That's life 3-5-10
Then, of course, there is an art to navigating the receiving and delivering: someone stays at home to manage, dismantle and recycle the incoming goods, while the other half of the team drives almost endlessly through neighborhoods making deliveries. And although the mishloach manot packages are made in advance, it doesn’t seem to matter. You can man all of your stations and be combat ready, but when the hour hits, it’s like “Lord of the Flies.” A state of lawlessness takes over. Why are we all eating Laffy Taffy and Fruit Roll-Ups at 10:00 in the morning? Are you eating a hot dog? Has anyone even brushed his teeth?
For a short holiday, Purim comes in like a storm. It is fitting that this year, it literally came in with a major storm, making last minute preparation that much more daunting. Ever try and park on Coney Island Avenue during a snowstorm, and right before a chag? It’s not for the faint of heart. Not one to shy away from a challenge, I looked at it as an adventure. It couldn’t be any worse than finding a parking spot on Central Avenue, I reasoned, so why not?
One of my children was still without a costume and I had been told by a friend who lives in Flatbush that there was a ‘Purim Megastore’ that I could check out. Covered in snow, with two children in tow who did not appreciate my sense of adventure, we finally made it into what I expected would be a store to beat all stores. I was too late, I imagine, because by the time I got there it appeared to have been pillaged by Huns. People were grabbing anything they could, although there were plenty of ‘kohen gadol’ costumes left (no comment). Despite being a kohen himself, that was not what my four year old son had in mind. He only wanted to be Haman (against, no comment). Let’s just say he has been walking around the house for the last week or so pointing at people and screaming, “Bow down to me!” over and over again.
Trust me: it’s only funny now.
Feeling a bit foolish, I went up to the counter. “Excuse me,” I asked, “Do you have any Haman costumes for a four year old?” I could not imagine that too many people were having their kids dress up as the villain in our Purim story, and the woman’s reaction mirrored that sentiment.
“Um,” she began, “we haven’t had too many people asking for Haman costumes.”
‘Yeah, I get that,’ I thought. “We don’t have any, but maybe he wants to be Achashverosh?”
That would have been a lot easier on so many levels, and I would have worried less about my son’s megalomaniacal need to order us to bow down to him. I thanked her anyway, found a child’s vest to make him look like a Hatzalah member and was on my way.
Well, the vest is still in the bag. He would not have any part of it. “I want to be Haman!” he shrieked, and while I was convinced he was going to make one fine Haman, I only wondered what a Haman would wear. “Dress him in all black,” suggested my friend from Brooklyn. “He’s four,” I said. “He doesn’t own anything in black.” So we went with navy instead, found him a Haman mask that came complete with a tri-cornered hat and I had the happiest little Haman ever.
Sometimes, you’ve got to pick your battles. The food got sorted, I found my counters again and my little Haman was thrilled. Everything worked out and the Jewish people lived to fight another day. But don’t breathe too deeply, because Pesach is right around the corner. Time to get ready; all hands on deck. Or, as they say in the military, ‘smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.’
The shmurah matzo is already on the shelf where the juice boxes used to be.
MLW
