Jewish World Review /March 2, 1999 / 14 Adar, 5759

Purim perspectives:
Planting the seeds of joy

By Rabbi Yaakov Feitman

A celebration, without, happily ever after.

EVEN THE MOST CASUAL REFERENCE TO PURIM gladdens the heart and brings a smile to every Jewish face. The sheer intensity of the simcha (joy) of Purim is demonstrated by the fact that it is the only Jewish Holiday that changes the complexion of the entire month in which it is celebrated.

Succos (Tabernacles) may be the Biblical Season of Joy -- but the month of Tishrei remains profoundly somber during its entire first half. The month of Adar, on the other hand, is irradiated with the joy of Purim from its very first moments.

On the surface, this certainly makes a great deal of sense. Purim was an outstanding triumph for the People of Israel. We were saved from annihilation at the hands of a powerful and ruthless enemy. We had a spiritual as well as physical revival. The sanctity of the Jewish body as well as its soul was verified for all eternity.

Surely these victories naturally result in a day of joy which overflows to affect an entire month.

But there is another side to this sacred coin, which would seem to moderate our celebration and perhaps even cast a pall over our festivities. In three different areas, we find that the Purim events concluded with a less than fully satisfactory result.

1)Why don't we recite [the liturgical praise of G-d,] Hallel on Purim? One of the answers given in the Talmud (Eirachin 10b) is that we still find ourselves in servitude to the [Persian ruler] Achashveirosh. The Talmudic sage Rava teaches that, unlike Pesach, when we rapturously sing that we are servants of G-d, no longer of the Egyptian ruler Pharaoh, on Purim it appears as if everything has returned to the way it was. It is true that we have been saved from a horrible death and for that we are surely grateful. It would appear, however, that the level of elation required for Hallel is absent on Purim.

2) The final verses of the [Purim episode related in the] Megilla tell us of the fame and glory that one the Purim story's main protagonists, Mordechaim, has achieved. He is now second to the king, revered and honored by all. Well, almost all. It seems the group whose opinion might mean the most to Mordechai--his own colleagues-- was not as impressed as the general populace. The Megilla records that Mordechai was--"popular with the multitude (in Hebrew-- larov) of his brethren." The Talmud (Megilla 16b) reads the word larov literally, meaning "Mordechai was popular with a majority of his brethren." Some of the members of the Sanhedrin (the High Court), however, forsook Mordechai. The 11th Century commentator Rashi explains that they separated themselves from him because he no longer was able to devote as much time to Torah study since he had become a powerful political figure.

3) Finally, and in many ways most troublesome, the Megilla presumably ends on a sad note in terms of the private life of Mordechai and Esther. Although a superficial reading of the Megilla (2:7) presents Mordechai as Esther's cousin and adoptive father, our sages (Talmud-Megilla 13a) reveal that they were husband and wife. The Talmud and early (10th to 14th century) commentators go to great lengths to explain the process by which Esther clandestinely returned regularly to Mordechai even as she reigned as queen. According to the overwhelming majority of commentators, when Esther went voluntarily to Achashveirosh to plead for her people, she knew that the consequence would be her permanent estrangement from her husband. Thus we read the words "and if I perish, I perish"--in the mournful tones of the Eicha (Lamentations), which recalls the destruction of Jersalem.

One can only conclude from all this that "they lived happily ever after" is not quite the appropriate epilogue to The Book of Esther. Our people remain under the heel of the same despot as before. The Jewish leader who risks all for his people loses esteem amongst his beloved Torah scholars. And the heroic couple who lead us through the darkness into salvation have their own union dissolved forever. Are these the results which inspire us to celebrate eternally as never before? Are these the conclusions which lead to such a reservoir of eternal joy that the month of Adar is permanently bathed in the aura of ultimate bliss?

A JOY BEYOND REASON

One might suggest that my Rabbi, Rabbi Yitzchok Hutner, gave us a glimpse at the answer in a short insight he once shared at his Purim banquet table:

After the joy of Shemini Atzeres, Succos and Simchas Torah, what more do we want from the joy of Purim? (Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah are the concluding days of Succos celebrated by the joyous and festive concluding and rebeginning of the reading of the Torah.) Maimonides teaches (Laws of Torah Fundamentals, 2:2), "What is the path leading to love and reverence for G-d? When a person contemplates...." One must practice "contemplation" in every divine service. Ahava (love) has its type of contemplation, yira (reverence) has its form of contemplation and simcha (joy) has its own unique kind of contemplation. We have grown spiritually from the joy of Succos, Shemini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, and we have learned from them how to properly contemplate that aspect of our spirituality known as simcha (joy).

