The route I like to go on my run (I call it a run, but I’m no runner, really) goes right past the Seattle Hebrew Academy. Today, when I turned down Interlaken, there was a car at the stop sign and in the passenger’s seat I saw kid in a big ol’ fro wig. Later, when I passed the Academy, parents were collecting their costumed youngsters and I remembered, oh, YEAH, it’s Purim!
Just the other day I made a batch of Hamentaschen in case my plumber came back. We had a long talk about the tribe before he set out to snake the common sewer line that’s giving us so much trouble. When I was in Israel, where my plumber lived after he left Lithuania and before he moved here, I learned that Purim was not Jewish Halloween, though they make it out that way in the US. In Israel it’s more like Jewish Mardi Gras. A sort of Jewish “show us your boobs!” holiday.
From the page linked to above comes this directive:
According to the Talmud, a person is required to drink until he cannot tell the difference between “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordecai,” though opinions differ as to exactly how drunk that is.
I can’t recommend the Hamentaschen recipe on that same page, I tried it and the cookie dough just isn’t that good. At any rate, should you find yourself drinking at any time today, rest assured that it’s a-okay with the tribe. Enjoy. I can’t speak for the conflict between this raging party day and Good Friday but since I’m going to hell anyway, I feel okay with my plans to celebrate by going for Chinese food and beer.