Torah Study Tetzaveh and Purim

This shade of blue, even today only a king of nations would wear it, and (in Esther 8:1) it is written: “And Mordechai left the king dressed in royal fineries, blue and white, with a great golden crown, and a wrap of fine linen and purple wool,” - and this ‘wrap’ is the robe (me’il), that he wrapped himself in.

Mordechai, in other words, is dressed in the distinct royal blue that is first mentioned in the priestly clothing - not to mention the same purple, and even - Nachmanides inserts - Mordechai’s wrap is actually the same kind of robe that the priests wore, the me’il.

So there is some connection Nachmanides sees between Mordechai and the High Priest, at least in the symbolic language of their garb. But what does it mean? How is Mordechai like a priest? In fact, he is primarily a political activist, while the High Priest’s role is purely spiritual, almost completely cut off from social matters; they seem to operate in entirely different realms. We might wonder if this isn’t precisely the point Nachmanides is leading us toward: there is something holy about political action and, conversely, something liberating in the spiritual atonement that the priest offers.

What seemed like mere ornamentation turns out to be a protection against the overwhelming and potentially lethal power of God’s inner sanctuary. These bells are a way of sounding a warning and thereby gaining divine permission to enter and exit. The terror of this work becomes clear, but so, too, does the willingness of these priests of the Lord to undertake the danger on behalf of the people.

And that is where Nachmanides again sees a connection to a scene in the Book of Esther. The bells on the priestly robe, he writes, are meant:

So [the priest] can go in before his Master, as if taking permission, for one who comes into the king’s house is subject to death at the order of the king, as we see with Achashverosh. (in Esther 4:11)

The scene to which Nachmanides refers is one in which Mordechai has implored Esther to speak to the king on behalf of her people. But she replies that the risk of such an action is quite high:

All the king’s servants and the people of the king’s provinces know that if any person, man or woman, enters the king’s presence in the inner court without having been summoned, there is but one law for him—that he be put to death. Only if the king extends the golden scepter to him may he live. But I have not been summoned to visit the king for the last thirty days. (Esther 4:11)

Just as the High Priest, sanctified though he is, fears death when he walks into the Divine King’s home, so does Esther, intimately familiar though she is with King Achashverosh, still fears the consequences of treading into his personal space without permission.

She is scared. And she has good reason to be. This King is a whimsical tyrant, whose moods and decisions are entirely unpredictable.

Yet Mordechai doubles down, and encourages her to push past her fears and speak out on behalf of her people:

For if you keep silent during this crisis, relief and deliverance will come to the Jews from another place, and you, and your father’s house will perish. And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis. (Esther 4:14)

Mordechai - he who will one day wear the priestly colors himself - is here telling Esther - who is truly the High Priestess of this tale - that she must enter into the inner court of her king, despite her fears, just as the priests of old risked death as they entered into God’s space once a year, on behalf of the people. They did so, unquestioningly, because this was their position; they had been chosen for just such a task. We are given status, Mordechai indicates to Esther, so that we can serve. We are “a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation” (Exod. 19:1), and there will come a time when every one of us will be called upon to stand before the King on behalf of the people.

That, perhaps, is the lesson that the priests of Parshat Teztaveh have to lend to the Purim story. Their constancy and commitment, their willingness to sacrifice themselves if necessary, their belief in the inherent sanctity of their task - these are powerful ethics we might well import from our spiritual lives into our politics. We could use a dose of priestly devotion at those times when the fight for justice is most overwhelming, and we are terrified of what might happen next.

What do we do in those moments? We wrap ourselves in honor and splendor, we ring the bell to warn that we are coming, and we walk in to perform the holy work of liberation.

Dr. Pnina G. Feller

Purim invites us to set aside a time in which we completely reverse our wardrobe, which in turn reverses our identity. It is an invitation to...cross and reverse all the other dichotomies and uniforms of our lives as well. On Purim we are using clothes against themselves, to deny their power to box us in, and simultaneously to redeem us from needing redemption...Purim...makes us wonder if there is an "authentic self" at all, or whether it is all just endless masks upon masks.

"The fact that they (kohanim) wore intricate and expensive clothing amidst general simplicity, that they wore elaborate jewelry when no one else did so, indicates that biblical Judaism stressed the royalty of God. Just as God's servants dressed like royalty, so were we to relate to the entire ritual surrounding God as though God were a grand sovereign (king). In the early parts of this century, many rabbis donned clerical robes and stood on platforms high above their congregant, to emphasize the dignity, majesty, and otherness of God and of sacred service.

In our own day, Jewish worship has been moving away from a primary concern with decorum and dignity. Instead, we seek community, warmth and support... the way rabbis and cantors dress will continue to reflect the developing perspectives of future Jewish communities, suggesting how we perceive our relationships to each other, to our traditions, and to our God. The medium is the message." - Rabbi Bradley Shavit Artson

Aaron’s clothing, so richly described here, must have been incredibly heavy to wear (and hot, in the desert!). All of the symbolic weight of the vestments was made sensible to him physically. The garments reinforced his separateness/holiness, both to himself as well as those who would see him. How could one be irreverent or frivolous with all of that on? And how could an Israelite behave badly before such regal physical reminders of the priest’s role with God?

We too put on clothes as costumes, armour, representations of ourselves and the roles we play or to which we aspire. Socially recognised ‘appropriate’ clothes make it easier to gain recognition and respect, which helps us function in our daily lives. The right outfit lets us, in an English idiom that is surely not accidental, ‘put on’ our dignity.

And then on Purim, we deliberately take off our dignity, and dress to be ridiculous. We wear inappropriate clothing—crossing genders and species, times and stations, fiction and reality. Dressing up as someone else helps us embrace the spirit (and spirits) of Purim. Our clothes shape how we see ourselves, and thus how we behave.

Miriam Edelman