And so, the Texas legislature pretends that at 20 weeks, the unborn ______ no longer belongs to the body it lives inside. But personhood, in terms of reproductive self-determination, is most clearly noted after birth with a birth certificate.  When the baby leaves the body, it is born.  Instead of being framed as a matter of life and death, it should be about the event of birth. The unborn belongs to the body it’s attached to, as much as our internal organs are (supposed to be) our own.  It should not be legislated for or capitalized on.

I wish personhood laws were that simple. Alas, “The definition of personhood ranges,” says ACLU attorney Alexa Kolbi-Molinas, continuing “if you’re talking about property, law, or inheritance, or how the census is taken.” Anti-choice organizations like Personhood USA exploit this gray area by claiming life starts “when the husband turns on that really sexy Sade cassette” (JK, but close).

The 20-week cut off argument is dangerous for many obvious and often stated reasons. There are a few more, too, that deserve to be re-stated again and again, to clarify what ‘choice’ has to do with being alive.

It’s the same schtick. Policymakers subjugating bodies…of color, both rural and urban, of poor whites, of immigrants. The ways the government capitalizes on these groups is not the same. It’s important, though, to reiterate points of intersection, the horizonless compulsion of the most privileged and powerful to control what seems threatening and/or in need of being controlled. Our right to choose the progression of our lives (to give birth and to stop a pregnancy) threatens the ability of the state to reinforce the narrative that we are not the captains of our own ships and that the bodies we live in have little value.

Attempting to cap abortion at 20 weeks is not about saving an ‘innocent life,’ it’s about controlling living people and fragmenting/undercutting the reproductive power/resistance of the people. Colonizing, excuse me, controlling the womb and the notoriously wild and sinful sexuality that it possesses. To be pro-choice is to threaten the assimilationist theocracy we absolutely-no-question-about-it live under.

Fundamentally, the right to terminate and/or pursue pregnancy cannot be entirely abandoned. Unless you live in an American prison, wherein your basic medical care is as elastic as the laws that locked you up in the first place.  But abortion won’t end, it is the access to safe and legal abortion services that we will lose. This is why the legislation being passed in Texas and North Carolina are, quite fucking obviously, acts of systematic violence against the health and vitality of Americans that will now have little to no access to legal abortion services.

The unborn ‘child,’ to anti-choice Christians, is pregnant (sry, sry) with meaning. It symbolizes an essential purity that, according to some cockamamie interpretations of the King James Bible, is lost at the very moment of birth. My heart nearly dropped when I read this one liner, “The wicked are estranged from the womb: they go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies.”* In other words, an unborn baby is like an unpurchased MacBook Air. Once taken out of the box, the value greatly depreciates.  Which, oddly enough, is a strikingly accurate representation of the right wing’s (dems included) stance on defunding social services for low-income single mothers.

How does the reproductive rights movement already reframe this ‘unborn child’ narrative? The value in re-emphasizing the needs of those already born and living cannot be understated. The needs and rights of working and jobless Americans, the sick but trying to stay alive Americans. The Americans frozen inside the prison industrial complex. These are real pro-life issues. I see organizers pursuing them year round, when the politicians are busy running for president. But really, what would it look like for representatives to address the born-a-while-ago-and-trying-to stay-alive constituency?

 *King James Bible, Chapter 58, 3.


“Azealia Banks’ career allegedly hangs in the balance and Perez Hilton’s remains firmly intact. She’s now regarded as the ratchet, violently homophobic black woman. …This isn’t two wrongs make a right, but rather, one wrong is minimized, and the other, pathologized.”


The Crunk Feminist Collective

Guest Post by Edward Ndopu

Recently, the media has exploded with news of a Twitter battle between rapper Azealia Banks and gossip blogger Perez Hilton. After Hilton inserted himself in an altercation between Banks and fellow female rapper Angel Haze, taking Haze’s side, Banks denounced him as a “messy faggot”. She then went on to say that she used the word to describe “any male who acts like a female”. Rumours have since abounded that Banks is being dropped from her record label as a result of her speaking out against Hilton. Rather than taking sides, I believe it is most important for us to examine the context within which this media escalation has happened. Instead of writing off Azealia Banks, herself a queer woman, as homophobic, we should instead be exploring the femmephobia and racialized sexism at play in the public’s response to this debacle.

