While driving home from work early this morning--I work at night in an assisted-living place--I thought about what I would like to write next. For an unknown reason I though about the Jewish holiday of Purim and how it was celebrated at Poale Zedeck, the Orthodox synagogue in Squirrel Hill, where my grandparents worshipped. The words poale zedeck mean "workers for righteousness."

Purim is described in Judaism 101 as "one of the most joyous and fun holidays on the Jewish calendar. It commemorates a time when the Jewish people living in Persia were saved from extermination." I love my Jewish heritage for many reasons, one of which is the fact that we are commanded to be joyous on certain days, whether we feel like rejoicing or not. It is our duty to be happy on Purim.

The story of Purim is contained in the Book of Esther in the Bible. The characters are Esther, a young Jewish woman living in the harem of King Ahasuerus, the King himself, Mordecai (Esther's uncle), and Haman the evil and demented Jew-hating advisor to the king who tried to persuade Ahasuerus to exterminate all Jews. Here is his speech to the King:

"There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the peoples in all the provinces of your realm. Their laws are different from those of every other people's and they do not observe the king's laws; therefore it is not befitting the king to tolerate them."
Judaism 101's comment: "This is a speech that is all too familiar to Jews." In order to survive, Esther concealed her Jewish identity, but Mordecai refused to bow down to the King. He persuaded his niece to address the king personally, and rescue her people.

"This was a dangerous thing for Esther to do, because anyone who came into the king's presence without being summoned could be put to death, and she had not been summoned. Esther fasted for three days to prepare herself, then went to the king. Miraculously he welcomed her. She told the King of Haman's plot against the Jewish people, and Haman and his ten sons were hanged on the gallows that were intended for Mordecai." The word "Purim" means "lots;" Haman planned to choose the day of extermination of the Jews using a kind of macabre lottery.

I'm asking myself if I've ever pretended to be somebody else in order to survive. In my case, the answer is yes.

At Poale Zedeck, Purim was celebrated in its full capacity. Children dressed in costumes and played games in religious school instead of learning dates, names, and historical facts. Of course, we were schooled in the meaning of this holiday as well.

The only time I was allowed to venture into the "men's side" in the synagogue was on Purim. As the rabbi read, with his usual dignity, from the Book of Esther and came upon the name of "Haman" he paused, looked up and with a light in his eyes and joy on his face, pronounced the name "Hamaaan," elongating it for the children. Then we went mad, running up and down the aisles and making loud scraping noises with our "gre-gars," or noise-makers.

And then there were Hamantashen, a pastry shaped like a triangle, the word meaning "Haman's hat" or "Haman's pockets." Rosenblooms made these pastries, filled with a poppy seed filling; my mouth still waters when I think of the taste of these delicacies. Part of the joy to be derived from being a Jewish child with my people all around me, celebrating yet another time when the Jews were saved by brave individuals, in this case the woman Esther.