Purim was different this year: something primal came out of us when we drowned out the name of Haman. In previous years, we revisited the narrative of Esther and Mordecahi’s triumph over the attempted annihilation of our people with a sense of distance between us and the story. We contemplated the lack of God’s presence and marveled at the rather happenstance victory the Jews of the time seemed to luck into. However, unlike the Exodus story, we didn’t see ourselves in the text.
But this year, the recitation was different.
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