Hi there! Kara here. Just a simple girl who grew up in a Southern Baptist/ evangelical/Methodist home south of Chicago. Then converted to Judaism through a well-known conservative synagogue in Los Angeles. I never bought that whole Holy Trinity theory. But that’s another story…

My first Purim was a conflicted one. I was invited to celebrate at the Kabbalah Center . Several high-profile celebrities and Cirque du Soleil as our entertainment! Tragically, the celebration that year landed on 17March. The day of a very very big day growing up…St. Patrick’s Day.

We never acknowledged the religious history behind the celebration. Shoot, most Chicagoans don’t know the history. It’s just an excuse to wear green, drink a lot, and kiss strangers. And drink a lot. And got to parades. And drink. And eat corned beef and cabbage. And drink some more.

But now I’m Jewish. I can’t reject an invite from a Jewish synagogue for a Jewish holiday in favour of sitting in a pub getting hammered on Guinness! But I’m an Irish girl from Chicago – I can’t deny myself the annual joy of indulging the Irishy girl in me.

And then my dear sweet friend and agent (natural in L.A.) assured me I could do both! Laura chortled “oh my goodness, Purim is just a day of costumes and parades for the kids and an excuse for the grown-ups to get drunk. You’ll feel at home that day – just minus all the shamrocks”

I haven’t been forced into another holiday Sophie’s Choice since, but that 1st year got me thinking about the 2 holidays and their celebration. Now I’m back in Chicago – relearning both my hometown and how to be Jewish. I never realized how strongly Catholic Chicago is until I lived here as a Jew! Purim is nearly drowned out in shamrocks, green decorations, and alcohol promotions so this has been a tough investigation. But I turned to my L.A. Jewish-born friends and some new acquaintances while juggling matzo and Guinness…

Overall, I decided I agree with my friend David from New York. The importance of drinking on Purim seems to be connected with depth of study in Judaism. The midly or completely non-observant only recall costumes and parades. The Othodox are stumbling with their wine glasses. But here’s some comments from them (cuz they’re a heck of a lot more interesting than my dribbling on…)

• Allen, my actor friend from New York, is not particularly observant. “Never heard of drinking on Purim. My mother dressed me up as a tree and hung a noose around a doll and dangled it from my limb…I wonder where I got my penchant for drama”
• Mike, my cynical writer friend from Connecticut, “Drinking on Purim? Never heard of that. Then again last time I went to temple was on my bar mitzvah”
• Cathy, my very dear Orthodox producer friend from New York, is my “Jew Mentor”. In typical fashion, she very lovingly educated my “research group” on the lessons from the Talmud, directing all of us to a string of articles on drinking and Purim. Then ended her contribution to our discussion with “so anyone wanna get drunk?” I have a date with Cathy and a couple bottles of kosher Israeli wine when I return to Santa Monica.
• David, my very dear brilliant writer friend from New York shared his first Chabad experience with me. Appropriately in Evanston, IL (a suburb adjacent to Chicago).  This is just a wee taste of his story.  Feel free to read the whole experience at David’s blog

The moment I step in the door a guy my age hands me a shot in a little plastic glass. “Le’Chaim!” And he downs it. I follow suit. He hands me a yarmulka and then runs away.

I get two more steps in the door and another guy, thrilled that I’m there approaches me like and old friend and says

“Hi, I’m Schlomo! What’s your name?”
“David.”
“Welcome.” He hands me another drink. “Le’Chaim!” Boom. Another one down.
A man in his late 50s comes up to me in an kick-ass costume. He’s got a super realistic looking Gandalf length beard and he’s actually wearing an ornate wizzard’s costume all the way down to the curly-tip brocaded shoes.  As I eye the booze, the guy standing next to me offers another shot. The fourth in under five minutes. And I say,

“Hold on. I need to catch my breath. Who was that last guy? His costume was amazing.”
“Him? That’s the rabbi.”
“The rabbi? What is he doing?”
“Tonight we’re playing a game. ‘Drink ‘til the rabbi drops’.”

This is stark contrast to St. Patrick’s Day. At least in Chicago. Overall, it’s the least religious and least knowledgeable who get the most drunk. My bartending friend, Ciaran from Dublin, would shake his head in disgust each March as we carved shamrocks in hundreds of pint glasses. Every year I’d hear how in Dublin, this was a day to go to church and maybe share a whiskey toast to St. Patrick. Yet here in Chicago, random people not remotely Irish or Catholic would take off from work the day of and the day after to drink themselves into the gutter and then be sick the next day. At least us Jews have a religious text instructing us to indulge a bit today.

I’m looking forward to my 1st Chicago Purim tonight at a north side synagogue. The Jewish community in L.A. is much broader and stronger so Jewish holidays there are similar to Christian holidays growing up here. But now I’m Jewish in Chicago and learning the meaning of “minority”. As a Christian Caucasian middle-class girl growing up in a WASPy mid-western city, I was jealous of the Jewish kids getting extras days off from school for their different holidays. But right now I’m struggling to find my community.

Then again it could be all that time I’m spending drinking Guinness in that Irish pub on Wells street. But I couldn’t tell the difference between Haman or Mordechai. Even if they arrived wearing green and playing the flute.