The public spat between…

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The New York Times, in what is perhaps so characteristically simple-minded it’s almost surprising, published an article on “The Power of the Rouge Pot” two days ago.

The article is in response to a survey that came out recently. It said that when women wear makeup in the workplace it makes them more competent and likable. The Times is suspicious, as they should be, because otherwise there’s nothing else going on in the world to write about. Anyway…it is possible to ask a stupid question and here’s one example:

Some would argue that makeup empowers women, others would say it’s holding them back from true equality… If makeup has indeed become the status quo in the public realm, does it ultimately damage a woman’s self-esteem, or elevate it?

A few things, the first being that using a term like “public realm” does not trick me into believing this article has any academic and/or critical analysis happening, it mostly just draws attention to the negative space in between words like “equality,” “empowers” and “elevate.” My third point, which I will jump to before my second because I just realized this and it’s weird, is that all of these words start with the letter “e.” Was that intentional and is that a requirement for the NYT’s Room for Debate section?

I don’t even know why I read this crap anymore. Wait! I usually don’t. I was referred to this article by Vanessa’s Autostraddle article, “Let’s Queer the NYT ‘Debate’ About Women and Makeup.” She wrote it because, like usual, no one asked any queers what they had to say about makeup but, like, we should be the first people asked because we are the nation of omni-gendered glitter people.



I tried reading Jezebel’s response, but realized I didn’t have enough time after accidentally reading this, “Maybe there are women who truly indeed wear makeup ‘for themselves’… It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever met any of these women.” I guess you should get yourself on OkCupid and do some goddamn research!

My second point, which I have forgotten, probably had something to do with the actual question the NYT’s article poses, which is something about women, insecurity and makeup. Personally (and obviously), I think it’s crucial we note that lipstick is an inanimate object that some people use but no one can have a conversation with. So, NYT, when you ask if makeup damages self-esteem, I say marketing does because it reflects larger expectations about women and socially acceptable gender presentation that are way beyond anything addressed in your stupid fucking article.

But I’m getting ahead of myself, maybe I should read more than just the introduction. Let’s begin with Natasha Scripture’s “Red Lips Can Rule the World.” It’s starts off well enough, she never leaves the house without makeup and loves red lipstick. My initial concern is that she responds to the NYT’s inquiry as if it were valid, “The point is that a harmless touch of makeup makes me feel better.” Why can’t she just write that it’s no one’s fucking business why she put on concealer today so STFU? But wait… something even more terrible happens, she drops the m-word:

I’ll always be a proponent of a more minimalist approach…I’m fairly certain my first makeup experience involved glitter, sparkle is something I generally eschew these days.

In what might be the biggest tragedy of the entire discussion, Scripture reveals she’s a minimalist that rarely uses glitter. Image

I want more than a pop of color, I want fireworks on my face! Why so judgy, Scripture? Better yet, why so homophobic? Jusssst kidding.

No, I’m not.

Yes, I am.

Moving on to the next article, Scott Barnes’ “Look Your Best, Feel Your Best.” He writes that wearing makeup leads to confidence which “is a good thing to have on the battlefield.” But then he ruins everything in writing, “Don’t give up and fall into self loathing; if you look your best, you feel your best.” I dislike the concept of ‘giving-up,’ particularly when used in a condescending gay dude tone (versus a condescending queer dude tone). Perhaps women can be upset and not up to your beauty standards at the same time, however, life is challenging and threatening a fall into the self-loathing pit is not empowering at all. Why does this conversation have to be about women and self-esteem, why can’t we take the gesture of women wearing makeup at face value and not project pity, suspicion and saccharine self-empowerment buzzwords? Sit down, Scott. I’ve had enough of you. Also, you’re wrong… men can look wonderful in skirts. I bet you would look wonderful in a skirt. Go ahead, put on a skirt. It will make you feel better, don’t give up by letting yourself slip into self-loathing.


