The Questions (and Answers) of BDJ

View a printable version of this Q & A here.

Q: Should I go to work on Purim?

A: (RYK) Such an interesting question. The Gemara (Megillah 5b) makes clear that, despite Purim being referred to as a “Yom Tov” within the text of the Megillah, the work restrictions of Yom Tov do NOT apply to Purim. And in the same breath, it recognizes that there were places where, by dint of custom, people did not “work” in the conventional (as opposed to strictly halachic) sense of the word on Purim day, and that such a custom is binding where it exists. Rambam (2:14), borrowing a concept from the Tisha Ba’v file, declares that although technically work is permissible on Purim, those who work on Purim will not see blessing from that work. Further, when the Shulchan Aruch quotes all of the above, Rama (696:1) appends that “nowadays it is the custom in all places to not work”. 

The impetus behind the custom was that Purim (as opposed to Chanukah for example) is designed to be a “full day”, between Megillah, Mishloach Manot, Ma’atanot l’Evyonim, and of course the Seudah. The custom was not about the idea that working on Purim was in some sense “violative of the day’s sanctity”, rather about work’s taking up the precious time and attention that are intended to be directed toward an intense day of joy and celebration. 

Because of the above distinction, we do find various exceptions to the custom of not working recorded in the writings of commentaries on the Shulchan Aruch. For example, work that itself generates joy, such as planting a tree, is marked as permissible by the Talmud, and the commentary Taz (696:1) extends this to selling one’s wares in the marketplace, as the profit realized brings joy. Others add exceptions to the custom for work that contributes directly to people’s enjoyment of Purim.  

None of the thoughts found among the commentaries though directly addresses the situation in which many of us may find ourselves, namely a “need” to go to work in terms of meeting our employer’s expectations of us, and perhaps the desire to not expend another vacation day with Pesach and Shavuot just around the corner. The closest we come to finding a comment that addresses this situation is one made by Pri Migadim (cited in Sha’ar Tziyon 696:3), in which he rules that work that is done in order to prevent [financial] loss is also excluded from the custom to not work on Purim. I imagine that this is the basis for the reality that many in our communities do in fact spend at least part of the day at work on Purim. 

All this said, it is clear that by dint of tradition and custom we should do whatever we can to minimize the time we spend at work on Purim to the extent possible, and to maximize the time we spend fulfilling the mitzvot of the day!

Q: Why is Haman the only villain in our Jewish history that we have "fun" booing and hissing and even creating hamantashen around? Is there any Jewish tradition I'm unaware of to make noise when we read about Amalek, Lavan, Pharoah, or any other enemy of the Jews?

A: (RYK) So I’m not certain why Haman alone receives this “honor”, but I’m happy to share the very interesting story behind the custom of noisemaking at Haman’s name, and perhaps the answer will emerge from within it.  I also recommend this fine article from which I drew much of the information below.

The story’s earliest layer is the practice of the Talmudic sage Rav (3rd century) who is cited in several sources as having shouted “cursed be Haman and cursed be his sons” when Haman’s name was read. The Midrash (B.R. 49:1) assumes that Rav was inspired to this practice by the phrase in Mishlei (10:7) “may the names of the wicked rot!”, which he understood as implying a positive command to contribute to that rotting through public defamation.  Did Rav also shout at the mention of Pharoah’s name? Or Bilaam’s? We have no such record. (Though some rabbis shouted “may his bones be ground to dust” after the reference to Nebechadnezar in Esther 2:10) It is very plausible that Rav singled out Haman due to the genocidal nature of his decree. 

The earliest mention we have of Rav-like behavior having become a widespread custom is in the early 13^th century work Sefer HaManhig, which says that the children of France and Provence would write Haman’s name on smooth stones, and then bang these stones together when Haman’s name was read. This, in fulfillment of Mishlei 10:7.

This same custom is cited in the late 13^th century work Orchot Chaim and in the 14^th century work Sefer Abudraham, but with an interesting wrinkle. The custom is described as being not only a fulfillment of Mishlei 10:7, but also as a fulfillment of the mitzvah to erase the name of Amalek, from whom Haman is presumed to have descended. It’s worth pausing over this assumption for a moment, as this is not as obvious as we might think it to be.

The Mishnaic Sages clearly associated Haman with Amalek, as is implicit in their choice (Mishna Megillah 3:7) of the Shabbat before Purim for the annual reading of Parashat Zachor. Yet, in the Megillah of course, Haman is never identified as an Amalekite, and it is conceivable that the Mishna placed Parashat Zachor in proximity to Purim not because it assumed that Haman was an Amalekite, rather simply because when searching for a thematically appropriate Shabbat on which to perform the mitzvah of remembering Amalek, they chose the Shabbat just before the holiday whose scriptural text revolves around the deeds of another archenemy of ours, namely Haman.

