When Masks Fall

On the way to the office today, I stopped at a coffee shop. I had my bag checked and was asked if I was carrying a weapon by an Ethiopian guard wearing a black, conical witches hat. Inside, I was served by a lovely young woman dressed as a bumble bee. Another customer was dressed as a clown. On Ben Yehuda Street off Zion Square, I saw a geisha, a handful of gothic types, a Raggedy Anne, some cowboys, a host of kids with painted faces, and various people with shiny hats, feathered boas, antennae and wigs.

All of this is for Purim, a holiday that celebrates a time when Jews did not get killed. A long, long time ago, in a place not too far away, Haman, the vizier to Persian king Xerxes I, planned to kill every Jew in the Persian Empire. He wanted to do so, the story says, because he felt that Mordecai, a Jewish member of Xerxes' court who'd once saved the King's life, had not shown him, Haman, sufficient deference. Basically, Mordecai wouldn't bow to Haman, so Haman wanted to kill every Jew he could. (It could be a regional slogan, "Pride and Shame--Deeply Embedded and Leading to Violence for More Than Two Thousand Years!") Enter Esther, Mordecai's foster daughter and Xerxes' wife. She learned of the plot, told her husband and, at great personal risk, revealed that she herself was Jewish. Xerxes sided with his bride, ordered Haman put to death and permitted the Jews to arm and defend themselves.

The main point is not that once upon a time, a Persian potentate had a Jewish advisor and a Jewish wife (even if he didn't know she was Jewish when they wed), though it's interesting to ponder in light of current events and current feelings between Iran and Israel. But I digress. We're talking about Purim. The whole story is told in the Old Testament's "Book of Esther," which is read at unusually boisterous synagogue services. Congregants and rabbis (and waitresses) wear costumes to mark the incidences of disguise and fortuitous mistaken identity that proved beneficial to the Jews of Esther's day. Every mention of Haman's name elicits hoots and hollers. People use noisemakers and stamp their feet. It may not be quite on the level of the biggest Jewish holidays, but it's a good time. There's an element of defiance to it as well, a sort of symbolic middle finger to those who have plotted, are plotting or might one day plot against Jews (and there's no question people are making the connection these days). According to a piece in today's The Jerusalem Post, "Purim is the archetypal religious holiday which Jews like to quip can be summed up in the phrase, `They tried to kill us, we survived, let's eat!' "

The costumes and seemingly blasphemous behavior also suggest that God is present even where not visible or tangible, in atmospheres that don't seem particularly holy, in settings that don't appear to be His kind of place. God is not mentioned at all in the Book of Esther, which is, you know, a little unusual given that it's the Bible and all. But that omission is understood as rhetorical and it informs the rituals and costumes of Purim, letting everyone know that even when the name is absent, even amongst these profane visages and acts, God is there, working, so to speak, behind the scenes. (Alert! Segue Approaching!)

This coming week, the faithful might be trying to keep that in mind, especially those Israelis who hold out hope that their leaders have a sense of higher purpose. On Tuesday, the national comptroller will release summary findings of a report about the government's conduct on the homefront during last summer's Lebanon war. Indications are that it will not be kind to Prime Minister Ehud Olmert and his office--a report focusing on the military's conduct will follow--and Olmert's people are already on the defensive. It's hard to see how the country's leaders can come out of this period of self-examination unscathed. Israelis haven't forgotten or forgiven their leaders for the way in which the fight with Hezbollah played out. "Homefront" is a hugely important word--and concept--here; leaders are traditionally forgiven personal foibles, even big ones, if they are seen as upholding their responsibilities to protect the homefront from external threats. It seems quite a few people believe Olmert and the military leadership failed in that regard last summer. And people are very much aware that Hamas still holds an Israeli soldier captive in Gaza and Hezbollah holds three more somewhere in Lebanon.

One political scandal after another has emerged over recent months, the accused often responding in ways that reveal little other than their own narcissism. Olmert himself is facing investigations for a slate of alleged improprieties, but his troubles were overshadowed last week by an episode that in a matter of days descended from melodrama to farce, very much in line with the Purim spirit. Israelis thinking they need a hero got not a latter-day Queen Esther, but an Estherina. Knesset Member Estherina Tartman was nominated or the Tourism Minister post by Avigdor Lieberman, the leader of Yisrael Beiteinu, a far right party (Tartman's party) that Olmert brought into his ruling coalition last October. Based on her track record and some recent comments she made about an Arab who'd been nominated to another cabinet post, Tartman was regarded alternately as a patriot, a staunch and firm Zionist, a self promoter, and an anti-Arab racist. Her undoing, however, was a series of biographical falsehoods she had spread throughout the years about her education and experience. Lieberman tried defending her at first, even using the unabashedly cynical ploy of insisting people should be more worried about Iran's nuclear program than with a few little lies--ignoring the connection most people were making, which is that it is rather bothersome that the people telling the lies and finding themselves embroiled in these scandals are the ones who are supposed to be dealing with the Iran issue. When the cause was clearly lost, Lieberman let her fall on her sword, which she did, dramatically, in a boisterous, combative press conference during which she withdrew her candidacy and claimed she was the victim of a media witch hunt. Lieberman listened with a pained expression on his face. Editorialists responded with the print version of hooting and hollering.
--Phil Zabriskie / Jerusalem