the jew in the mother (the purim post)

As a kid, I hated going to temple on the holidays. Sitting in that big, cavernous sanctuary for HOURS. I didn’t see the point. At High Holidays every year, when services truly go on forever, I mostly recall falling asleep on my dad’s shoulder; and it seemed that every year, the sermon was about the dangers of interfaith marriage. (Oops, sorry Rabbi.)

As a teenager, I rebelled. One Purim, I made a stand. I. will. not. go. to. temple. But my parents didn’t buy it. I managed to cry for an ENTIRE HOUR during the reading of the Megillah, with people cheering and shaking noisemakers and everything. My parents gave up and took me home before the services ended. Score one for the cranky teenager. After that, my attendance at services was optional, with me mostly opting out.

Like, I don’t know, almost ALL Jews, I love the food of my people, and the humor, much more than the religion. To me, the aesthetics of Judaism could really use an overhaul. The sad little blue and white Hannukah decorations that spring up in small cracks in the societal pavement just make the pale comparison to Xmas that much paler.

As an adult, my participation in Judaism includes my annual Hannukah party, for which I gladly make latkes and somewhat reluctantly light candles and sing prayers for my mostly non-Jewish guests, imperfect attendance at temple at the High Holidays, annual pilgrimages to Los Angeles to participate in the Passover Seder with my family (which includes consuming large amounts of matzohs especially in the form of matzoh brie — without observing the whole 10 days of dietary restrictions.)

Perhaps it’s because my protest occurred on Purim, and maybe it’s not only in my family, but Purim always seemed like the lesser holiday. Just a tick above that one that matches Arbor Day when you’re supposed to plant a tree, and Sukkot where other people build thatch huts in the back yard and have outdoor dinners (sounds lovely, right?) but that didn’t make my family’s annual social roster either that I can remember.

There were the Purim carnivals at Hebrew school, that while aesthetically anemic, were fun. With Queen Esther crowns and games that gave you the opportunity to win a goldfish (or am I confusing that with our annual attendance at the Obon Festival?).

Jewish culture could use some better marketing materials. Scott and I have been thinking about writing a board book. Something modern that makes Judaism look a little warmer and more attractive than the shtetl images that show up in the children’s books we’ve been looking at lately. Judaism isn’t supposed to be sparkly and glam, according to tradition. But according to me, it could benefit from a make-over.

Our friends, whom I didn’t even know were Jewish (well, half-Jewish anyway, like us) gave us a big bag of hand-me-downs that included a book called, simply, The Story of Chanukah. I never thought we would actually read Jonah this book. It was everything that makes my skin itch about Judaism. Strangely alienating archaic line drawings and plodding language, written by a Rabbi who seems totally out of touch with what a children’s board book should  sound like.

Or not?

Jonah LOVES this book.

“There was peace in Jerusalem and throughout the land of Judah…”

He requests it OVER and OVER. He loves the picture of the donkey. When the impure animals and sin take over the temple, he says Oink! When the modern family celebrates our right to worship in freedom at the end, he remarks, Candles, Hot, Latkes, (apple)Sauce.

Recently he spotted our menorahs atop the china hutch in the dining room, still on display from that holiday because I’m not real quick with the whole cleaning up thing. He went crazy. Chanukah, Chanukah! So I filled one with candles and lit it, saying a little prayer for Purim, and giving him a few unlit candles to play with as well.

I wouldn’t even know that it was Purim this past week if we hadn’t joined a free service called the PJ Library. Free books. About being Jewish. The Joys of. For children.

Genius. Someone is marketing my religion. If only the books weren’t so provincial. Or maybe I need to celebrate my culture’s provinciality. At Chanukah last year, a friend gave us a PJ Library book called Something from Nothing which Jonah also loves, and which shows life in the shtetl, complete with a nagging yenta mother and a boys-only school. What would the Jew from Beverly Hills board book look like? (Scott and I are going to write/draw it and get back to you on how to order.)

This month’s PJ Library book, When it’s Purim, alerted me to the arrival of this holiday that I’d all but completely forgotten.

The raccoon mama makes Hamantaschen for her little yarmulke-wearing animal children and friends. At the end, all the forest creatures dress up in costume and eat the cookies. I kind-of wish it was more like the Story of Chanukah book because I could use a child-level refresher on the meaning of the holiday, but we’ll have to wait for the book that comes this time next year, which I assume will be at a higher reading level.

For now, Jonah is excited about the word dough. (“A ball of dough/A rolling pin/Your favorite filling/Let’s begin…) And I’m excited about Hamantaschen, the cookies my Great Aunt Edith would make from scratch every year. I’ve been craving the poppy seed ones every day since we got that darn book. Sadly, I don’t have her recipe, and a few years ago, she passed on. I’ve been emailing cousins and searching the Internet for a reasonable substitute (telling myself this is for Jonah, but really, it’s for me.)

I’ve tried to make a butter-based dough twice so far. First batch was rock hard. There’s a ball in the fridge now that still seems forbiddingly rock-like. (Did Aunt Edith use a cream cheese dough? A yeast dough? Heaven-forbid, a shortening-dough? I’m chasing ghosts and memories.)

I’ve got a coffee cup full of a reasonable poppy seed filling (from a recipe by Claudia Roden) waiting in the fridge. Some say to grind the seeds before soaking, cooking, some say after, some not at all. Roden doesn’t grind. I remember the cookies as being super gritty so I went with not grinding.

I guess it’s still the food I identify with most. We briefly considered taking Jonah to a Megillah reading this year, but decided the raucous noise would be too much for him at this age. Maybe next year?

Me, considering voluntarily attending services. That is an unexpected turn of events.

File under: How motherhood has changed me.