The transformation of Purim in the UK

One of the most shocking moments in the history of my synagogue was when our rabbi actually got a bit tipsy during the megillah reading on Purim. This was in the mid-1980s, and I was in early adolescence at the time. I must have known that it’s a positive mitzvah to get drunk on Purim, but given the reactions of my parents and the adult members of the congregation, this mitzvah apparently did not apply to our Reform shul. The clue was in the tiny size of the glasses of whisky that were being handed around.

My childhood Purims were far from celebrations of excess. There were parties, but they were very much children’s parties of the most innocent sort. Purim was a time of ambivalence in Reform and Liberal shuls. The early reformers all but abandoned the festival, fearing its insularity, the dark and twisted sexuality of the book of Esther, to say nothing of the violence at the end in hunting down the Hamanites.

By the time I was born, things had loosened up slightly, and Purim was usually marked in some way in Reform synagogues, although Liberal ones were even later to the party. The compromise was to focus the festival on the children and to keep the adult celebrations within strict bounds of propriety.

How Purim became a holiday for school-aged children

Recent data from the Institute for Jewish Policy Research (JPR) suggests that Purim joy remains far from universal in the UK to this day. The more observant you are, the more likely you are to celebrate the festival: 99% of those who describe themselves as orthodox, 59% of those who describe themselves as ‘traditional’, compared to 48% among Reform/Liberal/Progressive Jews and 17% among ‘secular/cultural’ Jews.

Things may be changing, though. While 46% of those in of my age cohort of 50-59 celebrate Purim, this rises to 63% of 16-29 year olds. British Jews are also more likely to celebrate Purim if they have children – 70% of households with school-age children mark the festival, compared with 44% of those without school-age children.

The expansion of Jewish day schools may be changing things. Rather than the awkward, forced jollity of the Purim parties of my youth, in the Jewish schools my children attended, Purim seemed to be a day actually to look forward to – at least a bit. There was a fair, treats and teachers dressing up, performing skits and making fun of themselves. As far as schools go, it’s a fun day. You know, for the kids.

The value of Purim as a safety valve   

The State of Israel has likely played a role in bringing a little bit more festive spirit into even the most English and ‘proper’ progressive shuls. While Purim in Israel this year is likely to be complicated, Purim in Israel usually seems like actual fun. There, Purim is an all-around celebration, with virtually all Jewish children – and many adults – in full costumes, enjoying public parades and events, and yes, alcohol soaked parties.

I have had the pleasure of being in Jerusalem for Shushan Purim (the day after the festival, when Purim is held in walled cities). The centre of the city was full of singing haredi Jews staggering around clutching half-empty bottles of vodka, and not a few of them were incapable of even doing that.

In a society like Israel’s that is often under stress, Purim can be a safety valve. But those of us in the Diaspora can also benefit from it too. Anthropologists have shown how periods of excess and transgression have often been built into societies. Paradoxically, a time when the world is turned upside down often works to reaffirm the social order. That can also put us back in touch with out humanity. The excessive blurring of the boundaries of the acceptable and unacceptable, particularly through exceeding the limits of the body – reminds us that we are only human, only mortal and only ridiculous.

Celebrating Purim in a Jewish world transformed

The transformation of the condition of the Jewish people has itself turned Purim upside down.

Diaspora Jewish life has often meant that Jews have had to practice a discretion and wariness that cannot always be reconciled with letting kids dressed up as queens and kings for one day a year. Even in the UK today, where, despite rising antisemitism, we are freer to be Jewish publicly than our ancestors were, there remains anxiety about how far we can push it. It doesn’t help that hardcore antisemites see the violence described at the end of the book of Esther not as the transgressive fantasies of a downtrodden people, but as descriptions of a genocidal lust that lies at the heart of Judaism.

While the modern state of Israel has enabled Jews to abandon themselves to Purim excess as never before, the radical change in the context in which it is celebrated has implications that deserve thinking about. In a year when Purim falls during an actual war between Israel and Iran/Persia, the dividing line between fantasy and reality can become confused and confusing.

These are grown up issues, for grown up discussion in periods of sobriety. It’s certainly ironic that Purim is often treated as a festival for kids; there’s actually a better argument that Purim should be fun for adults only.

Still, I can’t escape the legacy of the distaste for Purim I grew up with. If anyone is looking for me during this year’s festival, I’m the one who is dressed in normal clothes, sober as a judge.