My Big Religion-Related Thought For the Year

Hamentaschen always takes me back to afternoons of my childhood. Hamantaschen being about Purim, and Purim being about our “lots” being cast by choices, their trajectory and our careful observance of the story unfolding around us. If we do not pay attention, there is a lot to lose. This is not something I knew about Purim as a child. I’m not sure I even knew that the Hamantaschen I loved had anything to do with being Jewish. Still, I do believe I was taught the essentials. 

If we’re lucky, we have someone in our life’s story who listened to us, told us what was, and watched us as we unfolded into the world. My person was my grandmother, Mamaw. Mamaw picked me up after school once a week and I went to my grandfather’s and her apartment for a sleepover. Yes, it was on a school night. I am fairly sure my parents were dating at first and that later became counseling and it didn’t work out as they’d planned. Anyway.

Esther Williams

On this school night there were traditions. They had an indoor pool, and Mamaw couldn’t swim but would take me to the pool in the winter months. I would swim with the old folks in their pool. Mamaw would toss coins in the pool and I would dive to get them. I would see how far I could swim holding my breath. I did back flips and forward flips and she sat on a lounger cheering me on and wringing her hands, because what if something happened? She told me I was like movie star Esther Williams, and I would smile doing the backstroke. She constantly told me how brave I was.

In autumn and spring, we went to the library or the park and she told me the history of the family; of the city,; of being Jewish; of the death of her daughter, Betsy, to MS; of my sloppy, slouchy, uneven-buttoned, too smart father; of her childhood and all of her losses along the way. The librarians knew her at two libraries in the city well enough to always have stacked reserves of books for her to pick up, and to call her, “Mrs. Morris,” upon seeing her. She read classics to me when the weather changed. She showed me how to look things up in the Dewey system, and in encyclopedias and dictionaries. She liked biographies, and funny books and drama. There were NOT video tapes at the library until the end of her life, but she knew about audio books because her daughter, Betsy, had lost her vision and listened to the Library of Congress audio books on a record player that became mine when she passed on. All of this to say that words and their power were of utmost importance in our relationship.

In the park, she pointed out edible mushrooms she gathered as a girl, and her absolute hatred and fear of squirrels. She explained how roses were cared for at high altitude. She pointed to where she drove backwards, and where she fell in love. She pointed out the birds who were coming and going. We would lay on the grass together and watch the clouds and find the stories to tell as they blew over us. We adventured into canyons of rocks (very small to me now) and hid from pirates, and had tea parties next to frozen lily ponds, eating Hamantaschen she had made for us, rich with prunes and just this side of sweet, and drinking tea or chocolate from a thermos. Observance of the world around us filled our hours.

So, you can see, I hope, why I always think of her when I write, especially because she always told me to write something I knew about. Therefore, it was always important to pay attention to my life. She far preferred honesty to a tall tale. She spoke to me as a human being from my earliest memories, not as a child who could not comprehend and needed a fairy tale. What a blessing! She was the only one who put the booklet with my earliest published poetry on her coffee table and pointed to it every time a friend visited, giggling because I’d taken her advice and written what I knew about - awkward manners and bike rides.

Lately, I come back to honesty more and more. Am I being honest with these words or am I telling a tall tale? That often forces me back to the point where I started to drift. I am, perhaps only now, learning how much I value this one piece of advice. She loved me enough to tell me to be honest. This is the most priceless writer’s pearl, really the life pearl, I have ever received. It leads me to polish the abrasion of lies of all sorts, white and worse, in hopes of becoming an honest pearl. It is uncomfortable sometimes, even painful, but it always ends up being a relief.

Queen Esther by Edwin Long

What does this have to do with Purim and me? Just to recap: Queen Esther begins her biblical adventure hiding away the truth of herself, that she is Jewish, from her husband, King of Persia, and the world that has made her queen. It is only when the threat of death hangs over her people, and particularly her beloved uncle, the one who believed in her, Mordechai, does she finally accept that she is who she is, and must reveal it to all. By offering this act of honesty, she saves her people and brings down Haman, the aspiring genocidal murderer. He only remains in history as a cookie shaped like his hat. It is a sweet, but not too sweet, reminder to pay attention and tell the truth. Esther is one of the few female stars of the Abrahamic faiths that remains unchallenged in her gift: coming forward with trust in honesty.

Now, my understanding is, and it is entirely degrees removed from experience, that adults celebrate Purim much like adults celebrate Mardi Gras, or Carnevale. That the intention is a release of sorts. Sweet like Valentine's Day trying to get to the truth of love and sentimentality, originally a month long celebration for the Goddess Februtis, the cleanser, who had come into work out a lover's war between twins, Romulus and Remus with an all out erotic ball. We all need a moment in the year when we don't atone, but rather let off steam and stop trying to cover up our crazy. Mamaw would have loved this interpretation and giggled about it, retelling it and making people between us uncomfortable and embarrassed.

.In this month, at this time of the year we celebrate with the truth of who we have become by our decisions, by the attention we paid along the way, and our willingness to share what we discover. This is our freedom moment, a chance to be a pearl, a star.