Queen Esther Revealing
Her Identity from
a stunning series of contemporary mosaics of the Purim story by Lilian Borca.
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This
year Purim begins as sunset this Saturday, March 11 just three days after International Women’s Day and the A Day Without a Woman strike in the USA. Close enough for horse shoes
and hand grenades. But back in 2012
Purim, which wanders all over the late winter/spring
Gregorian Calendar because it is fixed to the ancient Hebrew calendar fell smack
dab on the same day. If you have
been hanging around this joint for
long, you know what that meant—calendar coincidence Murfin verse.
Since
then, I have generally recycled the
poem in Purim posts most years. But this
year the laughing defiance of Queen Esther to her sisters seems much more at home
today. So here she’ll be.
I
am not going into the full, fantastic yarn related in the Old Testament Book of Esther. Suffice it to say that this tale of the Jews in the days of the
Babylonian captivity sticks out in the Bible both because it never mentions Yahweh—it is about tribal and cultural identity, not religion—but
because it is a rip-roaring saga rife
with drunken royal orgies, a lascivious
king, a scheming and evil vizier, treachery
galore, a clever old man, a virtual pogrom, and a defiant counter attack that leaves goyim dead by the heap. But mostly it is about
a lovely and virtuous teenager who is essentially
abducted and sex trafficked all
the way into the Royal bedroom to
which she adapts and seems to performed her duties with exquisite and irresistible skill.
Esther
is the princes/queen who will never be animated by Disney or warble the words of a cheerful and inspiring anthem. None-the-less
she triumphs and save Jewry by her wiles. And Disney or not,
Esther is the one that all of the little
girls want to dress up as for
the rollicking, joyous festival of
Purim.
You
can look it all up.
Anyway,
let Esther speak again to her sisters across time and space.
Purim/International Women’s Day
14th day of Adar 5772/March 8, 2012
Queen Esther tossed her head,
gleaming black hair
tumbling to those
lovely shoulders
that had enticed a
lecher King.
She
laughed.
Her people, the Women of another age,
leaned toward her
waiting her word.
She cast her blazing eyes upon them,
laughed again
and spoke at last.
“So many Hamans. Where shall we
begin?”
—Patrick Murfin
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