March 2014

In Jewish time, we are headed for Purim, the celebration of the Jews’ triumph more than twenty-three hundred years ago over the king of Persia’s genocidal decree.

Purim invites us to focus on identity. In the story, we read of Queen Vashti’s refusal to dance naked before the King and his friends, asserting her identity not just as a wife and entertainer, but also as a woman of independent will. Then, Queen Esther hides her identity as a Jew, and then uses it to save the Jews only after she has become queen. And, we are invited to wear costumes that bring out sides of ourselves that we rarely show to the world.

This is a time to ask ourselves how the many aspects of our own identities play out in our lives. How do I act in different situations? Are there parts of my identity that I want to bring out more fully? Are there parts of myself that I want to keep more private, or only reveal at certain times, or to certain people? How much do I let the circumstances around me determine who I am, or who I can be?

It is in the context of these questions that I want to share a story I heard yesterday from a woman I know, whom I’ll call Eve. Though Eve fantasized since childhood about marriage, she and her husband Jay have had challenges since they got married five years ago. Over time, Eve found that all the things she used to do – daydreaming, dancing, reading gardening magazines, volunteering – were now rare, as she was spending so much time working and being a wife. Eve felt lost.

Then, a year ago, Jay and Eve decided to buy a house as a step toward more fully committing to their marriage and Eve threw her energy into preparations for her first-ever garden. But, six months later, Jay told Eve he felt their relationship wasn’t working — that he no longer felt romantic feelings for her. Eve moved out, to take some time for herself while they figured out what to do next.

Moving into her tiny new apartment, Eve was deeply sad for her marriage. Yet, what surprised her was that, amidst all the loss she now faced, she couldn’t stop thinking about how sad she was that she wouldn’t be able to plant vegetables and flowers in her new backyard. Amidst the challenges of her marriage, Eve had poured all of her hope into her the possibility of a garden, and now that was gone, too.

After a week of moping, Eve came across a website on apartment gardening, on how to grow herbs and flowers in window sills, and cultivate small trees indoors. Soon Eve was spending hours trimming and watering her plants, and also found energy to take a few dance classes. Slowly, Eve started feeling like herself again.
Seeing her looking much happier, her husband recently asked her if they could take another shot at their relationship. As of yesterday, Eve hadn’t decided. But she has decided that wherever she is, whatever role she takes on – wife, mom, health professional – she doesn’t want to lose those parts of herself that make her happy.

Hearing this story, I was inspired by the way that a terrible situation helped Eve figure out how to act for herself and figure out what she really needed. Sometimes, in fitting into the roles we believe we’re supposed to play, we can lose track of who we really are. Even when it’s roles like spouse or parent that we fervently want to play, denying the key pieces of who we are usually ends up leaving everyone less happy. In some ways, I think this happened to Queen Esther, too, in the Purim story. Only in the face of catastrophe could Queen Esther remember who she was and then rise to being her fullest and most courageous self.

Though I hope none of us face anything as trying as Queen Esther or Eve’s situations, I pray that we may all find ways to locate and live out all the parts of ourselves that make us feel most alive. May we all remember that we are more than any one role, and will be most joyful when we give space for all parts of ourselves to shine.

Warm regards,
Rabbi Margie