Rebecca Havemeyer

Moving on to Mally Roncal’s “Using Makeup Shows Love for Yourself,” wherein she tells a true story about the assumptions people make about women, confidence and presentation:

Once an acquaintance described another woman to me in this way: “She wears makeup, so you know what that means – she’s insecure.” My immediate reaction was “Do you know who you’re talking to? You’re not only saying that my choice of profession is hurting womanhood, but also that as a female sitting here with, yes, a full face of makeup, I’m also insecure.”

Wait… people make assumptions about women based on how they look? I have never heard of such a thing happening ever. Not. Ever. Thank you, Ms. Roncal, for pointing out what should be so abundantly clear to the NYT’s Room for Debate section editors. I mean this sincerely. Yes, I’m sure wearing eyeliner makes a difference in how people perceive women in the workplace. Yes, if you wear that tightly tailored dress some dick might assume you’re looking for sex, because historically people feel qualified to pontificate about women’s bodies as if they’re experts. Therefore, the issue is not eyeliner, nor blue eyeshadow, but everyone else. If you meet a woman that’s wearing glitter-encrusted fake eyelashes and you assume she’s feeling low today, or that she wants to sex with you, or that she is classless, perhaps you should think about something you’re more qualified to analyze…yourself.

That’s right! When I’m out to coffee and wearing my “Candy Yum-Yum” Barbie-colored lipstick, I expect you to divert your judgment and ask yourself about yourself. “Hello, self! She looks like…she’s having fun! Am I having fun? Maybe I should go for a hike today.”



Gluten Free Bitches is a side project of the Lipschtick Collective, a borscht-belt-inspired multi-media performance group.

Julia and I wanted to know what would happen if we just let our mouths run on camera.  It’s a shoe-string operation, which has meant that we’ve been able to put together five episodes in the last few months.

Shelli + KC are two friends with a lot in common. They diet together, craft together, politic together and live together. Each episode reveals just how [insert almost any and all demographics here]-phobic these characters are, but I swear to G*d neither Julia nor I have anything in common with them.

Our subconscious probably does though, so, let’s call them what they are, drag queens of the subconscious mind. Eh.

Here’s a link to their latest, a holiday episode wherein Shelli and KC reveal their controversial dieting techniques. You can check out the Shelli + KC Blog for Intense Women to see all five episodes.

Other Lipschtick performances coming up, Rabbi Lipschtick and Sons for the Frontera Festival in Austin. Altso, Southern Fried Queer Cabaret in NoLa in February, more information TBA.

I’ve been thinking about Y2K a lot lately. Thank goodness that we made it through 2000, so that we could greet 2011. In just one more year it very well might be the end of the world… drink up!  I made three liters of mulled wine a few weeks ago to store for the upcoming 2012 apocalypse. So, cheers to a good year ahead!

On that note, for the past month I’ve retreated from my work in order to play. Now that it’s January, I figure I should wrap up vacation in a few bullet points:

  • A new word:

Eidolon– In ancient Greek thought, which has influenced modern literature and Theosophy, an eidolon (Greek εἴδωλον: “image, idol, double, apparition, phantom, ghost”) is a spirit-image of a living or dead person; a shade or phantom look-alike of the human form. If of a dead person, the phantom can appear under certain conditions to survivors of the deceased.

  • Three of my best friends and I started a production company called the Lipschtick Collective. We have a website, but don’t look! There’s nothing on it yet.
  • A bunch of us (Julia, Becky, Gelly, Marcella and I) took a bus for $16 to New York. It was cute, everyone fell asleep at the same time and woke up at the same time. On the ride back this loud Bostonian woman woke the entire bus while talking on the effing phone. Embarrassing for her, annoying for those that were asleep, and entertaining for me:

You have to understand, my father only wants to feed his chickens. My mother wants to be alone, my father wants to be alone. It’s a compulsion. He’ll take his money and spend it all on his chickens before his kids. Duh!