On Purim our most ardent wish is that the joy of "We are fortunate, how good is our portion" (Prayer Book, Morning Service)--should have its effect upon us even without contemplation.'

On Purim, there is a source of spiritual growth which is beyond intellect and beyond contemplation, which bypasses the realm of mind and the normative sphere of cognition.

Its epitome is the ad d'lo yoda state (reaching a cognitive point where one cannot distinquish between saying the words, "Blessed is Mordechai and Cursed is Hamen!") of besotted incomprehension which is the defining state of the Purim commemoration.

This concept has been explained and illuminated through the ages. But why is the result of this planned irrationality a newfound joy in our lot and portion?

The answer may be found in a remarkable teaching of the 18th Century Gaon of Vilna. The Midrash Tanna D'bei Eliyahu lists among the attributes of G-d the aspect of same'ach bechelko--being happy with one's lot.

Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin asked his Rebbe, the Gaon, "How can this be? Surely, this trait, as understood in the Talmud--Ethics of the Fathers (4:1), refers to one who lacks certain things, yet is satisfied nevertheless. How could this possibly apply to the Master of the Universe, the Creator of all that is?"

In a conversation with his son, the early 20th Century giant, the Chofetz Chaim, related the Gaon's answer to Reb Chaim of Volozhin. TheTorah tells us "G-d's portion is His people" (Deuteronomy 32:9). Despite our deficiencies, regardless of the lowliness of a particular generation, G-d is happy with His people. If we extend this concept to G-d's happiness with all His creations--[Yismach Hashem bema'asau (Psalms 104:31)]--we will gain a fresh understanding of the entire concept of joy. Many prayerbooks with classic commentaries used to contain a section known asPerek Shira, the chapter of joy, which was recited daily by many pious Jews. This Talmudic segment recounts the verses that represents the shira--or song of praise--uttered by many of G-d's creations. Some are obvious and easy to understand. The heavens recite the verse, "The heavens tell the glory of G-d" (Psalms 19:2), fish sing, "The voice of G-d is upon the water" (Psalms 29:3) etc. But the lowly reptiles recite "G-d is happy with is creation" (Psalms 104:31). They, of all creatures, sing of Hashem's joy in His world. Why?

With the Vilna Gaon's interpretation, we can understand the song of the reptiles. It is in the lowliness of creation that G-d expresses His greatest Joy, for He accepts each creature for what it is and for what it contributes to His world. He alone is aware of the purpose of every one of His creatures and its place in His Divine scheme, and therefore He is able to rejoice with it even in its unassuming state.

From G-d's joy to our own.

All that we are and have flows from Him.

The essence of simcha (joy), therefore, is not the happiness that comes from achieving perfection but the special satisfaction that comes from being part of the process that leads to that perfection. It is the joy born of acceptance of imperfection as a rung on the ladder to eternity. Thus, the Chassidim teach that simcha and humility are inexorably entwined:

Said the Rabbi, Reb Bunim, "The best of dejections is clothed in arrogance and the lowest of joys is clad in humility". And the Rabbi of Alechsander added, "The lowly and downtrodden can be happy constantly because they are always grateful for even the tiniest benefit that comes their way. Not so the egotist who is always indignant because he has not received that which he feels is his due." Thus the Torah teaches: You shall be but (ach) happy" (Deut. 16,15.). The secret to happiness is the little "ach," which teaches to diminish and reduce (Pesachim 5a); and that is the route to joy as wel. (To appreciate the joy in all aspects of all, whether great or small).

Seen in this light, simcha may be understood as a lifetime process of growth, energized by the dialectic between the constant pleasure of fulfillment and the ongoing search for new accomplishment. It is not surprising that Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch sees a profound connection between the Hebrew term for joy--simcha--and tzamayach-- which means growth or "expansion. . .of progress in emotional development" (13). Simcha comes not from the feeling that one has arrived but from the knowledge that one is on the road.

