Purim

AKA, WTAF

Purim is the weirdest holiday of them all.

I mean that with irritation. And affection. And a kind of exhausted love.

On the one hand: I will always accept an invitation to joy. Especially now. Especially when the news cycle feels like a slow drip of dread. We are commanded to increase joy in Adar, and honestly? Thank God. I need that command.

And also.

The story itself is disturbing. Violent. Politically twisted. Full of power plays, coerced bodies, hidden identities, genocidal threats, and then—at the end—bloodshed that we’re somehow supposed to cheer.

A friend of mine wrote a brilliant summary of her own wrestling with it, and I encourage you to read her take because she articulates the tension so well. I don’t have that level of stamina this year.

There are parts I can get behind. The re-envisioning of hamantaschen—the reclaiming of those triangular pastries as ears, as vulvas, as secret pockets of sweetness. The hiddenness of the Divine Feminine. The Shekhinah cloaked in palace intrigue. The name of God never appearing in the Megillah and yet being everywhere between the lines.

Yes. That. I can work with that.

Hey Alma ran a piece a bunch of years ago that still delights me. Rav Jericho just dropped a hot take that reframes the whole thing through a feminist-mystical lens. I love when we refuse to read these texts at face value. I love when we midrash the hell out of them.

But the end of the story? The sanctioned revenge? The tally of the dead?

In the context of today’s endless wars, it feels like too much. I don’t have the mental or emotional bandwidth to reconstruct ancient violence into something spiritually palatable. I just don’t.

So, yeah. Purim.

Tonight I will gather with my community. I will dress up. I will hear the Megillah—apparently in English, Rocky Horror Style, which honestly feels correct. I will boo Haman. I will cheer Esther. I intend to drink wine.

And while all this is happening, I am holding in my awareness that we are in the midst of a lunar eclipse. A full moon with a shadow crossing the face of reflected light. And Mercury retrograde in Pisces, because of course it is. Emotional tides. Confusion. Secrets surfacing. Illusions dissolving. Old stories glitching.

It’s an excellent time to get rid of shit. Clean things up. Purge what is festering.

So yes, I am praying. Big prayers. I’m going to make some eclipse moon water and use it for the biggest spell of my life - bring the patriarchy down! Once and for all! It’s time for vagina-shaped cookies, love, mother wisdom, caring and respect for the love of Goddess!

I am praying for the cleaning up of the mess that is the Epstein debacle. For truth to be honored and acknowledged where there’s been nothing but corruption and lies. For the destruction of democracy to be halted and reversed. For the end of the patriarchy. And yes, for the Matriarchy to finally freaking RISE!! For a rebalancing so profound that we will not recognize the world on the other side. Let it be one of beauty!

Purim is about reversals. What was hidden becomes visible. What was powerless becomes powerful. What was decreed gets overturned.

V’nahafoch hu. It flips.

I’m hanging onto this part this year. It’s time for a flip. I am desperately hoping that that all this Trumpian ugliness is patriarchy’s last gap and that people will come to their senses.

Still. We are all raw. We are all overstimulated. We are all trying to metabolize too much.

Be extra gentle with yourself and others this month. We will need that gentleness like oxygen.

Slow down.

Think before you speak. Mercury is swimming backwards through the emotional swamp of Pisces, my emotional home.

Clean your house. Clean your inbox. Clean your habits.

But most of all, focus on what actually matters.

Each other.

And this planet.

Everything else is noise.

Chag Purim Sameach, you complicated, glitter-covered, rage-and-joy holiday.