Queen Esther

My homemade Purim poncho

I might have been a Jewish Martha Stewart if fate had been kinder to me. I used to watch with envy as she placed her rose-scented candles on the needlepoint tablecloth in the centre of which were the exquisite paper flowers she crafted. In my fantasy, I imagine my own dinner table now ready for the chopped liver, with braised lamb shanks, kasha pilaf and apple kugel, which would be served on my designer Star of David ceramic plates. Blossoms of fresh orchids from my greenhouse would fill the room. And it would be a good thing.

It is to my chagrin, however, that domestic tasks have never been my forte. Instead, I learned to deflect sizzling hockey pucks from four older brothers as they practised their shots on goal on the frozen North End streets of Winnipeg. I couldn’t whip up a chocolate brownie, but I could power a strike ball for the boys baseball team. I would likely have made a slam-dunk career in basketball if not for my growth spurt maxing out at five feet at an early age.

But, as I became an adult, stopping a puck, throwing a baseball or shooting baskets were no longer in demand. Domestic tasks became the necessity of life and I had few skills. I did manage to accumulate some basic cooking skills, however, and, to date, none of my family has succumbed to starvation.

Now, the task of sewing is a different ball of yarn. What little I learned, I picked up in school. I still remember the pained look on the face of my Grade 7 teacher as I zigzagged the hemline on the proverbial apron running it through the sewing machine. Nonetheless, my lack of proficiency with domestic skills had not interfered greatly in my life – that is, until I became a mother. Then it all came to a flashpoint!

My then-5-year-old daughter, who was attending Peretz School at the time, needed a costume for their annual Purim carnival. She, the little princess, wanted to be a queen – Queen Esther, no less. Oh sure, I’ll just whip up a queen’s costume as soon as I finish the cheese soufflé, the salmon mousse, chocolate-coated orange peels and homemade halvah. What to do? Well, creativity helps where skills fail. I pondered that maybe I could pick up a large piece of fancy material, cut a hole in the middle, and then throw the whole thing over her head, like a poncho.

So, for the first time in my life I found myself in a fabric store like a rookie at a textiles Superbowl. I looked and felt and touched, feigning expertise. Eventually, I settled on a rich red satin. I cut out a round hole in the centre using a “dummy” circle for an approximate size of her head. If I was looking for a “dummy,” I could well have used my own head. The hole had to be adjusted several times to make it big enough to actually get her head through it. The biggest problem, however, was the edges. They were frayed all around and still needed something more to dress it up.

After another search, I discovered long strands of sequins sold by the yard. Exactly what I needed! I chose gold. Very royal, I thought. Much to my surprise, I still remembered the basic back and hemstitch from my sewing class – not a total loss. With needle and thread, I painstakingly stitched on the sequins around the neck and all the edges (I knew enough not to have her head in it at the time). After numerous hours, with bleary, red, irritated eyes, stitch by stitch, it was done.

“What will I wear for a crown?” whined my unappreciative daughter. Once again, I called on some inner resources for inspiration. I found an expandable holder used for tying hair back in a knot or bun. It was gold-coloured metal dotted with decorative “pearls.” When it was fully extended, it sat on the top of her little head like a crown. She loved it! Perfect!

We were ready. Her long, blonde hair flowed softly over her simple red satin poncho gilded with gold sequins, and her greenish-blue eyes sparkled like the “crown” on her head. She was a queen! A blonde Queen Esther!

The party was already in full swing when we arrived, with blue-and-white streamers and balloons lining the walls and ceiling. Chattering children were milling about in all kinds of wonderful outfits. Although her costume was not as elaborate as many, she blended with the others and joined in the games, sang Purim songs and ate hamantashen. At the end of the afternoon, everyone was told to gather around because the judges were ready to announce the winners of the contest.

What contest?

But before I could answer my own question, I heard them announce, “The winner for the best girls costume is Queen Esther.”

“Who?” I whispered under my breath in disbelief.

“Queen Esther!” they called again, as if responding to me personally.

With astonishment, I watched, tears welling in my eyes, as my daughter scrambled onto the stage of the school auditorium for her special moment. I was delighted for her, but bursting with pride for me. It had not been my goal but turned out to be my slam-dunk. This small victory was my personal triumph. I was a Martha Stewart after all. Well, a Jewish Martha Stewart, or maybe substitute Miriam Silver? Regardless, it was a good thing.

Libby Simon, MSW, worked in child welfare services prior to joining the Child Guidance Clinic in Winnipeg as a school social worker and parent educator for 20 years. Also a freelance writer, her writing has appeared in Canada, the United States, and internationally, in such outlets as Canadian Living, CBC, Winnipeg Free Press, PsychCentral and Cardus, a Canadian research and educational public policy think tank.

Poppy seeds for Purim

Purim is coming the evening of Feb. 28, and if your schedule doesn’t allow time for making hamantashen, try poppy seed cookies. The Yiddish word for poppy seed is mohn, which some say sounds like Haman. Another story says Esther kept kosher and ate as a vegetarian; her diet including seeds, nuts, legumes and poppy seeds, so many Jews serve these foods on Purim. Another tradition says Esther subsisted on poppy seeds during her three-day fast. Whatever the reason, here are a few recipes.

