Purim Gone Wild

Only a few weeks after I’d denounced my religion, I found myself celebrating Purim. (Long story, and not one I’m going to tell here. )  I started out with a simple costume (hot pink tights and a sequenced headband) at a small singles gathering. I drank one Red Bull and vodka on an empty stomach. By the time I ended up at temple, my headband was off and I was slightly tipsy. Initially I felt a little ashamed, until I saw the state of affairs that awaited.

A quick disclaimer: By no means do I believe that a place of worship must be solemn and stuffy. I am in full support of making religion fun through innovation and creativity. This, however was the wackiest Megillah reading I’ve ever witnessed. I’ll leave it at that – for now.

Purim is considered the most joyous and outrageous of Jewish holidays, so I wasn’t surprised by the man dressed as Little Red Riding Hood  – complete with lipstick red thigh-high stockings on his incredibly hairy legs – lighting the havdalah candles. I didn’t mind mind the  little hippie girl in all her tie-dyed and bandana glory breakdancing during prayers. Nor did the giant screens flashing “Purim 2010″ or even the Karaoke breaks between chapters rub me the wrong way.  In fact, the Argentine rabbi sounded very 1950′s sock hop singing Beauty School Drop Out (modified to Hebrew School Dropout, go back to Jew School). I didn’t even care that they played Winehouse’s overplayed ‘Rehab.’ (The connections between the lyrics and the content of the Purim story are tenuous at best.)

A woman wearing a green sari and a bendi thanked the audience for outsourcing the reading of the Megillah to her country. (Haha?) She then chanted beautifully while the audience chatted over her.

Perhaps I became a little skeptical when the clergy came out dressed as Wall Street fat cats  – “Fanny Mayowitz” and such.  They were talking about payouts and buyouts, in an overt attempt to make the ancient holiday relevant. Then there were the bizarre and as far as I could tell totally irrelevant political clips: a shirtless Obama on vacation in Hawaii, a clip of his face photoshopped onto a MJ wannabe doing the moonwalk, and Sarah Palin playing the flute in a beauty paegent talent competition.

A man standing in back pulled a mini-bar bottle of Jack from a plastic bag and surreptitiously took a few sips. At least he attempted to be discreet, unlike the frat boy who unabashedly drank from a flask and would later wind up sprawled on the floor of Hot & Crusty in a drunken stupor (I know because I was there for a late night pizza run. Even I went a little wild!)

What does any of this have to do with Purim? I’m still not quite sure. It wasn’t that I found the service offensive or even sacrilegious. It was the gratuitous self-indulgence of the entire scene.  As I child, what I remember most about Purim was putting on a sparkly dress like Queen Ester. But I also remember the story, and the moral about not being taken by appearances.  But I’m not sure I got any meaning out of the other night. So why not skip the service and  head straight for the vodka and Red Bull?

The extra schmaltz diluted rather than enhanced. Half way through, I just wanted to leave and eat some hamentashen. I hadn’t been to temple in ages, and in all honesty I find traditional religious ritual suffocating. Ironically, my first time back felt more baccahanal than stifling, and a part of me missed the comfort of routine.

Amid all the hype and hoopla, we forget the old adage that less is more. The entire purpose of wearing a costume on Purim is to conceal your identity, not flaunt it. A subtle, discreet masquerade is more intriguing (and sexier) than a showy, lets-all-go-crazy-and-dress-like-hoes-or-trannies romp. Premeditated craziness defeats the purpose.

But I could be wrong. On Purim, things are backwards, and on most days, they aren’t what they seem.