Speaking Up, at the Very Least

Back in the early 2000s, I took a short-term job as the program director for a senior citizens’ center on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. I loved diving into the existing and potential possibilities of what would entertain the mostly Jewish members.

At one point my boss, the executive director, mentioned putting something on the calendar to celebrate Purim. I stared at her blankly. I had no idea what it was. I was in my early 40s. Always a responsible employee, I quickly familiarized myself.

And frankly haven’t thought about it much since. Until the last few weeks.

Described on Chabad.org as a “jolly” Jewish holiday, here’s how it defines Purim:

It commemorates the (Divinely orchestrated) salvation of the Jewish people in the ancient Persian empire from Haman’s plot “to destroy, kill and annihilate all the Jews, young and old, infants and women, in a single day.”

Wait, what???

Back when I read this the first time, I don’t recall it landing on me as breathtaking. I read it as horrible and noteworthy, but so far in the past that it didn’t hit me in an emotional way. That was so long ago, I thought. Whew. Glad people aren’t that savage anymore.

Wait, what???