The Talmud though (Megillah 13a), does assign Amalekite ancestry to Haman, presuming that (1) Haman’s surname “Ha’Aggagi” indicates that he was a descendent of an “Agag family”, and that (2) that the patriarch of this family was none other than the Amalekite King Agag, whom (in Shmuel Aleph, Chapter 15) King Shaul leaves alive after he wipes out all the males of Amalek, and whom Shmuel then kills. This familial connection between Haman and King Agag is by no means a slam dunk of course. The Midrash (cited by the medieval commentary Moshav Zekenim, end of Beshalach) wonders how King Agag could have left an “Aggagite” family in his wake given the utter destruction of his nation, which was immediately followed by his own death just hours or so later. The cited Midrash posits that there was one night between Agag’s capture at the hands of Shaul and his death at the hands of Shmuel, and that during that intervening night he impregnated a woman who later gave birth to Haman’s ancestor. The Academy for the Hebrew Language presents an alternative theory to the Talmud’s interpretation of “Aggagi”, pointing out that the surname Aggagi appears commonly in the genealogies of the kingdom of Elam (which fell to Assyria, which fell to Babylonia, which fell to Persia), whose capital city was…. Shushan!

What’s clear though is that by the late 13^th century the Talmud’s teaching that Haman was an Amalekite produced one of the rationales for the earliest form of Purim night noisemaking. The noisemaking custom then quickly spreads well beyond France and Provence, and is mentioned both by R. Yosef Karo (in his Bet Yosef, though not in his Shulchan Aruch) and by Rama (690:17).

The custom though was not free of its detractors. Some objected to it on the grounds that it was not decorous, and that it resulted in disrespect to the reading of the Megillah, as the reader would have to stop each time the noisemaking happened.  In 1640, the Portuguese congregation in Amsterdam banned noisemaking, and this was followed by similar bans in London in 1783, and in Posen, Poland in 1866. Pri Migadim (18^th century) explicitly wrote against the practice. In other locales the concern was that the noisemaking, which was known to the surrounding populace to be aimed at Haman whom we had often cast as a proxy for more contemporary hostile gentiles, would arouse further anti-Semitism and constitute an immediate and present danger to the community. This concern was first raised in a 16^th century compilation of the laws of Purim and was echoed in later centuries as well.

In the end (or at least as of the 21^st century), the noisemaking custom has of course generally prevailed, due in no small part to its role in getting children to look forward to the night of Purim and to remain in rapt attention as the Megillah is being read. I think that it’s worth taking a moment or two before Purim to think about what our kavannah is when we make the noise (unless this is just a buzzkill for you). What religious value(s) are we expressing, and how do we want our noisemaking at Haman’s name to shape our thoughts and deeds?

Q: I have seen several instances of (particularly chabad) megillah readings at various locations that are more family style and do not have any form of a mechitzah. If the mitzvah of Megilah is more about listening rather than davening, is a mechitzah still required for a halachically valid Megilah reading?

A: (RYK) There are two spaces within which our tradition recommends the separation of the sexes. One is the prayer space and the other (very much subject to varying understandings) is a space that lends itself to frivolous, lightheaded behavior which might lead people to cross the lines of respectful, modest, appropriate behavior.  

When we read the Megillah in shul settings, the reading we’re doing is typically situated within prayer, whether within Ma’ariv in the evening or within Shacharit in the morning. As a result, we read the Megillah in our typical mechitzah-setting. And the truth is that even when we’re reading in shul not in the context of Tefilla (such as the later readings in the evening), people tend to segregate to their respective sides of the mechitzah because that’s just what we do in shul, which is of course fine and good (especially when you’ve constructed your sacred space to provide equal sight and sound access on either side of the mechitzah.) But in and of itself, the reading of Megillah is not prayer, and in this regard does not require that men and women be seated separately.

Now, one could reasonably argue that Purim by its nature is a day when frivolous, immodest behavior might occur. And here I think context and common sense are required. In a context in which there is indeed the risk of Purim frivolity overstepping its bounds during the Megillah reading, a mechitzah is certainly appropriate. If on the other hand the context makes this unlikely - for example in a reading that is specifically designated as a “family-friendly” reading – then there is no need for mechitzah. Again, context and common sense should be followed.