This piece was originally written in 2007. You can read my thoughts about rediscovering it here.
Primary school. Fairy four times in a row, until the dress got too small.
Running around the playground singing, “I’m a fairy, I’m a fairy!” Then a magician with a pop-up wand, then a fortune-teller.
My mother spent hours on us. In a few years from now, too old to dress up.
Hear the megillah in the big school hall with hundreds of colorful cross-legged children. No classes, only games, teachers looking silly.
Humentaschen, chocolate wafers, paper plates filled with lentils.
This is Purim.
Nine years later. Fireworks in the shiur as the Rabbi turns the whole thing upside down. The purpose of evil is only, only, only to reveal the good. Look at the story, look at your life. It’s all there.
I walk out in a daze, rubbing my eyes.
Golders Green High Street is a parade of Morderchais and Esthers. Give them coins from your car window.
Go with Anna from Aish to the hospital and watch her paint the walls with smiles. There is so much sunshine on this day.
This is Purim.
Voila! – A sem girl in Jerusalem. Sunrise at the Kotel – did we stay up all night?
A shimmering calm cloaks the low buzz of prayers. Three American girls from my dorm in bright goofy costumes walk slowly backwards.
Har Nof: the streets filled with craziness, noise, and candy. Spend the day delivering baskets.
I see my teacher with her newborn in a stroller and four Harry Potters tagging along.
I walk her down the road and tell her I don’t know if I should come back next year.
She says something to me, I can’t remember what. I just remember the sincerity and the depth and the care.
Seudah at my cousins on Brand Street. They’re newly discovered and distantly related but live four buildings down and feel like family.
At least thirty of us squish together. Two guitars are being played; I pick up another and join in. The small room is filled with song.
Above the music, my cousin David calls over to me: “Gemma, Eretz Yisrael is your home, this is where you belong!”
I’m not there yet and wonder what he means.
This is Purim.
Back for Shana Bet. Kaufman Japanese tea party only next door.
My friends and I give each other long and holy blessings. I love them so much. In the coming years, how many will we see fulfilled?
We tell each other, “You’re so special and you don’t even know it!” And pour each other more wine.
We watch Miri, our madricha, on the phone outside with a L’Chaim on the horizon. She’s dressed as a Mea She’arim balabusta – and just who is she talking to with a sparkle in her eye?
Mincha on my balcony beneath the clear, sweet sky. Swept up in a moment of stillness and wanting to stay there forever.
Praying silently, urgently – not knowing what’s right, or what’s best – just please, please, let me stay in Your land!
This is Purim.
It’s that time of year again, but I can’t change the way I feel.
Do You want something from me? But I’ve got nothing of my own.
It’s that time of year again and I just need to feel Your light.
Will You give me Purim?
