Copyright Rabbi David Lapin, iawaken.org

Should Women Read the Megilah?

Gaps between the roles and competencies of modern men and women have narrowed. There are not that many areas in which, as a generalization, one gender consistently outperforms the other. Still, there is a yin/yang kind of polarity between masculinity and femininity that we lose at our peril. Masculine and feminine polarity creates energy like the electricity created by the polarity of positive and negative. There can be comfort without polarity, but not energy. Masculine-feminine polarity generates the balance of universal energy, it underpins kedushah (sanctity), and it nourishes successful relationships.

This masculine-feminine polarity helps to explain aspects of women’s roles in public Avodah such as Tefilah Betzibbur, Keriat Hatorah and Mikrah Megilah (Public prayer, Torah reading and Megilah reading). These roles are often socially contentious and Halachikly complex.

The case of Mikrah Megilah is particularly interesting. Women are chayavot (obligated) to hear the Megilah but, according to the Shulchan Aruch (O.Ch: 689:2), are not able to read the Megilah on behalf of men. Why, at least in communities where this would not be considered inappropriate (Kavod Hatzibbur) or within the confines of a private home, should a man not fulfill his mitzvah if he heard the Megillah read by a woman?

Reading To or Reading For?

There is something quite unique about the mitzvah of Megillah-reading that is different from Torah-reading. In the case of Torah reading one is required to hear the Torah being read from a kosher scroll. In the case of Megillah, the mitzvah is to read the Megilah, not merely to hear it read. The Ba’al Korei (reader) in the case of Megilah, is not reading it to the community, he is reading it as their shaliach, on behalf of the community. He represents and stands in place of each person in the community. When he reads, it is as if each individual is reading from the scroll.

Women however have a different relationship to the Megilah. Their responsibility is to hear the Megilah, not to read it (Mordechai[1] and Ramah[2] in Shulchan Aruch). Women have no obligation to read the Megilah for themselves or to appoint a shaliach (an agent) to read it for them. It is for this reason, suggests the Ba’al Halachot Gedolot[3] that a woman cannot read the Megilah on behalf of a man: because one may not act as an agent for another if one is not obligated to do that mitzvah in the same way as the other is. The Mishna Berura[4] also gives that as the reason.

Even though women, because they were as much part of the Purim miracle as men, are obligated to hear the Megilah reading, their halachik relationship to the Megilah is different from that of a man.

Masculine and Feminine Energy

Understanding men and women’s different Megilah obligations, requires an appreciation of some Kabalistic differences between feminine energy and masculine energy. Masculine energy is outgoing and action oriented. Feminine energy is deep, personal, inward and more passive. Masculine energy is about quantitative outcome; feminine energy is about qualitative process.

The Shem Mishmuel[5] (5678) explains that these two energies appear in the Purim miracle. There was the passive salvation of the Jewish people, and there was also an active physical battle that had to be fought and won. The battle resulted in Venahafoch hu (the scales were reversed): not only were the Jews saved from their enemies (that alone would have been miraculous) but they also ruled over their enemies and dominated them, a double miracle. Women experienced the first facet of the miracle, the salvation. In fact they not only experienced it, they in the person of Esther actually facilitated it. This is why Aff hein hayu be’otto haneis (women too, were part of the same miracle) and have to participate in hearing the mitzvah of Megilah. However, dominating the enemy after a bloody battle was a particularly masculine facet of the miracle in which women were not directly involved.

The Shem Mishmuel sees a reflection of these two facets of the miracle in the two facets of the Megilah Reading. Reading the Megilah out aloud to the community is the facet of the Mitzvah driven by the masculine energy of public action. Hearing the Megilah inwardly, allowing its sounds and meaning to penetrate to the depths of the Jewish soul, is the facet of the Mitzvah driven by feminine energy. It is the delicate harmony of masculine and feminine energies, the reading of and the listening to the Megilah, that makes the occasion perfect. Women as guardians of the feminine energy in the world, perform the listening facet, while men perform the reading facet. This existential balance would wobble if a woman, who has no obligation to read the Megilah, did so on behalf of a man who is obligated to read it out aloud.

The way the mitzvah of reading and hearing the Megilah is constructed, maintains the polarity of masculine and feminine energies and enhances their harmony. The men read out aloud. The women listen inwardly. This harmony underpins kedushah and nourishes relationships.

Men (or masculine energy) dominate; women (or feminine energy) facilitate. Men need to win; women want to succeed. That is the difference. Women in a dating situation, playing a game or sport against men are often anecdotally advised to “let him win.” When he wins, she succeeds. When the men of Shushan overcame the Amalakite bands of Hamman’s brutes, they celebrated victory and they still do: by reading the Megilah out aloud in public. And while they do this, the women listen quietly and deeply with the inner knowledge that the victory being declared by their men is the success that they as women orchestrated. This male-female polarity playing out in the Megilah-reading, ignites the spark that is Purim.

