Of Masks and Mirth |
(Please note: Written and submitted for publication before the current situation)
Humor is entirely subjective. My parents loved to laugh and were, in fact, two very funny people. In addition to scratchy LP’s of Broadway shows that we acted out every Saturday afternoon after rearranging the furniture to replicate a proscenium arch, my siblings and I memorized acts of borscht-belt comedians like Shecky Greene, Jackie Mason, Buddy Hackett, Tobie Fields, Don Rickles, Joan Rivers, Norm Crosby and others. The blonde console stereo knew no respite during the Eisenhower era as our love for Jewish humor was nurtured. What began for me in the Catskill Mountains was refined with outings to the Westbury Music Fair. (If you know, you know.)
I do not have to be told that something is funny and, consequently, will not watch any program with canned laughter. Equally revolting to me are gags that are played at the expense of another’s dignity. I loathe practical jokes and consider all forms to be chilul HaShem: a desecration of God’s name. We don’t knock one another down and certainly do not shame another human being.
The aforementioned children long ago stopped attending the reading of the Book Esther (Megillah) with me, primarily because they either have families of their own or they live in strange locations like Tel Aviv. But altered marital status and/or geographical inconveniences may not be the only reasons. It seems that my annual reaction to the mention of Haman’s wife, Zeresh, made my offspring cringe while pretending not to know me.
I can see her with my eyes closed; brash, opportunistic, negative and relatable. First she bolsters her husband’s ego in an us-against-the-world scenario, no doubt protecting the privileged life she has come to expect. Soon after, however, seeing the writing on the wall, she jumps ship and, in an all-about-me moment, announces to Haman & Company, “You’re cooked. Hasta l’vista, baby . . . .”
With each mention of her name, I howl with raucous, ribald laughter, drowning out both graggers and stalwart readers of the holy book. I mean, the viceroy of Shushan gets browbeaten by his significant other in a scene that intensifies this already character-rich tale of lust, avarice, wisdom and faith: How beautifully constructed is that? My children have begged me to stop thinking about her, to stop being so ‘weird’ in my fondness for the obscure. I can’t. Achashveiros wins the Putz Award but Zeresh is a different kind of imbecile. If they ever make a film version of Megillat Esther, I’m signing up to audition el pronto for the role.
Among the not-so-funny but achingly poignant lessons of the Megillah occur when Mordechai implores Esther to intercede on behalf of her people, lest Haman’s genocidal plans come to fruition. Mordechai instructs Esther to plead with the king on behalf of her nation. She responds that to approach him without being summoned is tantamount to a death sentence. Mordechai responds to his niece with the words, “Do not think that you will escape the fate of all the Jews by being in the king’s palace. If you remain silent at this time, relief and salvation will come to the Jews from another source, and you and the house of your father will be lost. And who knows if it is not for just such a time that you reached this royal position.”
These lines are glaringly prophetic but not everyone is capable of heeding the forecast. And while it is certainly meritorious to find humor during times of darkness, it is equally important to know when to stop laughing and, with clarity and poise, act for the sake of Heaven.
(Reprinted with permission of San Diego Jewish Journal, March 2026)