SIMCHA (JOY)--A RELATIVE AND SUBJECTIVE PROCESS
Simcha (Joy) is also a relative and subjective process. Everyone must learn to find the simcha (joy) inherent in a particular moment and situation:

Says Reb Yisroel of Ruzhin "One can deduce someone's circumstances from what causes him to celebrate. If someone is ecstatic to have found two pennies, it is a sign of abject poverty. If someone is grateful even though he has lost all that he owns, it is indicative that his life was in danger and he was saved''. The test of true sirncha is to find the song, the window of joy, when they were in distress. It is when tears can be transformed to dance that we know that the magic of simcha has been at work:

Reb Yosef Shareshevshsky could not believe his eyes. The dignified old Sage, the Ohr Same'ach himself was dancing in a strange foursome. In one hand, he held the hand of a young boy, in the other he tightly clutched that of his father. The two held the hands of their mother and wife, and the strange circle went around and around with a joy rarely seen.

When they finally sat down, the venerable Rabbi explained to his astonished guest: "Yesterday, this couple came to me to arrange a divorce for them. I asked them if they had any children, and they told me about this young man you see before you. As I pondered over what his fate would be, I asked them to bring him today. When he arrived, I put him on my lap and I began to cry, 'My son, my son, what will he with you? You will have neither father nor mother.' As I cried, he, too, began to wail, and soon the parents were weeping as well. After they had cried for a while, they looked at each other and resolved to stay together and give their marriage a new try. That is when we all began to dance out of great joy'

What happened to this couple? Did they suddenly resolve all their marital difficulties? Did the Ohr Same'ach pull off a miracle? No, achieving simcha requires neither. The Ohr Same'ach helped the unhappy mates to look at their situation with fresh eyes. They learned to appreciate what they did have, not to focus on what they thought they had to have. And they realized that they had much to celebrate after all. Learning the art of suncha means finding a new perspective upon what is, not acquiring more of what one thinks ought to be.

USING ONE'S MAGIC EYE

A currently popular series of books is entitled The Magic Eye. At first glance, one is presented on each page with a meaningless design or jumble of separate patterns. After one gains the knack, it is possible to refocus on the page in a way that allows an intricate, internal three-dimensional picture to emerge. Each time the larger picture suddenly materializes from the apparently chaotic page, the reader "sees" a new hitherto undiscovered world before him. The satisfaction of gaining that new perspective has sold thousands of sets of books. Simcha too, is a new way of seeing the larger picture with out changing the facts.

The hallway of Rainbow Babies and Children's Hospital in Cleveland is adorned with drawings made by children who are extremely ill. One of them is a rudimentary portrait of a scraggly, gaunt figure looking out upon a sunny seascape. The title of the painting is "Happiness: Me Standing." It may be that our sages taught us this sense of perspective when they ordained the morning blessings we recite each day. Each day we remind ourselves of G-d's beneficence in enabling us to stand straight, walk, go about our business and so on. Would we not perhaps forget the joys of our most basic functions, if Jewish law did not mandate for us to recite and thank G-d daily for them? No matter what else is going on in our lives, our gratitude for these abilities dare not go forgotten.

The joy in those divine gifts can get us through difficult days, if our outlook is clear and healthy. Reb Nochum of Horodno, the Rabbi of the revered Chofetz Chaim, had already been extremely ill during Rosh Hashana and many thought he would not live until Yom Kippur. Miraculously, Succos came and Reb Nochum ate in the Succa, although he was so weak he could barely move. Incredibly, on Simchas Torah, the great tzaddik (righteous person) tapped some hidden reservoir of strength and danced with abandon as if he were a healthy young man. When someone asked him how he could find such joy when he knew the truth of his medical condition, Reb Nochum taught a great lesson in Torah vision.

"Let me ask you a question, if I may," he began. "Suppose that I had died during the Ten Days of Repentance, when everyone thought I was going to, how would you have felt?"
The young man replied with some embarrassment, "Why we would have been very sad, of course, Rebbe."
"Fine," continued Reb Nochum. "Then how would you have felt if I would have come to life again in the middle of Succos?"
"Rebbe, we would have been overjoyed to see you alive, of course," the student answered without hesitation.
Well, then," concluded the Chofetz Chaim's Rebbe, "why is it so bad that I didn't die then after all?"

