Are you happy now?

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On Purim, they almost killed us, but in the end they didn’t, we killed 75,000 of them instead.

 And these weren’t normal enemies, mind you. These were descendants of Amalek, whom we are commanded to kill every last man woman and child of. You can’t cure an Amalekite baby of their inherent hatred of Jews.

Hitler was an Amalekite, that much is obvious.

And now that we won, there are three things to be done – send food packages to each other, give gifts to the poor, and get wasted on alcohol.

You must be happy on Purim, the holiday of happiness. And surely alcohol, food packages, and genocide is all you need to find it.

Are you happy now?

How about when hundreds of yeshiva students come streaming into your house, interrupting your own festive meal to ask for money for the prestigious yeshiva that you have never heard of. Your father gave last year, so now he’s on all the lists.

Are you happy now?

As you hug the toilet bowl at the age of 14, having had an important lesson in pacing yourself and what it means to not be able to smell red wine for the next year without getting nauseous?

“One should get so aromatized on Purim,” says the Talmud, “that they can no longer differentiate between ‘Blessed Mordecai and Cursed is Haman’ “. I swear I could black out before I confuse the two.

Once, says the Talmud, Rabbi Hunah got so drunk he stabbed Rabbi Chiya and killed him. We’ve all been there. When he sobered up, Rabbi Hunah, being the great man that he is, brought Rabbi Chiya back to life. Phew.

Are you happy now?

As your highly sensitive ears explode every time Haman’s name is mentioned, to the cacophonous din of cap guns, groggers, cat calls, and one year, I shit you not, an oil drum and sledgehammer combo. An introverts nightmare, and be sure not to miss a word or you need to do it all again.

How about now?


Yankel willed himself to feel. It was as though the more he tried to feel a certain way, the more likely he was to feel the opposite. Heck, it was almost like his emotions were out of his control. Like those sneaky sexual urges that were never more than a though away, he always seemed happiest on Tisha B’av and saddest on Purim.

“Purim is actually a greater day that Yom Kippur,” extolled Rabbi Shlagerstein. “Because Kipper means ‘like purim’”. As far as Yankel was concerned, that’s where the similarity ended, especially considering how anal Shlagerstein got around Yom Kippur time. Of the two days, it was Yom Kippur that really made the Rabbi act like there was a grogger up his ass.

“It’s on Yom Kippur that God forgives us for all our sins,” cries Rabbi Shlagerstein. “But only if we really regret everything we’ve ever done. We need to tear our psyche a new one and insert God into it as deeply as possible.”

Yankel was full of regrets. He regretted things he didn’t even remember doing, which was how you were supposed to do it.

Because, as Rabbi Shlagerstein explained, every year we become better as a person means that previously acceptable behaviors no longer are. You are retroactively inadequate. This confirmed Yankel’s suspicions of such.

He felt terrible.

He was happy now.

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