Photo © 2007 Joshua Bousel CC BY-NC-SA 2.0

This past Saturday night began the Jewish holiday of Purim. Since Saturday was also the Sabbath, after morning services and lunch at our synagogue, we had games for the kids, crafts, a class on the book of Esther, a Jewish folk dancing class, pizza. Then we had evening services, followed by reading the story of Esther. This year, the kids also did an “Esther Reloaded” Purim play, parodied on Star Wars. Lots of laughs.

It’s tradition in Jewish synagogues to dress up in costumes on Purim, and we had plenty of them. The Little One dressed up as a cat. One boy was Indiana Jones. And one of my friends was a bar of ivory soap. But I think the best Purim costumes I ever saw still go to D and his wife S, back when S was still pregnant with their little boy. She came as an oven, with a loaf of bread baking inside. (A “bun” in the oven, get it?) And he was the chef. Ba dum bum.

We also had lots of Hamentashen, filled cookies folded in the shape of a three-cornered hat, such as that which Haman is said to have worn. In the story of Esther, Haman told Xerxes that the Jews were a terrorist threat and persuaded him have all the Jewish people in the land executed, before they caused national chaos. Haman did this because—quite frankly—a certain Jew ticked him off, and so naturally he resorted to mass genocide.

(I imagine him a petty, little man, not of the short-and-noble kind, but of the kind who stands strong and important and fat and is very insecure about his size.)

It’s also tradition, during the reading of the story, every time Haman’s name is mentioned, to shout “BOOOO!” and spin noise-makers or blast horns or whatever you can, just in case you weren’t clear on what we really think of him.

What Haman didn’t know, however, is that Xerxes’s beloved queen, Esther, just happened to be Jewish, and the man who had ticked Haman off just happened to be Esther’s cousin and adopted father. (Oops.) And so when Esther intervened, boy did the fit hit the shan.

I can just imagine that moment, in the queen’s banquet room, food and drink aplenty, servants in attendance, the king and queen reclining in their royal robes and jewelry, and Haman at his place of honor beside the king, enjoying a cup of wine with the royal family, feeling pretty good about himself, because only him, the most important advisor to the king, did Esther invite as an honored guest to this private banquet.

Then Xerxes asks, “My Queen, something has bothering you. I’ve seen it for two days now. You’ve been very sweet in planning this surprise dinner. Thank you so much. Please, whatever the problem is, let us help. What do you need? Just name it, up to half my kingdom, and it’s yours.”

“If I have found favor with you, O King,” Esther replies, “and if it pleases Your Majesty, please grant me my life—this is my petition—and spare my people—this is my request.”

At this point, Xerxes is wondering what she could possibly be talking about. “Grant me my life?” This must be a metaphor. “Spare my people?” Which people? Has someone threatened her? Who?

“I and my kinfolk,” Esther explains, “are to be destroyed and slaughtered and annihilated. If we had merely been sold into slavery, I wouldn’t have bothered you about it, because it wouldn’t have been worth disturbing the King for something so trivial. But—”

“Who is doing this?” Xerxes interrupts, frustration and fury clearly mounting on his face. “No one threatens you, ever. Where is the man who dares to do this?”

Esther turns her gaze to Haman, and slowly it dawns on the villain what he has done.

“My adversary and enemy,” Esther says, her voice wavering, tears beginning to form in her eyes, “is this vile man, Haman.”

Without a word, Xerxes stands and storms out of the room. He paces the palace garden for hours, trying to calm himself, trying to analyze the situation. He figures out that—unknown to him—Esther must be of Jewish ancestry, and that they are to be murdered, and that Haman had lied to him, because she and her family are clearly not of the evil, dangerous sort that Haman had described. But what can he do? He has already issued the order for their annihilation, and it can’t be undone. And now, for the second time in recent years, he is regretting one of his own edicts. Reflecting back, he acutely realizes that Haman was loyal to him only as a means to personal advancement. Xerxes always knew this was so, but it never bothered him so much before, because almost everyone honored him either out of ambition or out of fear. But that’s what made Esther and her family so different; they supported him not out of fear or ambition, but out of respect. Haman’s ambition never bothered Xerxes before, because it never before hit quite so close to home.

He returns to see Haman throwing himself at Queen Esther, on her couch, his hands grasping at her, pleading for pity, clearly not caring about the indignity.

“What now?!” the king snaps, his anger returning. “Killing her wasn’t good enough? Now you’re going to try to rape her, in my own house, right in front of me?!”

Haman did not live too much longer after that. He was dragged by armed guards, sobbing and pitiful, stripped of rank, a nothing, to be hanged on the very gallows that he himself had built on which to kill one of Esther’s own relatives.

We usually read this story as God’s justice triumphing over the selfish ambitions of an evil man. But this year, I saw it as something different. Because all of us, at one time or another, have worn Haman’s hat. Maybe we haven’t played fast and loose with the power of the king—and maybe this is also a story about the danger of the king’s power, because there are many people even in our society who regularly play fast and loose with that power, for their own passions or ambitions. But maybe we haven’t threatened the queen’s life. Maybe we haven’t attempted genocide. Maybe we aren’t “that bad.”

But we have acted on personal offense, and have rationalized hating others. We have disparaged good men. We have lashed out in righteous indignation at other human beings, regardless of whether or not they deserved it. We have failed to show mercy, because we didn’t see how it could help us. We’ve called people names, and out of fear have fought them as though they were enemies. We do this in our personal lives as well as our political lives.

