From Israel, a writer’s personal Purim predicament

Purim is a hard holiday for a writer. Too much pressure to be funny. If you can crack jokes at Rosh Hashanah and Chanukah, then Purim should be a cinch, right? 

It’s like Purim costumes. I should be good at those. I’m paid to be creative. But suddenly I’m staring at a shop full of costumes with no idea what will work. I was once invited to a Purim party where the theme was “come as you aren’t.” I spent hours agonizing over what to wear. There are no “little black dress” standby outfits in Purim costumes.

I thought things would be easier once I had kids. There are tons of cute baby costumes. I figured I’d buy one costume in each size as my firstborn got older and then pass them down the line. I was wrong.

The first baby costume I bought was a full body bear costume where my baby’s head stuck out under the bear’s stuffed head like a bizarre Siamese twin. But the bear-head made a loud roar. My poor son was terrified. The next year, I tried a neon green plastic alien. Unlucky son sweltered.

By the time he was three, I gave up on trying to have any Purim creativity. I placed my son in the middle of the toyshop, surrounded by racks of costumes and let him pick. He was very happy with the builder. No scary noises, no unnecessary sweating.

The next year my daughter flat-out refused to be a builder. I was sorely disappointed. I had visions of her expressing her creativity with a thrillingly individual costume. I thought I’d be scoring one for gender equality. Instead all she wanted to be was a bride. Even the promise of a shiny gun couldn’t get her to be a policewoman. She’s been a bride for the past six Purims of her life. 

My kids, who are filled with creativity in the rest of the year, run out of ideas at Purim. In the hope that I wasn’t the only one with Purim performance anxiety, I started asking people about their Purim experiences.