Sorry, Rabbis of the Talmud,
I didn’t dress up in a costume
Like I was supposed to,
Didn’t get so drunk
I couldn’t differentiate bless and curse
Like you said we should,
Didn’t hear anyone chant
How Esther saved our people
From the evil Haman.
Though the week before I took the kids
To Tamar’s hamantashen party —
Fed the tray of sweet triangles to the oven,
Scraped dough off the table like a good guest —
On the holiday itself I went out,
Drank two overpriced gin and tonics
And thought about kissing
Someone I’d just met.
And it was there, in the bar, that I realized
What you meant, Rabbis
Of the Talmud, when you say
That Purim is even holier
Than Yom Kippur. Nothing happened,
In that bar, just the idea
Of living someone else’s life.
But that tiny glimpse was enough
To finally teach me (I think) what you meant:
Fasting and penance are sacred
In an ordinary sort of way.
But to forget yourself so thoroughly
You can’t tell the difference
Between who you are,
And who you’d never be?
That’s as holy as you can get.
Alicia Jo Rabins is a writer, musician and Torah teacher.
Her most recent book of poetry is “Fruit Geode” (Augury Books).
