railed on and on that I was "disgusting" for having piercings. She said she wouldn't even look at me because of how disgusting and ugly I was. It took a lot of self-restraint not to tell her off, but I kept my mouth shut and finished her order. Once I finished, I went onto the next order with a fake smile and a greeting. I didn't like my job anymore.

The next day, it was super packed and I kept my head down. I didn't want to be there. I briefly looked up to see a disheveled customer with two bananas politely asking another customer, who had about a hundred items, if she could cut in front. To my elation it was the disheveled woman from the train station from the week before. Now I don't think she recognized me, but I recognized her. She gave me a grin and thanked me for helping her get ahead in line. I liked my job again.

Disheveled drug user, one.
Old religious Israeli, none.

People, like these, can make or break your day. Luckily, I met more good than bad, however, it wasn't just their actions that often intrigued me. Their names (as I took phone numbers, credit cards, and orders) peaked a special interest. One time, a young boy buying more food than an army could eat used his (or more likely his parent's) credit card, which disclosed his last name. What would you know? He was one of my rabbi's nephews! Another time, I found a relative of a friend from Israel. But two names, Wisel and Dryfys, really caught my eye. I didn't ask if they were related to the famous men who share those names, but the realization that Brooklyn is one of the mainstays of the world-wide Jewish community made me also realize that great people live here.

From the great-names to just all around great people and from mean old ladies to pushy teens, I have to say working at this job was an enlightening experience to say the least. Who knew my actual job description wouldn't even be a fraction of the real job description: ringer-upper, cheerer-upper, and observer.