  • I have only two resolutions for the next year: “To think and produce work more often” and to wear glitter as often as possible. The first I wrote when I was less than sober.
  • This Mary Oliver poem:

Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting–
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

  • Watched a truckload of movies. Black Swan, which is pretty damn predictable. Who knew violence against women could be so sexy?! Everyone. Everyone knows, Darren. Your movie is poop. But then I saw Nora’s Will which is a cute little film about an older Mexican Jewish couple and their family. The wife commits suicide and her bitter “ex” husband has to pick up the very neat mess she left for him. It was a touching film, really. And then I saw Sex and the City 2 because I hate myself. I wonder which film is worse for women, Black Swan or Sex and the City 2. It’s a toss-up for me. If sexual violence, eating disorders, suicide and exploitative lesbian sex scenes don’t trigger you, then maybe Islamophobia, classism and racism will! When having to choose between the two, I choose neither.
  • Melissa Harris-Perry on Rachel Maddow talking about the DADT repeal. I know it’s a little after the fact, but it’s worth your time if you haven’t seen it.
  • I went to a Gogol Bordello concert. My friends and I hung out near the middle of the crowd, bouncing off each other and jumping into the air the whole time. We were on the outskirts of the mosh pit.  Every time someone bent over to tie their shoes, crowd members circled around to protect whoever it was from being trampled. And Eugene was in full swing with his big bottle of red wine and 100% kicks-ass mustache. After the second encore he yelled to the audience, “We are here to party, after alllll!!!!!!” and he started singing and strumming again.

Anyway, you’re all perfect and don’t you forget it over the next twelve months!

Wrestling with Esther: Purim Spiels, Gender, and Political Dissidence

Emily Nepon

1. A Drag King’s Bar Mitzvah

In 1999 I won the Philadelphia Drag King contest with my portrayal of metal-head bar mitzvah boy Ben Hesherman, whose speech broke into a rendition of “Breaking the Law” by Judas Priest. Onstage, I told the crowd, “I don’t want to grow up be a man like my father or the rabbi or the Israeli heads-of-state. I want to be like David Lee Roth and Gene Simmons of KISS! Members of my community, friends of my grandparents, I hope you’ll support me. I don’t want to learn Hebrew, I want to learn to rock!” I stripped off a too-big suit to uncover leather pants and a sleeveless Metallica T-Shirt. Someone threw me a plastic toy guitar, and a star was born.

The truth is, at five feet tall, with short hair and chubby boyish looks, the character wasn’t a stretch: my family often jokes about how much I look like my dad at his bar mitzvah. The next year at the contest, I brought Hesherman back for a scandalous performance involving a rabbi, a rocker drag queen, tefillin, and some honey (so that the Torah should be sweet to me). The soundtrack was KISS’s “Charisma.” Some might find these performances disrespectful and sacrilegious, but for me, creating and performing as Ben Hesherman enabled me to come out to my queer community about my Jewishness in a celebratory and sexy way. At the same time, performing an explicitly Jewish masculinity provided a space for me to connect and celebrate with other queer Jews, offering a language for communicating my gender-queerness in a way that my Jewish community (including my parents) could recognize.

Somewhere in the haze of the glittery King’s crown, cross-dressing, and sweet treats I realized that my performances were inspired by memories of childhood Purim celebrations. As a child, I attended Purim parties dressed up as Esther in my grandmother’s costume jewelry and done up with blush and lipstick, which my hippie mother rarely used. The glamour of the Purim celebration was like a second Halloween to me. As a teenager, I gravitated to identifying with the character of Vashti as an icon of feminist resistance. At the time, my early queerness gave me a feeling of vulnerability, a sense that I could be thrown out of the community for being true to myself, as the King had exiled Vashti.

My experience of Purim as an opportunity for boundary-crossing transgression is nothing new; in fact it’s a very old tradition. The oldest surviving text of Yiddish Purim parody-plays (called Purimspiels) is a manuscript from 1697 known as the “Achashverosh-shpiel,” a play considered so vulgar at the time that it was burned by the government of Frankfort, Germany. In 1728, the government of Hamburg banned the performance of Purimspiels entirely. Today, purimspiels are common in yeshivas and religious communities. But the celebrations have also been reclaimed in recent years by Jewish feminists, queers, and progressives of all types, in part because of the possible feminist readings of the story and in part because of the topsy-turvy carnivalesque nature of some Purim traditions. These groups, marginalized by the mainstream Jewish community, are building on the rich history of Purim theater to create powerful spectacles and performances that critique, amplify, and challenge the politics of our times, the Jewish community, and the Megillah’s story itself.