Notes:

[1] R. Mordechai ben Hillel 13th Century, Germany

[2] R. Moshe Isserlis, 16th Century, Crackow

[3] Around the year 800 C.E.

[4] The Chofetz Chayim, R.Yisrael Meir Kagan,19th-20th Century, Raddin, Poland.

[5] Sochatshover Rebbe, 19th- 20th Century.

© Rabbi David Lapin, 2008 (iawaken.org)

Engaging in the Story

Media technology enables hitherto unimagined dramatic power. Special effects, with their synchronized visual and audial impact stun audiences again and again. The news media use visual impact to shape public opinion and manipulate public sympathies. Sitting in a movie seat or in front of a TV, demands no effort to engage in the drama. The drama is so compelling that it leaves an audience little choice about engaging in it.

Theater is a little different. Unless it is a major Broadway-style musical production, theater requires more attentiveness. You need to follow the dialogue, catch the humor and understand the sequences. The subtleties are generally more difficult to note than in the movies. Elizabethan theater did not even have props of any kind, everything was left to the imagination, requiring still more audience engagement than most of today’s theater.

Reading a good book requires still more engagement and attention. The investment of time and of self in reading is more than that of any other art form. The subtleties are greater, the characters develop over a longer time, and the story line needs to be held together for longer. There is less instant drama.

These differences in art forms explain the differences between various Moeid Moments (Festive times in the Jewish calendar). If Mattan Torah (the giving of the Torah at Sinai on Shavuot) is the ultimate dramatic production with unbridled visual effects, then Purim is the subtle work of literature. Mattan Torah was felt, all of it in one dramatic moment. It was compelling in its essence. It could not be denied by anyone present. That is why we are told[1] that Hashem held the mountain over them and threatened them with extinction if they did not accept the Torah. The Maharal of Prague[2] makes it very clear that this Chazal is not to be taken literally. It simply means that the revelation was so compellingly powerful that the Nation had no option but to accept the Torah.

Mystery and Allure

The Megillah (Book of Esther) is very different. It is a story of events that the cynic could interpret as coincidence. The very meaning of the word Megillah is a process of revelation rather than a moment of revelation (Giluy). The literal meaning of Megilah (scroll) is a book that unfolds, slowly: as one section becomes visible the previous one disappears. This is the essence of Tzeniut, the quintessence of Esther (I shall hide).

The Megillah of Esther presents us with a slowly unfolding mystery. It engages us with its subtle allure rather than with the brazenness of its miracle. It calls to us to find its secret, the name of is Hashem concealed in it waiting for us to discover and uncover it. The acceptance of Kiyemu veKiblu (Israel’s reacceptance of the Torah at the time of Purim without the compulsion of G-d’s overwhelming presence) was of a different quality from the Na’aseh veNishmah (“we shall observe all the commandments and we shall continue to seek to understand them”) of Sinai.

We needed the incontrovertible revelation of Sinai in order to know what we were looking for in Shushan. We needed a face-to-face experience with Hashem to recognize Him later when He hid Himself from us. Emunah (belief) is not about inventing something that is entirely new to us, it is about the discovery of that which we already know, that which is embedded deep into our national DNA. True Emunah comes from our discovery of G-d, not from His revelation to us.

Finding G-d

Megilah is the model of our encounter with Hashem today. G-d is not evident in the reading any single chapter of the Megillah. It is only when you string the chapters together, that Hashem becomes central to the emergent pattern of its story, and the architect of each of its events. So too with our own lives: if we try to seek hashem in single events or short time frames it is often not easy to fund Him. But as we travel the journeys of our lives and the scenes unfold for before us, we begin to see the Yad Hashem (hand of G-d) in absolutely everything. Hashem is in the phase of Hester Panim (a hidden face), that does not mean that He is absent any more than a child becomes absent when he or she hides from their friends. G-d’s hiding is a call to our seeking Him. For when we seek we engage in a much deeper way than we do when He reveals Himself before us in all His glory.

Only when we ourselves have resolved the mysteries of existence, when we have uncovered the Divine in every corner of the universe, will He no longer need to hide and a new era of man-G-d engagement will begin.

Notes

[1] Shabbat 88a

[2] Introduction to Or Chadash

via Y.Y. Jacobson, algemeiner.org

The Ship, the Island, and the Fish

One of the great Talmudic sages related the following episode:

Once, while on a ship, we came to what we assumed was a large island, since we saw on it sand and growing grass. We disembarked the ship, went on to the island, built a fire, and cooked our meal. Yet what we assumed to be an island was really a fish. When the fish felt the heat, he rolled over and we were plunged into the water. Had the ship not been nearby, we would have drowned.

