March 3rd, '02
Purim: The Whole Megillah

Purim is always a big day for me. For years, I've been leading the Women's Megillah reading in my home town. The Megillah, or the Book of Esther, tells the story of how a Jewish queen saved her people from being killed by the wicked Haman (how she got to be queen involves a beauty contest, and the throwing out of the old queen because she wouldn't appear in front of her husband's drunken friends wearing only her crown, but that's another story...).

In orthodox Jewish circles, the reading of the Book of Esther has become a force for change for the role of women in the community. According to Jewish law, women are exempt from many commandments that involve ritual tasks in the public sphere. Social pressure, as well as tradition dating back thousands of years, has finessed this to the point that, in nearly all cases, "exemption" means "exclusion".

The Megillah is different. Because women as well as men are required to hear the Megillah on the holiday of Purim, most rabbis agree that women can fulfill this commandment by holding a public reading on their own, rather than having men read for them.

Unlike the reading of the Torah that takes place year-round, the Megillah reading -- actually a "singing" with a specific tune -- is a celebration. Participants come in costume, and bring noisemakers to drown out the name of Haman whenever it is pronounced. The story is fun and dramatic. As a singer, I make the most of this opportunity by throwing in lots of funny voices. It's also a perfect showcase for my performing folksinger's diction, and an intellectual challenge to aim for grammatical perfection in the Hebrew (this despite the fact that the Megillah, or scroll, from which I read contains no vowels. What were they thinking?!).

I find it exhilarating to be part of this reading year after year, and to see the excitement in the eyes of the women and girls when they experience, some for the first time, the fulfillment of a public commandment in which they are not spectators, but active participants.

I remember once when my four-year-old daughter and I were in the synagogue, listening to someone (a man) read the Torah. When I shushed her, this little girl turned to me and said: "Right that only boys and daddies are allowed to talk?"

No, Leora. You can talk, and sing, and even shout. And when no one questions your right to embrace the Jewish tradition in all its aspects, that will truly be the time of the Messiah.

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