MOHN KICHLACH

1/2 cup margarine
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg
1 tbsp water
1/2 tsp vanilla
1/4 tsp almond extract
1/4 to 1/3 cup poppy seeds
2 cups flour
1/2 tsp baking powder

Preheat oven to 350°F. Spray a cookie sheet with vegetable spray.
In a bowl, cream margarine and sugar. Beat in egg, water, vanilla and almond extract.
Mix in poppy seeds.
Add flour and baking powder and mix well.
Drop by teaspoon onto cookie sheet and flatten with a fork. Bake for 15 minutes.

POPPY SEED COOKIES #1

1 cup poppy seeds
1/2 cup hot milk
1/2 cup margarine
1/2 cup sugar
1 1/4 cups flour
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/4 tsp cloves
1/2 cup raisins
1/4 cup chocolate chips (optional)

Preheat oven to 350°F. Spray a cookie sheet with vegetable spray.
Soak poppy seeds in milk.
In a mixing bowl, cream margarine and sugar.
Add flour, baking powder, cinnamon, cloves, raisins and, if using, chocolate. Add milk and poppy seeds and mix.
Drop by teaspoon onto greased cookie sheet. Bake for 20 minutes.

POPPY SEED COOKIES #2

1/4 cup vegetable oil
1/4 cup unsalted butter or margarine
2/3 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp vanilla
dash cinnamon
2 cups flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 cup poppy seeds

Preheat oven to 375°F. Spray a cookie sheet with vegetable spray.
In a bowl, combine oil, butter or margarine, sugar and eggs. Mix well. Add vanilla and cinnamon.
Add flour and baking powder. Then add poppy seeds. If dough is pasty, add more flour until dough is easy to form into small balls.
Place balls on cookie sheet and flatten. Bake for 8-10 minutes, until lightly browned.

Sybil Kaplan is a journalist, lecturer, book reviewer and food writer in Jerusalem. She created and leads the weekly English-language Shuk Walks in Machane Yehuda, she has compiled and edited nine kosher cookbooks, and is the author of Witness to History: Ten Years as a Woman Journalist in Israel.

Queen Esther in Vancouver

Goldie Kassen at Louis Brier Home and Hospital’s Purim party last year. (photo from Barbara Taranto)

There are not many news stories in print or online that laud the everyday work of women. Occasionally, studies are published regarding the status of women’s salaries relative to men’s, the position of women’s roles relative to men’s, the division of labour in the household, etc., but very little is published about the everyday life and sacrifices of women. When stories are published, they are most often about how women have contributed, as a female actor in a traditional male role, to the social and economic welfare of the greater community.

I do not have many “heroes.” I never quite got the appeal of adoring a public figure or wanting to model myself after a stranger regardless of his or her qualities. One person I do admire, however, is Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg – obviously for her remarkable contribution to the U.S. Supreme Court, her leadership and her example to American women – but more for the non-public and under-appreciated value she has added as a mother and a grandmother.

Bader Ginsberg is very much like Queen Esther of Purim – a woman with a private life who serves the greater good in the public sphere. There were not, and are not, many opportunities to have a life like hers. But, ordinary women, women not in the spotlight, have been serving the greater good throughout human history – volunteering in the community, giving time, food, sustenance and support to help their communities not only survive, but thrive.

When I grew up, I often came home from school and stopped at the Jewish community centre to see my mother – Goldie Kassen – who was working in the kitchen with the other women of Hadassah, an organization’s whose name is Queen Esther’s Hebrew name. The women of Hadassah were very active in Saskatoon. There wasn’t a week that went by that they weren’t involved in some sort of social action or charity event. And, on the days they were not busy with Hadassah, they were involved in the sisterhood at Congregation Agudas Israel, performing vital ritual tasks for the mikvah, the chevra kadisha or distributing mishloach manot (loosely translated as gift baskets) on Purim.

This culture of volunteerism that was widespread and common in my youth seems to have disappeared. Many smaller Jewish communities do not have the congregation or the means to support these activities and many services have been taken over by professionals. Frankly, many women understandably do not want to volunteer for no pay.

When my father, z”l, died, my mother left Saskatoon and moved to Vancouver. She immediately volunteered for a seniors group, Hadassah and the sisterhood at Temple Sholom. She became an active member of her new community by giving first and receiving warmth and welcome in return.

For the past 28 years, my mother has volunteered at the Louis Brier Home and Hospital. She started out as a salesperson, one day a week, in the gift shop. Over the years, she took on more and more responsibility. Today, she manages the staff and the staff schedule. She does the buying for the shop, she does the books for the shop and she does special requests for those who have no family or aid. She works four days a week, every week.

The proceeds from the shop have been used to purchase diagnostic medical equipment, hospital beds, a barbeque for the residents and much, much more. She greets all the customers in a quiet and gentle way, and I know she is loved for her patience and her concern.

On the Louis Brier’s website, there is a very brief paragraph about the shop. No mention is made of the women who work there, not that they expect it, but it would be nice. I know that the shop is an integral part of the life of the residents and the staff at the home. I know that there are not many women left like my mother.

So, when my mom called and told me she was going to the Purim party last year as Queen Esther, I was especially proud. She was worrying over what dress to wear. In the end, she chose the evening gown my father bought her in Jerusalem in 1962. It was a beautiful dress then and it is a beautiful dress now. More importantly, the woman wearing the dress is beautiful – as beautiful as Queen Esther and as important as all those women who have kept the traditions alive and without whom we would be impoverished.

Barbara Taranto lives in Tel Aviv. A version of this article was published last year on her blog, btarantoaretz.com.