2. The Shadow of Marginalization

A quick refresher on the Book of Esther: Ahasueros, the King of Persia, sends away his disobedient first wife Vashti, who refused to dance naked for the king and his guests. He holds a pageant for a new wife. A young Jewess named Esther (Hebrew name: Hadassah) enters at the urging of her uncle Mordechai and wins, having kept her Judaism a secret. Later, Mordechai uncovers a plot to kill the king by two eunuch guards. Through Esther, he alerts the king and foils the plot. Mordechai’s good deed is then recorded in the royal book of chronicles. Soon after, Mordechai refuses to bow to the King’s assistant Haman, stating that, as a Jew, he will not bow before a man. Angered and incensed at Mordechai’s being honored for saving the king’s life, Haman arranges to kill Mordechai and all the Jews in Ahasueros’s empire, with the blessing of the king. After a period of fasting and prayer, Esther saves the Jews by outing herself (as a Jew) to the king, who, while not rescinding his decree, allows the Jews to arm and defend themselves. Everything turns upside down: the Jews are victorious, instead of being annihilated; Mordechai is given the honored role that Haman had held; and Haman is hanged on the gallows intended for Mordechai.

That’s where the storytelling usually ends in Sunday school classes and Purim parties. But the Megillah actually goes on to describe a massacre of over 75,500 Persians, as well as Haman and his ten sons. The story of Esther and Mordechai’s heroism on behalf of all Jews is a great reason to celebrate, but how can we wrestle with the implications of the end of the story, the brutal vengeance-lust of the Jewish people, if we don’t even talk about that part of the scroll?

At a recent Barnard College conference on “Jewish Women Changing America,” I asked performance artist/drag queen Amichai Lau-Levi (presenting in chararacter as Rebbitzin Hadassah Gross) to talk about the work s/he’s done to reclaim and reinterpret Purim in productions such as “ Esther Don’t Preach: A Purim kaBLAHBLAH Bash!” As the Rebbitzin, Lau-Levi reflected that while we are all starving for ritual on our own terms, Purim is also about the shadow of genocide, marginalization, and hating “the other,” and reminded the audience of the events of Purim 1994. That year, Baruch Goldstein massacred 29 Muslims, and injured a hundred more, who were praying at the Ibrahimi Mosque/Cave of the Patriarchs in Hebron. Survivors of the massacre killed Goldstein, a member of the Jewish Defense League, and an IDF doctor. Israeli right-wing extremists see Goldstein as a holy martyr, claiming that he pre-empted the mass murder of Jews by Arabs. Witness the message on Goldstein’s gravesite:

Here lies the saint, Dr. Baruch Kappel Goldstein, blessed be the memory of the righteous and holy man, may the Lord avenge his blood, who devoted his soul to the Jews, Jewish religion and Jewish land. His hands are innocent and his heart is pure. He was killed as a martyr of God on the 14th of Adar, Purim, in the year 5754 (1994).

Those who eulogized Baruch Goldstein remembered his actions as a kind of “pre-emptive strike” against those who wish to kill the Jews. Did Goldstein see himself as a modern Mordechai? The 1994 massacre makes it clear that those of us who wish to celebrate Esther,Vashti, or Mordechai’s resistance to unjust authority must also deal seriously with the alternate Purim-interpretation of heroic vengeance and security-through-brutality, values that influence not only Baruch Goldstein and his supporters but also our own Israeli and American governments. By avoiding the end of the story, Purim revelers risk giving uncritical license to the fundamentalism and xenophobia found in the text.

