Drunken Jews: Two hours of optimism, once a year

May you build a ladder to the stars, climb on every rung, may you stay forever young. 

Purim, forgive the pun, can be a very sobering experience (This is a bit late, admittedly). Whilst explanations for inebriation on the day range from expanding God-awareness and exposing a profound inner world to blurring the lines of reality to see the hidden nature of God in history, the reality is usually far more mundane. Nevertheless it has one quality that stands out which remains longer than the hangover the next day: optimism.

More than any other festival, under the boozy haze scattered with flashes of religious sentiment, this message shines through: No matter how bad things get, things will get better and there is always hope. Not for any particular reason, but because God runs the world even if we do not see it.

This is not just a message of Purim but is also expressed in the unusual bonds of solidarity that the festival helps to cultivate. People who never normally speak to each other become best friends, talking and laughing together. Under the cloud of inebriation, people forget their social differences and there is a general feeling that the world can be transformed for better but also not to dwell too much on the negative aspects of this world. 

But then tomorrow comes, and like most other inspiring experiences, fades away. Ten days later, it has already disappeared over the horizon. But it asks a question of those who claim to be religious, particularly in the aftermath of the terrible terrorist attacks that occurred a few days before Purim: 

Do we honestly feel optimism about the future? One of the great qualities of faith, one that I and I'm sure many others struggle with, is the ability to incorporate negative life experiences into a positive, transformative mindset to persevere regardless of the consequences. 

And it is one that I question whether the Jewish world is particularly good at. Anti-Semitism and anti-Israel issues are certainly real and need addressing but must they dominate in such a prominent manner? I recall a facebook post by a particular rabbi during a time of rocket fire telling people off for trivial posts during a time of attack but is this a useful, helpful or positive way to see the world? Sometimes it seems that on a public level, protest against problems actually gets in the way of cultivating a vibrant and positive attitude to the world. Fear, guilt and indignation can become crutches that we lean upon in religious life to the extent that we can't imagine life without them.

Purim doesn't necessarily teach us that things will get better tomorrow but it does provide a useful antidote against despair about the world around us. We would do well, as Dylan prayed for his newborn sung, to try to stay forever young.