One of the main advantages for Jewish kids in a Christian world is that — thanks to Purim — they get two “Halloweens.” And for parents, it’s nice to get double use out of that overpriced probably-toxic-plastic monstrosity you rush-ordered from Amazon on October 28. More broadly, Purim celebrations are probably the most accessible entry point for getting the littles to associate Judaism with “fun.” Passover strains mightily to do this, and sometimes succeeds. Hanukkah succeeds, but at the price of sometimes becoming a sad Christmas knockoff.
Purim is just unlimited sweets, grown-ups making fools of themselves, and kids getting to be loud. Game over.
But for anyone who actually reads the original “whole Megillah,” there’s a lot going on in there that’s very far from fun. And extremely far from “family-friendly.” Raging alcoholism. Domestic strife. Female exploitation. Genocidal antisemitism. Slaughter in the tens of 1000s. Literal asphyxiation, 11 times over.
So how did that dark, telenovela-like book become the only Jewish holiday when we’d even think of having a “Carnival?”
One reason is, Megillat Esther, or the Book of Esther, is famously the only book of the Bible where God is never mentioned. In a way, this frees up a spirit of irreverence, bordering on blasphemy. Purim stands apart from other, more theologically formulaic Jewish narrative holidays with its wild roller coaster narrative. And this briefly gives the religion of rules a refreshing “anything goes” vibe.
Purim has also served some historical functions that give it a different flavor. For some, it’s a sly way to knock back down to earth the high and mighty. And/or a cathartic storyline to insert whatever villain is currently threatening the Jewish people. And finally, with its only halachic orders involving how to celebrate, Purim has been a great avenue for much-needed escapism.
But to get back to the story: How can it be so readily boiled down and leeched of its naughty adult parts? Perhaps because the basic tale is very simply hero and villain: an unlikely underdog girl gets to be royalty and fight and defeat a two-dimensionally cartoonish villain. It almost comes across as a Disney movie.
All of which was a propos for me recently, because I’m a professional screenwriter who was actually hired to adapt the Purim story into a family-friendly film. I read the previous drafts — one where they adapted it so literally it would have been rated X, the next where they went to the other extreme and made it about Esther and her wacky talking animal friends.
I was the Goldberglocks asked to find the balance, and it was an interesting challenge. I had to find ways to make some of its barbarities more palatable — for example, reducing King Ahasuerus into an innocent, gullible dupe of Haman so he could be an actual love interest for Esther that we like, rather than what he… actually was like. And I tried to bring a little silliness to Haman, so that his actual terrifying plans could be felt to be more ridiculous and unlikely.
It didn’t hurt that I’d been producing and sometimes appearing in Purim spiels (staged, often riotously comedic re-stagings of the Book of Esther) for over 20 years. I knew the story had so many unlikely twists and turns, hidden identities, incredible coincidences, it was an endless mine of possibility.
And I think, in a way, this is why it’s actually a good thing that Megillat Esther has been popularly boiled down to a kiddie-version. Because the main theme of the story, and holiday, “v’nahafoch hu” (Hebrew for “and it all got turned upside down”), is an extremely powerful Jewish idea that shines through it. Ever since the Golden Calf, we Jews have been trying to get the world to not take human-made institutions too seriously, and reminding everyone that everything can change in a flash. As well as the idea that we live behind masks that hide our true selves.
Kids may come to Purim celebrations dressed as everything from princesses to Pokemons, and not understand a word of that ancient thing being sung up on the bimah. But they see the big authority figures in their lives not taking themselves too seriously, the hallowed halls of their synagogue briefly turned into a free-for-all where hierarchy is temporarily abandoned. And, even when they know or intuit that Big Sad Adult Things Are Happening in the world, they feel powerfully how the Jewish people respond to, and survive, them: through unfettered joy and celebration of what we have, and our continued peoplehood.
And that’s an even better value for that costume than getting to use it twice a year.