In reality, the Purim story may never have happened. Scholars believe that King Ahasueros may have been the Persian king, Khshayarsha, whom the Greeks called Xerxes, and who ruled from 486 to 465 B.C.E. in Shushan, the capital Persian city. The descriptions of Ahasueros’ giant kingdom, which spanned 127 countries from India to Ethiopia, match the size of the Persian Empire under Xerxes, who was also known for his big fancy feasts and parties. On the other hand, no historic records verify the Megillah’s story, which has much in common with ancient romances, fairy tales, and other fantastic literature. As Rabbi Arthur Waskow writes, “Most Jews today understand the whole story of Esther not as an historical chronicle but as a novel.”


3. The Politics of the Party

Whether fact or fiction, the Purim story begs for modern critique, midrash, and creative re-visioning rather than the lazy revisionism offered by mainstream Jewish education. In 2003, I was one of the organizers of the “Suck My Treyf Gender” Purim party, an event which offered some opportunities for that creative critique. Suck My Treyf Gender featured hostesses from Hadassah Ladies for Homos (a sister organization of Church Ladies for Choice), a wrestling-match between Kosher and Treyf, and an alternative Megillah reading, all while raising funds for Jews Against the Occupation and Queers Undermining Israeli Terror. At that event we distributed a manifesto, “The Politics of the Party,” which included this quote:

On Purim, we are religiously obligated to get so shit-faced [drunk] we can’t tell the difference between “blessed” haman, and “cursed” mordechai. Binaries, dichotomies, opposites are emphasized, exaggerated and celebrated. We masquerade as Good vs. Evil, Male vs. Female, Oppressed vs. Oppressor, but the goal is not to reinforce these dichotomies, but to realize that they are false separations, that there is a beautiful space inbetween all opposites, and that is the space where we live as happy, healthy beings. It is in between the extremes, somewhere between “male” and “female,” healing our experiences of oppression while checking ourselves on the power we have to oppress others, that we walk Hashem’s path.

In one act of this cabaret, I performed as Adam Shapiro, the Jewish guy who co-founded International Solidarity Movement (ISM) and who was with Yasser Arafat the previous Pesach in the Palestinian leader’s besieged Ramallah compound, incurring the anger of the Zionist Jewish community. Adam and one of the Hadassah Ladies serenaded each other with “Wind Beneath My Wings,” in a celebration of the cross-pollinization of queer and anti-occupation Jewish activism. Another moving performance was offered by a woman who had recently returned from doing human rights work in the Occupied Territories and read poetry about her experiences that brought a powerful silence to the otherwise rowdy crowd. In sum, the Suck My Treyf Gender cabaret performances used Purim’s cultural traditions as a way to challenge the same nationalism and extremism that Baruch Goldstein glorified with his brutal killings. At the same time, we amplified the meaningful role of Jewish queers and outsiders. In our Megillah, the two eunuchs who plot to kill the King are among the symbolic heroes.

With the between-the-lines vision of Purim’s transgressive potential, we can ask real and deep questions. Is Esther a brave heroine or a subordinating woman spinning back and forth between the demands of various men in her life, making good for herself by capitalizing on the betrayal of other, stronger women? Is Mordechai a brave Jewish hero, or a patronizing and arrogant man who would gladly do to another people what he wished not done to his own? He won’t bow to a king, but he tells Esther to bow to her husband, the king. Is Haman truly evil, or was his history written by the victors who killed his whole people and needed to vilify him to justify a brutal “regime change”? Is Vashti the goyishe heroine of this Jewish story? Is the King really a fool, or, as many commentators suggest, the worst of all — a lecherous old man with access to endless virgins, eager to sign off on any genocide that doesn’t affect his property or his status? We have to wonder why those eunuchs were plotting to kill him, and look who starts and ends with the real power!

