Precisely the noise of Purim is the Jewish response to uncertainty and fear.
Will there be an attack on Iran or will there not be? The entire world has been sitting on edge for weeks. Every morning people wake up with this question, and each day that passes without a decision only raises the level of tension.
It has already reached the point that people say, “We just wish something would happen already, anything, as long as the waiting ends.” The waiting itself wears down the nerves, especially for the residents of the Holy Land who live this reality day by day.
But not only them. I personally know at least two situations that illustrate how deeply this uncertainty penetrates everywhere.
One family living abroad is preparing to marry off one of their children in Israel shortly after Purim. On one hand, in Judaism a wedding is not postponed. On the other hand, if war breaks out and the skies close, they may not be able to fly. Should they buy tickets now? Should they wait? Will there be a wedding? Will there not be? Who knows.
Another case involves a different family, also living abroad, who have a child studying in Israel. After Purim he is scheduled to undergo medical treatment. The parents had planned to travel together to be with him, but now they are concerned. What will happen if they become stuck in Israel? Who will be with the children who remain abroad? They are now considering that perhaps only one parent will travel, and when that parent returns home, the other will switch and go.
Not long ago, during the twelve day war with Iran, a family from our community that flew to Israel for their son’s wedding became stranded there for many weeks. All of their plans were disrupted.
All of this is happening at the very time that, by Divine Providence, we are approaching the holiday of Purim, the holiday that symbolizes the victory of the Jewish people and Judaism over Persia, which is modern day Iran.
One of the customs most associated with Purim is the practice of booing Haman during the reading of the Megillah. Children hold noisemakers, adults stomp their feet, and sometimes there is also clapping and explosive sounds. But where did this custom originate?
In the thirteenth century, the author of Shibolei HaLeket, in the name of Rashi, writes:
“In some places, after the blessing they say a beautiful liturgical poem such as Asher Heini, and they say Blessed is Mordechai, blessed is Esther, cursed is Haman, cursed is Zeresh. And they strike with their feet or stone upon stone and break pots when they hear the downfall of Haman and Zeresh.”
From this we learn that already more than seven hundred years ago, when people heard Haman’s name they made noise and even broke pots.
Rabbi David Abudraham, in the fourteenth century, quotes Rabbi Avraham ben Natan HaYarchi, who lived more than one hundred years earlier:
“In France and Provence, children would take smooth stones and write Haman on them, and when the Megillah reader mentioned Haman they would strike the stones against each other to erase his name, as it says, the name of the wicked shall rot.”
By the fourteenth century this custom had already developed further. Not only did they make noise upon hearing his name, but they wrote Haman’s name on stones and struck them together in order to erase it.
Hundreds of years later, the Rama describes this in more detail:
“Children are accustomed to draw the image of Haman on wood or stones or write the name Haman on them, and strike them against each other so that his name will be erased, in the manner of “you shall surely erase the memory of Amalek, and the name of the wicked shall rot.”
Thus, the custom was deeply rooted in Jewish communities for nearly a thousand years.
The Chief Judge of Rhodes
Throughout the generations, sages in various communities attempted to abolish or reduce the custom, mainly because the noise interferes with hearing the Megillah reading and could therefore affect fulfillment of the mitzvah.
One fascinating story on this topic is brought by Rabbi Rahamim Chaim Yehuda Israel, the rabbi of Rhodes in Greece, who passed away in 1893, in his book Ben Yamin. He describes how they worked to abolish hateful anti Jewish practices among Christians, and within that context criticism also arose about the custom of striking Haman:
“It happened in our time that for two years we appealed to the chief judge to abolish their custom of making an effigy of a Jew on their holiday and carrying out acts of revenge upon it because they claimed Jews had hanged their prophet. During those days they would preach in their houses of worship that they should keep hatred and enmity toward the Jews in their hearts and pursue them to beat and curse them. Because of this, Jews could not walk in the streets or marketplaces for fear of the gentiles who would stone them. We requested this of him, and he courageously abolished these practices among his people, saying, If their ancestors sinned and are gone, what do we have with their children? From then on, no dog wagged its tongue against the Jews.”
However, that same judge also complained to the Jews:
“But he also complained to us in those days about this Purim custom, saying, Yours is worse than ours. You do to your enemy Haman and his sons whatever you wish, yet he sinned against you only in thought. He plotted but did not carry it out. Why do you continue striking? What is all this agitation?” He spoke many painful words, and we did not know how to respond sufficiently. He even suggested issuing a decree to abolish this custom entirely, and then his heart too would rejoice that he had removed shame from the Hebrew nation.”
The story teaches that both internally and externally there were voices seeking to reduce the custom. In practice, not only was it not abolished. It actually strengthened.
The Rebbe would strike his foot at every mention of Haman, though usually it was a gentle tap. At one gathering the Rebbe addressed those who claim that this interferes with hearing the Megillah. He explained that later authorities were concerned about the disturbance caused by children, but even if they do cause confusion it is not so terrible if children also experience joy. One can simply wait until the children finish striking Haman with the simple sincerity of Jewish children, and then continue reading without missing a word. If those of gloomy temperament still claim there is confusion, our sages already said regarding the verse, His banner over me is love, because it comes from simplicity and sincerity.
Some claim that the practice of making noise against something or someone comes from non Jewish sources, especially the noisemaker itself, which likely originated in ancient Greece. It is commonly thought that in the Middle Ages it was used to call Christians to church at prayer times. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, before the invention of the whistle, English police used it to summon help, and lepers used it to warn healthy people to stay away. Another surprising use was during the Second World War, when soldiers used it to warn of poisonous gas in the air.
Didan Natzach
There is a Midrash that the Rebbe quoted about a story from nearly two thousand years ago that teaches about using noise to drive away an evil spirit.
In Vayikra Rabbah it is told that Abba Yosei the tinsmith was studying by the entrance to a spring. A spirit that dwelled there appeared to him and said:
“Rabbi, you know how many years I have lived here. You and your wives pass by morning and evening and are not harmed. But now know that an evil spirit has arrived from elsewhere and seeks to harm people.”
Rabbi Yosei asked, “What shall we do?”
The spirit replied, “Go warn the townspeople and tell them that whoever has a pickaxe or rake should come here tomorrow at dawn and watch the surface of the water. When you see turbulence on the water, strike the metal tools against each other to make noise and say Didan Natzach, ours is the victory. Do not leave until you see a drop of blood on the water, which is a sign that the spirit has fallen and been destroyed.”
Abba Yosei did exactly this. He warned the townspeople, they came at dawn with their tools, watched the water, and when they saw movement they struck the metal tools and shouted Didan Natzach. They did not leave until they saw something like a drop of blood on the water.
We see from here that this conduct of making noise to fight evil actually has roots in Torah sources.
One could therefore explain that the noise of Purim is not only about erasing the name of the historical Haman from about 2500 years ago. It is an expression of removing the forces of evil in every generation.
Haman is not only a historical figure. In every generation there is another Haman, another Amalek, that seeks to harm the Jewish people. The noise expresses the active rejection of that force. Just as in the Midrash they drove away the evil spirit through sound and striking, so on Purim we make noise to drive away the negative forces of our own generation.
Therefore, despite the halachic debates and despite attempts to abolish it, it has remained an inseparable part of the holiday. Because sometimes, in order to drive away darkness, you must thunder against it with great noise.
Very soon, with the rebuilding of the Holy Temple, we will merit the fulfillment of the verse, “and its sound will be heard when he enters the Sanctuary”, with the coming of Mashiach, speedily in our days, Amen.
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