Today, we are celebrating Purim, the holiday which surrounds the reading of the Megillah - the Book of Esther. It is a time filled with costumes, plays, cookies, and noisemakers. Each year, on Purim, we read the story of how Esther saved the Jewish people from the genocide being contemplated by Haman, the villain of the story. It is a tradition that every time Haman’s name is mentioned during the reading of the Megillah, everyone - particularly children - will shake noisemakers, known as ‘graggers’. The idea is to drown out the sound of the name. Graggers don’t sound good, but they are absolutely effective at drowning out the voice of the person reading the story.
This practice of drowning out Haman’s name originated from the instruction to blot out the memory of Haman and those like him. Rather than skipping Haman’s name when it appears, we make noise to fulfill the mitzvah - a miracle - that is, reading the Book of Esther. The racket that ensues is a symbolic erasure of the person who serves as an annual reminder for the Jewish people that there will be those who seek to destroy us in every generation.
When I first started looking up why we shake the gragger, I wasn’t sure how to feel about the reasons I found. After all, isn’t blotting out Haman’s name similar to erasing our history? Are we giving ourselves the easy way out of confronting a tricky part of our story or dooming ourselves to repeat it? On further reflection, however, I think there is power in stamping out mentions of Haman. After all, this was not someone with a mere difference of opinion but someone who sought the destruction of our people.
The graggers are not a shouting match but a proclamation that we are still here despite every attempt to destroy the Jewish people. The identity of the one seeking our destruction is not what matters but the story of their defeat. On Purim, we are louder than our enemies.
The gragger teaches us that sometimes, we have no option but to be louder than those who stand against us. Recent BDS votes on campuses, including the University of Toronto, are a testament to the power of noise. BDS advocates have consistently been good at being louder than those who speak out against them. Students and faculty advocating for boycotts, divestment, and sanctions of Israel - restrictions that go so far as to restrict where students can source kosher catering for events on campus - have successfully been loud in spreading their message to the general public. Mainly, they have been louder than those of us who oppose these movements have been at correcting the inherent misrepresentations involved in BDS campaigns.
This is a problem.
As a community with complicated minority status in Canada, there is often a strong inclination against being loud, even when being loud is the only thing that will allow us to blot out the words of those who stand against us. But sometimes, the only way to make people listen is to speak up and to speak loudly.
Shouting is not often the right option. Being the loudest voice in the room rarely gets you further than principled negotiation tactics. But it’s important to recognize when being loud is necessary.
Purim is our annual reminder that sometimes, there is good reason to make some noise in response to something that we know, with certainty, is wrong. And there are things we know, without question, are wrong. This is a far cry from the primary lessons of this holiday, but it is perhaps something worth thinking about. In every generation, there will be those who seek to rise and destroy others in their midst, and when they do, it is our responsibility to make as much noise as possible until their voices have been drowned out and the voices of good may prevail.