Modern Purim celebrations use the traditional play as a vehicle for popular education around a broad range of issues by playing with the iconic roles typified by the Megilla’s characters: good girl, bad girl, stupid king, valiant citizen, evil politician. These traditional players can easily and informatively be mixed up with any combination of modern kings, s/heroes, insider/outsider activists, popular resistance movements, and evildoers-ex-machina. Witness this cross-section of creative re-interpretations:

• In 2002, the Workmen’s Circle/Arbeter Ring, Amnesty International USA, HEEB Magazine, and Great Small Works sponsored a “Giant Puppet Purim Ball Against the Death Penalty.” The celebration included a retelling of the Megillah and music and dance, including reggae with Yiddish lyrics, and the Klezmatics. In 2004, Great Small Works, Arbeiter Ring, and Storahtelling, joined with Jews for Racial and Economic Justice to create a play about immigrant rights directed by Jenny Romaine of Great Small Works and Circus Amok. In 2005, these groups reconvened at The Knitting Factory for a purimspiel that followed Vashti to a detention center and skewered racial “terrorist” profiling and the Patriot Act. These annual celebrations in Manhattan bring together amazing inter-generational crowds ranging from secular-socialist elders to queer red-diaper babies and all kinds in-between.

• Also in 2002, Bonna Devora Haberman who describes the Purim story as “in many ways a story of sex and violence, a tale of how men of power use the currency of the female body to achieve their goals” used the Purim story as an educational activist tool to spread the word about global trafficking of women and girls. Unmasking the Fast of Esther is a 27-page play that Haberman shared with hundreds of congregations across the world, and weaves the Megillah and the Talmud with modern news articles.

• Amy Tobin created the musical Lilithin 1996, and followed up with Esther’s Mission – Love, Blood & Wine In Exile in 2002, Estherminator – a Psycho-Pious Purim Rock Opera in 2003, and The Esther Show in a 2005 tour about which’s Ben Wurgaft writes, “If Purim is the holiday of subversive reversals, then Tobin’s version of subversion asks other tough questions … Tobin also likes to use the clueless and ineffective king to poke fun at political targets—the death penalty, the invasion of Iraq, and this year, the Bush administration. In one refrain she sings of a ‘Story about the stories we tell,’ suggesting that Purim is precisely the time to use a critical lens to scrutinize politics.”

• The radical Jewish feminist group Jewish Women Watching (JWW), which borrows tactics from the Guerrilla Girls to challenge sexism in the Jewish world (where Guerilla Girls attack the male-dominated-power of the Art world), has used Rosh Hashanah, Hanukkah, high-profile gatherings of Jewish communities, and Purim as opportunities to challenge from within (if anonymously) and without. In addition to stickers that could be put on any grogger (noisemaker) reading “Drown Out Sexism,” JWW also protested at the United Jewish Charities (UJC) in New York with masks on and published a postcard, telling us that “Vashti’s not the only woman who had to strip to keep her job. Even in the Jewish world three out of four women endure sexual harassment in the workplace.” JWW activists observed that at a Megilla reading, we “spin our groggers 50 times to blot out Haman’s name. That’s more than the number of women on the boards of the Anti Defamation League [ADL] and the United Jewish Communities combined,” and ask, “Rabbis agree that without Esther’s intervention Haman would have murdered all the Jews. With almost no women in the top five executive positions at national Jewish organizations, what might befall today’s Jewish community?”

Purim’s tale is a warning with another warning wrapped inside, a liberation that isn’t liberating, and it begs us to create space for solutions that don’t entail easy answers. Wrestling with Esther offers her a chance for meaningful heroism without a brutal legacy, and the insights of these strategic theatrical misunderstandings offer us a path towards transformation

For those of us who don’t fit the mainstream Jewish community norms, Purim has become an opportunity to come out of the corners and challenge our own community by manifesting our fabulous otherness, our queerness. On all other nights, the institutional Jewish community displays a false homogenous front on the issue of supporting Zionism. And on all other nights, homophobia and transphobia are still prevalent in our community. On Purim those of us who, like Pesach’s wicked child, don’t tow those party lines, exhibit our politics and our true queer lives without fear of rejection and repression. (Or so we hope.)

The stage directions for the 2004 Immigrant Justice Purim Spiel offer some modern midrash that may allow us to harness the power of Purim to challenge fundamentalism in years to come:

Hadassah stresses that on Purim, if you are confused, you are doing the right thing. [She] knows there are many paths towards holy disorder, many routes to the mystical place of misunderstanding… The more we don’t understand, the more dyslexic we feel, the more we are entering into the practice of Purim, the more we will be supercharged, renewed, transformed.

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