This Purim I won’t go overboard like the time I dressed as the Kotel, and invited strangers (female only) to kiss and pray before me. Nor will I play it safe and dress up as nothing. I’m going for subtlety – a costume that’ll make neighbors wonder if I’m wearing one. So it’s a Breslevy-bee-hive-power-tichel for me. If folks think I’m undergoing some spiritual renaissance, so be it.
Onto mishaloch manos. It’ll be neither toxically junky nor obnoxiously healthy, but in the middle. In the spirit of increasing shalom, I’ll give to one person I’m at odds with. Still, there’s a story I heard from my husband who heard it from his dad who heard it from Rav Hutner: In pre-war Warsaw, there was friction between two families. Family X decided to send mishaloch manos to Family Y, and gave it to a not-too-bright messenger to deliver. Alas, he dropped it en route and it got fashmutzed. He delivered it anyway to Family Y who saw a dirty mishaloch manos and took it as an act of war. The families never spoke to each other again. Moral: Sometimes you should kill the messenger.