– Talmud Bava Basra 73b.

What is the meaning behind this absurd Talmudic tale, related by one of its great sages Rabba Bar Bar Chana?

According to some of the great Talmudic commentators, this tale captures – in intriguing metaphor – one of the most essential truths about Jewish history, particularly one relating to the holiday of Purim.

The Journey

From the moment they stood at Mt. Sinai more than three millennia ago, the Jewish people have been traveling on a lone journey. Their destination is a world healed, redeemed and reunified with its Creator; a society cleansed from ego-centricity, hatred and bloodshed; a universe permeated with moral and spiritual awareness, filled with “the knowledge of the Divine as the waters cover the sea” (in the words of the prophet Isaiah). The Torah and its Mitzvos serve as their blueprint for this courageous voyage in a vast and seemingly endless sea.

Yet the waters have often become increasingly tumultuous and the voyage discouraging, if not apparently futile. So when in the midst of their journey they observed what seemed to be an island of serenity, an oasis of tranquility, a respite from a miserable fate — all too many of them abandoned the “ship” of Jewish consciousness and commitment for the perceived blessings of freedom and happiness.

The era in which the Purim story occurred was a classical example of this pattern. The king was married to a Jewish woman; large segments of Jewish society assimilated into Persian culture; the Jewish establishment played a pivotal role in the economical and political processes of the Persian Empire. The community had been invited to the royal feast and given status as equal citizens. Most importantly: The Jews learned how to “behave”; they did not demand kosher food or kosher wine at the feast, nor did they create any other waves that would disturb the equilibrium and make them stand out as Jews.

Seventy years after being expelled from their ancient homeland, their Temple being burnt to the ground, many of them had abandoned the old ship, secure in their belief that they have reached an island of serenity.

Identity Crisis

Throughout history, the struggle of Jewish identity and our relationships with the world around us has become so challenging, that it often caused us to redefine ourselves from within. Jean-Paul Sartre claimed in his Sur le Question Juif that the only thing Jews had in common was that they were the victims of hate. It is not Jews who create anti-Semitism, he said, but anti-Semitism that creates Jews. Arthur Koestler wrote: “Self-hatred is the Jews patriotism.” Franz Kafka said: “What do I have in common with the Jews? I don’t even have anything in common with myself.”

Time and time again we have been lured into the faith that if we abandon the “ship” of Judaism — of Torah and Mitzvos — we would gain acceptance among the brotherhood of mankind. “Be a man in the street and a Jew at home,” was the 19th century slogan. If only Jews weren’t so Jewish we would have less anti-Semitism, so went the theory.

The past three centuries have produced a dazzling variety of movements, ideals and solutions to the age-old “Jewish problem,” offering islands of home for a people tormented by persecution and targeted for abuse. The Enlightenment (Haskala) came to “civilize” us and allow us free entry into European society; the Marxists and Socialists were determined to create a utopia for us; the Zionists came to grant us a State, a national identity, and thus cure anti-Semitism once and for all; Reform came to make us acceptable to the non-Jewish society and to inculcate us with humanistic values; secularism came to free us from the burdens of tradition and mitzvos which have supposedly hindered our progress and happiness.

All of these attempts have been brilliantly captured in that ancient Talmudic tale: Once, while on a ship, we came to what we assumed was a large island, since we saw on it sand and growing grass. We disembarked the ship, went on to the island, built a fire, and cooked our meal.

Disillusionment

Yet, ironically, the end of the Talmudic tale also came to be:

What we assumed to be an island was really a fish. When the fish felt the heat, he rolled over and we were plunged into the water. Had the ship not been nearby, we would have drowned. Each time we came to feel comfortable on the island, and we began at last to live out our latent dreams, the “fish” turned over and threw us back into the raging waters. In the days of Purim, when the Jews felt that they had successfully integrated into mainstream culture, under the very nose of a Jewish queen — the king was persuaded to issue forth a plan of genocide for the Jewish people.

Assimilation never cured prejudice. Not in the days of Purim, nor at any time in the future. It didn’t even in 15th century Spain, where Jews converted to Christianity and yet still suffered from persecution under the vicious doctrine of limpieza de sangre (“purity of blood”), the forerunner of modern racial anti-Semitism. It didn’t in 20th century Germany where Jews were often “more German” than the Germans. It didn’t in the Modern State of Israel constructed as a secular democracy.

The historical truth remains that none of the above movements achieved their stated goals. The Holocaust made mockery of Jewish integration in the general humanistic world; Zionism created the State of Israel but has provided it with no sense of security and only exacerbated the problems of anti-Semitism; Stalin cured us of the “paradise” of Marxism and Socialism; the Enlightenment apparently did not sufficiently civilize us; secularism has to constantly attempt to prove that it is not an empty wagon, leaving our youth thirsty for identity and meaning (1).

