As we do each year, we’re carefully mixing and measuring to prepare the dough for our hamantaschen. We add our secret ingredient (orange juice) and then stir a bit more before rolling it out the way I used to with my mother, like I do with them. I show them how to use a glass to make circles in the dough. A dollop of filling from the solo cans, and then three quick pinches. Before long, we’ve got a tray full of rather imperfectly pinched triangle cookies.
When they are done, we let them cool before we set aside a few bags to gift our teachers and neighbors. Many Jews give “shalach manot” on or in the days leading up to Purim. Tiny bags or gift baskets of food and hamantaschen, Jews give them out to fulfill the promise of Mishloach Manot in the Book of Esther. We give them to help include our friends and neighbors in the joy and festiveness of the holiday and because no one should go hungry. But we also give them out because Haman, the villain of our Purim story, insisted that Jews were divisive and prone to conflict. We give these gifts in part as a symbol of harmony, and to counter Haman’s insidious narrative.
As I lift the still hot dough from the sheet to cool, I wonder just how powerful a simple little cookie can be. Just about every corner of real life and the Internet seems to be simmering with hot rage lately. As a community and as a country, we seem more divided than ever, especially when it comes to the scourge of gun violence. How much can one little holiday and a few bags of cookies repair?
The story of Purim seems timelier for our current age than ever before. Perhaps its just the way our psyche ever so carefully shapes the world around us to fit our own personal narrative. But right now, my heart is in Parkland, FL. And I can’t shake how much these brave kids speaking up about gun control remind me of Esther. In the story of Purim, Mordechai, a Jew, refuses to bow down to the King’s advisor, Haman. In a rage, Haman orders the Jews to be killed. Esther, the Queen of Persia, realizes she must reveal her truth to her husband, the King, in order to save her uncle Mordechai and all the Jews. For Esther, the only way forward is to speak truth to power. And in the end, it is her bravery that is our salvation. Esther’s willingness to be vulnerable and candid and brave with her husband the King, is what saves us all.
And I wonder, will it be so again? Will the bravery of these kids, the ones who were just hiding in closets and classrooms, who have faced down bullets and gunfire at 16 and 17 and have been forged in the fires of America’s gun violence epidemic, will their capacity to relentlessly speak truth to our nation’s leaders be our salvation? In a nation divided, is their willingness to stand up and be candid and counted, the way forward?
On Sunday at the Purim schpiel, we shake our boxes of macaroni and groggers and make as much noise as we can when we hear Haman’s name. If Purim teaches us anything, it appears to be to raise some serious hell. As I look around, I wonder if it’s not just our hamantaschen recipe we’re passing down to our children after all. Stand up and speak your truth, Esther tells us. And all this time, our kids have been listening. They won’t bow down, and by God they won’t stop making noise.
At home, we bundle up our Shalach Manot to pass out, our little peace offering of harmony and good will to family and friends in a world that sure seems like it could use it right now. And when I’m done, I go online and research three new congressional races and faces and names to support. I read a bunch of articles and write to Amazon asking them to sever their relationship with the NRA. I nibble on my hamantaschen as I type. A bit of sweet harmony, a heavy dose of truth, and whole hell of a lot of noise. This is how we celebrate Purim.
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