The gift of life itself is so overwhelming that we often forget this most fundemental of facts. It takes an act of creative imagination to see each day as a rejuvenation so that we will celebrate it with thejoy it deserves. Purim is the Yom Tov that commemorates the miracles of that which is hidden. It is the revelation of the hidden of Megillas Esther Mordechai and Esther, in their private and their public lives, teach us a poignant lesson in proper vision. If your perspective is eternity, temporal setbacks and disappointments pale in insignificance compared with the global picture. Neither popularity nor even personal tragedy are consequential when the fate of the Jewish Nation is at stake. Even an entire generation's indenture to an Achashveirosh does not disrupt the incredible joy of a new acceptance of the Torah, of spiritual renewal and the discovery of collective mutual love.

As Rabbi Hutner taught, it is not that Purim is unworthy of reciting the special Hallel prayer of praise of G-d, but that it has its own Hallel (praise), The Hallel of Purim is hidden in the Megilla. It is the Hallel that teaches us to find joy in all that we are and all that we do. It is the Hallel of celebrating each step on the road to redemption and the privilege of being a part of the process. And it is the Hallel of self-sacrifice for a cause and future far greater than oneself or even one's generation.

INFUSING EACH STEP WITH JOY

This phenomenon may be rooted in the earliest stages of creation itself. The first sin on the face of the earth was that of the earth itself. Hashem commanded that the earth bring a fruit tree that bears fruit. But the earth instead produced a tree that bears fruit, but not a fruit tree that bears fruit. Rashi (Genesis,1:11) explains that G-d had wanted a tree whose own branches would have a taste identical with that of its fruit, but the earth did not heed G-d's command.

The Maharal, in his commentary on Rashi entitled, GurAryeh, explains this strange transgression in the following way:

The concept of "fruit" is identical with the concept of an end, or a goal. The tree corresponds to the means or process. G-d's plan for the world was that there be no differentiation between means and end. All means and process should be as holy, as "tasty," as the end itself. In an ideal world, the means do not justify the end; they are one and the same.

For reasons beyond the scope of this discussion, the earth did not produce this unity of means and end, of fruit and tree. But wherever possible, wherever feasable, our mandate in this world is to rectify the sin of the earth for separating the fruit from the tree by sanctifying process and consecrating means.

The Sages (Talmud, tractate Chulin 139b) tell us that the place in the Torah where Haman is hinted at is in the words: "Hamin ha'eitz asher tzivisicha...achalta- Have you eaten of the tree...?" Haman, the embodiment of evil, tempts Mordechai and Esther with the same enticement as his primordial ancestor: "Bow down to me. It's not really idolatry". (Just as the snake in the Garden of Eden told Eve that since she had touched the Tree of Knowledge and she remained alive, surely there would be no problem in eating from the tree). Haman used bowing to him as a means of luring them into actual idolatry, just as Achashveirosh had sought to use his banquet to lure the Jews into hedonism and sin. The food would be kosher; on the surface all would be well. But the seeds would be sown for subsequent spiritual decay and ruin.

Mordechai and Esther's antidote to this alluring plot was to strengthen the spiritual process. They gave up their ability to live together, and sacrificed Mordechai's stature as the unchallenged Torah leader, to engage in the incomplete process of Redemption. Mordechai and Esther made the ultimate sacrifice knowing fully well that the result would be incomplete. This was not to be the final redemption, and the road ahead was still a long and arduous one. But Mordechai and Esther taught us the importance of seizing each stage along the way and infusing it with the satisfaction usually reserved for fullfillment and conclusion.

This is the source of the great joy that defines the month of Adar. Nothing happened in the early part of Adar except the process leading to the Purim miracle. But this is the Jewish Holiday of process and that takes more than a day. Perhaps for this reason, too, Purim will exist forever. Even if other Jewish Holidays disappear (after the arrival of the Messiah), Purim is eternal.

For Purim's very essence is that it is but a beginning, a step in the process, and so its eternity is guaranteed.

To be joyous on Purim one need not be perfect, one need not have arrived. One need only find the great joy inherent in every step, in every breath, in every heartbeat. For that, it may be best to go beyond intellect and comprehension and to feel instinctively the joy of contributing, in whatever small way, to G-d's Joy in "His lot, the people of Israel".