Our Hope

“Had the ship not been nearby, we would have drowned,” is how the Talmudic sage concludes the episode. What saved us during the time of Purim – and what has guaranteed our existence throughout our long and difficult history – was not forfeiting our identity and surrendering our truth; it was our animated relationship with the living G-d, the creator of heaven and earth, and our dedication to His Torah and Mitzvos that has allowed us to survive and thrive, till we reach the culmination of the voyage, speedily in our days (2).

~~~~~

Footnotes:
1) Interestingly, the metaphor employed in the Talmudic tale is the fish. What the travelers felt was an island was really a fish waiting to plunge them into the waters. The zodiac sign for the month of Adar is Pisces, fish. As the book of Esther relates, the Persian Minister Haman chose a day in the month of Adar (the 13th) to exterminate the Jewish people (Maharsah to Bava Basra 73b). Conversely, what is unique about fish? They must remain submerged in their natural element of water to survive. So too, the Jewish people must remain in their habitat of Torah and Mitzvos for their continued existence (see Talmud Berechos 61a).
2) This essay is based on the commentary of the Maharsah (Rabbi Shmuel Eliezer Eidels) to Talmud Bava Basra 73b.

Image of “The Cracow Wedding” Purimshpil”

[via iawaken.org by Rabbi David Lapin]

The story of the Megillah, always on the edge of tragedy, is nevertheless peppered with poignant moments of hysterical comedy. The bulk of the comedy however is found in the pages of Talmudic and Midrashic material. This material gives even more life to the fairly brief recounting of the story as told in the Megillah itself.

One such moment occurs when Queen Esther has set the stage for her dramatic revelation of Haman’s complicity in the plot to exterminate her and her nation. Both her husband the King and Haman have arrived at her dinner party. The King is in a joyful mood and asks her what he could give her as a gift up to the value of half of his kingdom. At that point she asks for her life and that of her people, and intends to thrust an accusing finger at Haman who she identifies as the man responsible for the extermination scheme.

An almost tragic error occurs: she points her accusing finger at her husband instead of at Haman. Just in time, an angel comes and slaps her hand across to point at Haman as the culprit rather than Achashveirosh [1]. The moment is miraculously saved and tragedy averted – once again.

The Dual Conversation

Esther’s slip of the finger was what we would call a Freudian Slip. The Vilna Gaon comments that in fact Esther was engrossed in her ongoing conversation with G-d. In talking with G-d she was identifying Achashveirosh as the man most accountable for the Haman plan. After all, the buck stopped with the King. He elevated Haman and endorsed his plan. So, engrossed as she was in that conversation with G-d, her indication of Achashveirosh as the chief villain was the expression of her inner truth. In dialogue with G-d there is no diplomacy or political correctness. And stripped of political correctness, the accusing finger did need to be pointed at the man in charge, at the king.

Why then did the angel push her hand away and cause her to identify Haman as the villain? We all have an inner recognition of the truth, if only we can access the deep recesses of our souls where that truth resides. In our interface with the world however, we cannot always reveal that truth in its pure form. Many individuals and countless circumstances are simply not ready or able to handle pure truth and we often need to dilute the truth and sometimes sugar-coat it to make it digestible.

Recognizing Pure Truth Even when we cannot Express it

It is important that even as we interface with the world with our diluted truth, we simultaneously recognize the pure truth that resides deep in our souls. While we dialogue with the wimpish world in which we live, we should simultaneously be operating in the courageous world of pure truth. At all times we are conducting two conversations: one with the person opposite us, and one with our own souls and with our Creator. At the very moment that we put on a brave face for our children or our followers, we may recognize truth of the fear and vulnerability within ourselves. At the very moment we demonstrate courtesy to a powerful villain, we may recognize within ourselves and in our conversations with G-d, our repugnance of that person.

Esther was involved in just such a dual conversation. To Achashveirosh she was accusing Haman. That was the politically correct thing to do to save her Nation…and it was true. But it was not the pure truth. The pure truth was that the King should be held responsible. Esther recognizes both dialogues and lives at the intersection of both those truths.

In Parshat Terumah the Kelei Yakar points out a similar idea in an innovative reading of the instructions regarding the design of the Aron. He phrases the verse unusually as: You shall cover the Ark with pure gold on the inside; and you shall cover it on the outside. Implying, says the Kelei Yakar, that while the outside has to be gold too, the outside always has to be noble, elegant, dignified and aligned with the inside. However the degree of purity that can and should be found on the inside canot always be expected on the outside. On our outsides we play to many agendas and expectations. On our insides there is no audience there is no agenda. On our insides there is only one standard: Pure Truth.

[1] Megillah 16b