When we hide from reality, He hides from us
How do we arrive at Purim this year? How do we emerge from the upheavals and catastrophes that have befallen us since Adar two years ago, to embrace this day with the unbridled joy that it demands?
This question is neither theatrical nor theoretical, for Chazal appear to call for reckless abandon on Purim: “He must drink wine to the point of ad d’lo yada, until he no longer knows the difference between arur Haman, accursed Haman, and baruch Mordechai, blessed Mordechai.”
A person’s daas, his ability to perceive and discern, is his finest asset. Why would we relinquish this? What would it accomplish? And what meaning does this directive have for people who don’t drink, such as women?
The story of Purim begins, as do all dangers that befall our people, with temptation and sin. Yet the sin is rooted far earlier in history than the acts of reveling in Achashveirosh’s party and bowing down to Nevuchadnetzar’s idol. It begins with the very first confrontation between man and evil: the sin of eating from the Eitz Hadaas, the Tree of Knowledge.
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