Besamim Mucho (Yemei Merukeihen)
On Purim, the Potzker Rebbe was pained and embarrassed to hear of even one Jew who appeared inebriated in public in celebration of that day.
“A shande to the goyim,” he would mutter to himself on such occasions. The Potzker wished that people focussed on the wonderful intricacies within the Talmudic passage that formed the basis of the “obligation” to drink alcohol on Purim instead of using it as an excuse to get sloshed. With that in mind, every year at his Purim feast, he taught his guests his interpretation of that Talmudic text:
Raba said: It is the duty of every adult male to “get spiced” on Purim, up to, but not beyond the point that he cannot tell the difference between the phrases “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordechai”.
To the Potzker, marking differences was one of the central themes of Purim. In fact, it was to him a central message of the Torah, reinforced every week in the havdalah ceremony separating the holiness of the Sabbath from the ordinariness of the other six days. The process of recognizing boundaries, establishing limits and appropriately responding to the crossing of lines captured the Potzker’s imagination and occupied much of his thinking. He was most intrigued by the narrowest and fuzziest of such lines, the thin grey zone between black and white, the type of line that Raba was referring to in his teaching. The Potzker loved the way that those types of lines weaved their way through Megillat Esther. The lines between Mordechai & Haman. Us & them. Good & evil. Uniformity & diversity. Fact & fiction. Truth and myth. Fate & chance.
The Potzker emphasized that lines of differentiation kept the planet intact, but at the same time, constantly threatened to rip it apart. The tension of that dynamic was explored in the Talmudic text that immediately followed Raba’s teaching.
The Potzker taught that text as follows:
Rabbah and Rav Zeira worked through “getting spiced” together by sharing a Purim feast. At one moment within that process, Rabbah, intoxicated by the essence of Rav Zeira’s wisdom, decided that he would eat his colleague in order to become one with the uniqueness that was Rav Zeira’s brain. Rabbah arose, and began to prepare for the ritual slaughter of a shocked and traumatized Rav Zeira. What happened next, well, that is left to the imagination. Suffice it to say that, on the next day, prayers of compassion were offered, and Rav Zeira was miraculously revived to his former pre-traumatized self.
One year later, Rabbah invited Rav Zeira to recapture the highs that they had experienced one with the other at their famous Purim feast.
Replied Rav Zeira: “Even though all of time is miraculous, miracles do not happen all of the time.”
The Potzker always chuckled when he finished recounting this tale. With the delivery of the story’s punch line, he imagined he could see Rav Zeira standing in the room smiling with him.
One Purim, the presence of Rav Zeira felt so real that he took a chance and directed a question to that entity.
The Potzker asked: “Rav Zeira, it has long troubled me that it was not clear in the Talmud what prayers were offered the morning that you were healed of your wounds. Teach us, so that we too can learn to heal from our own emotional wounds.”
Replied Rav Zeira: “The answer is in your siddur. In fact, it is the first line that all Jews recite together every morning when they gather together in a minyan to pray."
Rav Zeira then quoted that prayer:
"With humility, we acknowledge You, The Nameless One, Our Primary Focus, Monarch of Eternity, who gave the rooster the wisdom to differentiate between the day and the night.”
“That morning, as Rabbah and I said our prayers together, we recited that line and glanced at each other. I gave him a wink and he gave me a grin, as we both realized that a chicken had more wisdom in its tiny brain than the wisdom the two of us shared over the preceding 24 hours.”
From that day onward, the Potzker began the rhythms of his day by humbly meditating on the chicken principle taught to him by Rav Zeira.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
POSTSCRIPT: Der Oylem Iz A Goylem רבא ברא גברא
Tradition has it that kreplach are eaten at the feast of Purim. While the origins of this practice are not clear, the Potzker suggested that it was rooted in the incident involving Rav Zeira and Rabbah.
He taught:
“Kreplach, a food with three edges, are eaten three times a year: before Yom Kippur, on Hoshana Rabbah and on Purim. Why a food with three edges? Because on Yom Kippur we are brought to the edge of repentance, on Hoshana Rabbah we are brought to the edge of the human potential for change, and on Purim we are brought to the edge of freedom of choice. Rabbah fell over the edge of Purim, but regained his balance and was fully forgiven by Rav Zeira before Yom Kippur. However, human nature being what it is, he had to be rescued from the temptation of repeating his transgression the next Purim when Rav Zeira reminded him of the lesson of Hoshana Rabbah.
Nevertheless, on the second anniversary of their famous Purim feast, Rabbah, still craving to recapture the mystical high that eluded him ever since that fateful day two years earlier, fashioned a golem out of clay and sent it to Rav Zeira’s home, hoping to entice his colleague to come over to his place and break bread. When the golem arrived at Rav Zeira’s door, it said nothing, and just stood there. Having just begun his Purim feast, Rav Zeira realized that Rabbah was still somewhat under the influence, despite the passing of 24 lunar cycles. Rav Zeira took a bowl of soup filled with kreplach, put it in the hands of the golem, and sent the golem back to his master, hoping that the gift would remind Rabbah of the lessons of kreplach. And just in case it didn’t, Rav Zeira started packing his bags, inspired by the golem to pursue a different type of high than the one Rabbah sought, the high that comes from breathing the air of the Holy Land rather than the high that comes from breathing air into the body of a golem made of the soil of a foreign land.”
And that is how the Potzker explained the eating of kreplach on Purim. Committed to learning, whenever the Potzker shared holiday kreplach with anyone, he always asked if they knew of a good reason for that tradition. He still roams the world searching for a more satisfying explanation than his own.