Maybe Esther is also a story about the value of mercy. Not only mercy that we show to others—because if Haman had shown mercy, he ultimately would not have been executed. But also the mercy that God shows to us, because God no longer demands justice from us, but bestows His grace.

The words of the chorus are based on an old Hebrew prayer: Establish peace, goodness, and blessing, grace and kindness and compassion, upon us and upon all Israel, your people.

He turned it into a song for peace for the world:

Establish peace, goodness, and blessing, life, grace and kindness and compassion upon us; establish peace, our children; compassion upon us and upon all Israel, your people; and say, ‘Amen.’

Sim shalom tovah uvrachah chaim chên vachesed v’rachamim alênu sim shalom benênu rachamim alênu v’al kol yisrael amecha v’nemar amên.

See how many names of how many different countries can you recognize in the bridge (the rap portion of the song)?

-TimK

P.S. My Hebrew is only good enough to catch bits and pieces of the verse, and I really don’t know modern Hebrew very well to start with. Can anyone translate it?

The lyrics are from Proverbs 3:17-18 and Lamentations 5:21:

-TimK

My Facebook friends gave me a number of possible answers, but nothing really hit home, this past Saturday morning in synagogue when we read a selection from First Samuel chapter 1. Suddenly, my heart lit up, as if God had spoken to me through this account. As a Christian, this was a a message I could particularly identify with.

It inspired me to write a short-short story based on 1 Samuel 1:1-20, entitled “Baby Boy,” involving a character from the Abe’s Turn universe (because I know these characters already, and I wanted to use a deep character for this story). I also included in it the wonderful storytelling style I’ve admired in Jewish tradition. I posted it on on my stories blog. Click here to read it now.

Sadness, by T. Willson; © 2009 T. Willson CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Today, for Wishcasting Wednesday, Jamie Ridler asks, “What do you wish to make room for?” Like most people, I have so much stuff, both physically and figuratively, it’s hard to make room for anything. But what I really want to make room for today is the following blog post, which I’ve wanted to write. But I haven’t had the space for it.

So today, I’m giving up my typical Wishcasting Wednesday post in order to talk about the Mourner’s Kaddish as a prayer for the depressed.

Even if you’re not jewish, you may remember the Mourner’s Kaddish from Yentl, or from the beginning of the X-Files episode, “Kaddish.” This is a prayer, spoken or chanted in Aramaic, that Jews say in remembrance of a dearly departed, during the eleven months following his death, and also on its anniversaries.

But the prayer itself never mentions death. Rather, it is a prayer of life, of encouragement, of peace, praising God, celebrating how great and wonderful He is.

These are wonderful thoughts with which to fill your mind after the passing of a loved one, because they help you to put your grief in perspective, to remember that despite how sad you feel, God is still good, and he’s still good to you.

What I’m about to suggest is definitely not orthodox. It isn’t even reformed. It has not been vetted or approved by any rabbi. But I personally have found it to be of comfort.

That not only are the words of the Mourner’s Kaddish appropriate as a religious rite, for the death of a loved one, but also do they comfort when you’re feeling down, for any reason. Because the depression we feel when a loved one dies is similar to the depression we feel when we are overwhelmed by circumstance and need. They call it “clinical depression,” but one of its most effective treatments is simply to turn your attention outward, to friends, to community, to God, not in bitterness, but in hope.

May each of us who faces sadness find encouragement in these words.

-TimK

The Mourner’s Kaddish

I don’t know where this recipe came from originally, but if you search on Google, you will find numerous variations on the same theme. I’ll note my own variations below.

Honey-Baked Chicken

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.

Arrange in shallow baking pan skin-side up:

3-3.5 lb chicken breasts

Combine and pour over:

2/3 cup margarine
1 cup honey
4 Tablespoon mustard
2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoon curry

Bake 1 hour, basting every 15 minutes until chicken is tender and nicely browned.

My own variation:

I usually cut the recipe in half, because that’s a lot of chicken. I use 1 to 1.5 lbs of chicken thighs (not breasts). i also use the following in the sauce (for 1-1.5 lbs of chicken):

1/3 cup margarine (I use Earth Balance brand)
1/2 cup honey
2 Tablespoon Dijon mustard
(only add salt to taste, if at all)
2 teaspoon curry (double what’s called for above)
1 teaspoon ground mustard seed (for an extra kick in the pants)

I make the sauce ahead of time, simmering the ingredients in a saucepan until the margarine is melted and the ingredients are combined. (Make sure it doesn’t boil!) Then I pour it over the chicken and either refrigerate until baking time, or bake immediately. This dish can also be baked ahead of time and reheated (if you want to eat it on the Sabbath and if your Sabbath tradition permits that).

I also do not baste the chicken while baking, because basting is bad. (It requires you to keep opening the oven and letting the heat out, and it does nothing for the taste or texture of the chicken.)

Other variations: Try boneless, skinless chicken breasts. Also, try adding a little cumin or cayenne pepper to the sauce (as in other recipes on the net).

For tomorrow, I plan to serve it with rice, vegetables, and an Israeli-style salad (chopped lettuce, diced tomatoes & cucumbers, &c). But it also works well with couscous. (And probably with lots of other side-dishes as well.)

My mouth is watering…

-TimK