This Shabbat we study the Parshah Vayikra, meaning “And [He] called” (Leviticus 1:1). G-d calls to Moses and communicates to him the laws of the korbanot, the animal and meal offerings brought in the Sanctuary. Among them are the different types of “sin offering” (chatat) brought to atone for transgressions committed erroneously – as well as the “guilt offering” (asham) brought by one who has misappropriated property of the Sanctuary, who is in doubt as to whether he transgressed a divine prohibition, or who has committed a “betrayal against G-d” by swearing falsely to defraud a fellow man.

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Chabad.org

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Purim 2024 begins Saturday night, March 23 and continues through Sunday, March 24 (extending through Monday in Jerusalem). The festival of Purim commemorates the Divinely orchestrated salvation of the Jewish people in the ancient Persian Empire from Haman’s plot “to destroy, kill and annihilate all the Jews, young and old, infants and women, in a single day.” It is celebrated with Megillah readings, gifts of food, charity, feasting, and merriment. (Visit Chabad.org for details.) In 1953 the Lubavitcher Rebbe wrote the following, which is as relevant today as it was then:

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Purim teaches us the age-old lesson, which has been verified even most recently, to our sorrow, that no manner of assimilationism, not even such which is extended over several generations, provides an escape from the Hamans and Hitlers; nor can any Jew sever his ties with his people by attempting such an escape. On the contrary: Our salvation and our existence depend precisely upon the fact that "their laws are different from those of any other people.”

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Purim reminds us that the strength of our people as a whole, and of each individual Jew and Jewess, lies in a closer adherence to our ancient spiritual heritage which contains the secret of harmonious life, hence of a healthy and happy life. All other things in our spiritual and temporal life must be free from any contradiction to the basis and essence of our existence, and must be attuned accordingly in order to make for the utmost harmony, and add to our physical and spiritual strength, both of which go hand in hand in Jewish life.

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With best wishes for a joyous Purim, and may we live to see a world free of Hamans and all types of Amalekites, the enemies of the Jews, of their body, soul and faith.

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Cordially yours,

[Signed: Menachem Schneerson]

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The world is absurd. Ugly absurd.

To repair ugly absurdity, you can’t just be normal. You need an alternative absurdity. A beautiful absurdity.

We call it “divine madness.”

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Rabbi Tzvi Freeman

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A Jew must know that he is genetically endowed with special qualities. Thus when it comes to matters of Torah and mitzvot, he should not think, “who am I and what am I, to be involved with matters of holiness and spirituality?” On the contrary, he must seize the opportunity and appreciate that he is fully qualified to deal with the most sublime tasks, and that, indeed, is his purpose in life.

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On the other hand, one must never forget that his special qualities and talents to achieve the highest levels are no more than a Divine endowment. This consciousness precludes a tendency towards arrogance and presumptuousness, and preserves a proper sense of humility. Furthermore, it allows one to offer sacrifices in the true spirit, to the point of meriting to offer these in the most ideal manner in the third Beit Hamikdash, “where we will offer to You our obligatory sacrifices... with love, in accordance with the precept of Your Will,” very speedily with the coming of Moshiach.

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From an article by Rabbi J. Immanuel Schochet

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I was ten years old that Purim, and in the fifth grade. That was the year that: (1) I shot up from being the shortest kid in class tomy adult height, 5′3″; (2) Romeo and Juliet was the school play; and (3) Mimmi Cohen came to town. All three factors combined to make fifth grade the toughest, longest, most miserable year I had yet faced.

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I felt awkward with my new height. I so badly wanted the lead in the play, but knew that it was a popularity contest. I felt sure that Mimmi—she would cross out any other way people spelled her name—Cohen would grab not only the lead, but all supporting roles and extras in the play as well. The Friday of the tryouts for the play, I dressed carefully. The tryouts were in the morning. Mimmi and I were called out of class together. She held the blue hall pass, and we walked in icy silence down to the auditorium. I felt gargantuan next to Mimmi, trying to keep pace with her tiny steps in my huge silver sneakers.

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We reached the auditorium. I held my breath as Mimmi showed the blue hall pass to the teacher running the tryouts. “Aha. Right this way, girls,” she said. I felt nauseous and dizzy as I sat, waiting for Mimmi to finish so I could show the panel how good a Juliet I would be. Mimmi strutted about the stage, as cocky as a Bantam rooster. She rolled her eyes and clasped her hands as she spoke, her voice traveling up and down the scale like a car on roller-coaster tracks. With the last phrase, she dropped to her knees with a huge fake sob. Then she stood up, flashed all her teeth in a stagey smile, and curtsied deeply. “Thank you very much, dear.” Mimmi tossed her head and exited down the steps at the front of the stage, grinning as if she were the star of a toothpaste advertisement.

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“Next.” I mounted the steps onto the stage. “Are you ready, dear?” I attacked that script for all I was worth. For every one of Mimmi’s eye rolls, I added two. Every one of her vocal crescendos was eclipsed and forgotten about. For my big finish, as opposed to merely falling to my knees, I threw myself facedown on the floor of the stage. That should show them who Juliet should be. “Thank you.” I stood up, still under the spell of my performance. “Thank you.” I bowed and smiled. “You may go back to class. Miss Cohen, please wait with us for a moment while we discuss rehearsals.” I felt my face turn scarlet. Only when I rounded the corner outside of the auditorium, far away from Mimmi’s grin, did I allow myself to weep.

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I saw a car pull into the parking lot. “Mommy!” I ran out from behind the bushes. “Hi, sweetie!” My mother’s face lit up when she saw me. “What are you doing here?” “Mimmi got the part,” I sniffled. My mother set her lips, but only for an instant. Then the expression was gone, and she leaned toward me. “Do you know what?” she said. “I left dough for the hamantashen chilling in the fridge. It’s all ready for you. Why don’t you come home with me for lunch, and we’ll make hamantashen together?”

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Ten minutes later saw my mother and me in the sunlit kitchen, rolling out hamantashen dough with my great-grandmother’s wooden rolling pins, shiny and smooth as glass from over sixty years of use. The dough spread under our hands like a thick puddle. The ache in my heart abated. “Do you know,” my mother said, “this is the very same recipe that Grandma used when she made hamantashen with her mother in the Old Country?” “They made hamantashen back then?” “Of course,” my mother said. “And before that.” “When before?” “For almost two thousand years, maideleh.”

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That day in our kitchen, I realized that Purim was more than three-cornered cookies. It was part of our legacy, and more lasting than any of the worries that plagued my ten-year-old agenda. The school play, Mimmi Cohen, even being taller than all my classmates, would pass. Gd’s Torah, our Torah, eternal, and His chosen people, the Jews, would remain. I smiled at my mother. This was our secret.

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From an article by Miriam Shapiro

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