Between Queen Esther and Me

(Happy Belated Purim!)

I missed the festivities due to family travel, but it’s never too late to talk about Purim. I love this holiday. I think it may be my favorite. Beneath all the joyous celebration is a serious occasion. Layers of deeper meaning hide beneath costumes and hamantaschen.

I didn’t crash a rowdy party, but I did attend a Zoom webinar with Rabbi David Ingber through JTS entitled “The Masks of Doubt: Exploring Purim, Uncertainty, and the Hidden Divine.”

You could say I embraced an opposite way into the Book of Esther. A quieter way. And Purim is all about a thing and its opposite.

Allow me to copy and paste the webinar description that JTS sent me along with the Zoom invite:

Purim is a celebration of uncertainty—a holiday that invites us to embrace the hidden, the paradoxical, and the unknown. Join Romemu’s Rabbi David Ingber for a deep dive into the mystical themes of Purim, where doubt becomes a gateway to faith and masks reveal more profound truths. Together, we’ll explore how the story of Purim reflects the concealment of the Divine, the role of chance and chaos in our lives, and the profound spiritual lessons that arise when we step into the space of not knowing. Discover how Purim challenges us to find meaning and connection amid mystery.

I can’t recall the last time a webinar caused me to grow so curious. Why was this topic so enticing?

My friends—let me remind you of my short bio on this platform and across all my social media accounts. Pay close attention to the second line:

Writer of personal essays & memoir. Driven by uncertainty. Obsessed with time and memory. Former psychotherapist/LCSW. Bucket List: Dance with John Travolta.

Driven by uncertainty!

Uncertainty is pretty much the theme of my intellectual existence. Just last week, Hippocampus Magazine published a flash essay of mine that is all about uncertainty. You can read that here.

When I tell you that my daily life consists of ongoing doubt, it is not hyperbole. One of my two undergraduate college majors was Philosophy. Rene Descartes is my hero. The Meditations are my favorite text in all of modern philosophy. I admire Descartes’s work for both its intellectual rigor and its aesthetic beauty.

But my skepticism regarding G-d’s existence always exceeded Cartesian doubt. I once wrote a lengthy paper—a critique—of Descartes’s use of mathematics in his ontological proof of G-d’s existence. Alas, even my beloved Descartes failed to turn me into a believer.

With Ingber’s seminar promising to examine The Book of Esther through the lens of uncertainty, I felt like Queen Esther herself was reaching out and grabbing me to pay attention. This happened last year during Purim too.

Following my decision to convert, I’d attended a class at our local Chabad. Part of The Rosh Chodesh Society’s annual curriculum, I learned about Queen Esther’s divine purpose. It was actually that lecture that inspired this very Substack and my first post.

That introductory post, published almost a year ago, explored what the role of a convert might be in the Jewish community. I had the chutzpah to claim that some Jewish souls were born into gentile families—think of this as a spiritual level diaspora—so that the convert’s “return home” might function as a spark of light for other Jews, especially in times of darkness.

I don’t think I even knew, last year, that the name Esther means “star.” A star remains hidden until darkness reveals its light. It’s a fitting image for both Queen Esther and the Jewish convert—especially for me.

This year, Ingber’s lecture added more texture and dimension to my appreciation of Queen Esther’s story; in fact, I’d go so far as to say the lecture healed me from my everlasting doubt—not because I’ve figured out a way to defeat it once and for all, but because I learned to embrace my skepticism like a special gift.

Where the Father of Modern Philosophy failed me, I think Queen Esther is saving me.

Descartes zooms in on uncertainty—he begins with doubt—and while I’m onboard with his primary position, I’ve never managed to reach his final destination.

Though Ingber was clearly influenced by Descartes (he explicitly acknowledged Descartes toward the end of the webinar, and the Cartesian influence was obvious throughout), I’d argue that Ingber’s depiction of doubt is more sustainable for me. Descartes aimed to overcome uncertainty, but Ingber seems to offer an invitation to sit in it. Perhaps indefinitely.

Ingber suggests that doubt has the potential to cure itself, but his portrayal allows for an ongoingness—our grappling never fully resolves but functions instead as an eternal light that leads our way. This was my personal takeaway. Perhaps the other attendees heard differently.

Listening to Ingber, I felt relieved of the weight of my uncertainty. It’s not only a burden. It’s also a superpower. Doubt is multi-dimensional. At the very least, it contains duality.

According to Ingber, uncertainty is both a problem and a solution. He uses this lens to examine the paradoxical themes contained in Esther’s story. Purim is a celebration of what is hidden and what is revealed. What is contained and what is exposed. It’s about courage and survival—Queen Esther risks her own life to reveal her Jewish identity in an attempt to save the Jewish people from genocide. But the Megillah includes more than a tale of Jewish survival. It’s also a game of hide and seek with the Divine.

The text is located outside of the Torah. While G-d is mentioned by many names throughout The Five Books of Moses, there is no reference to G-d in the Megillah. The text, therefore, becomes known for its apparent absence of the divine.

For Ingber, G-d’s ostensible absence is the thing that paradoxically draws our attention toward G-d. Where G-d is hidden, we look for G-d. The Book of Esther calls us to seek out meaning and connection despite uncertainty. The very act of searching calls G-d into the picture. The divine is present by way of omission.

Now, I’m about to get pretty mystical for a lifelong agnostic.

According to the orthodox Jewry, all Jewish souls were present at Mount Sinai for Revelation, including future converts. Let’s assume this is true and my disembodied soul was floating around during G-d’s big reveal.

Having a fair degree of self-knowledge, I can predict—or retrospectively imagine—the actions my young soul would’ve taken in response to so much overwhelming stimuli. I would’ve gone straight into hiding. Of course my Jewish neshamah would’ve ended up in a gentile family. Like Esther, I’d be hidden for years until the big reveal. I feel this.

Maybe some Jews live in a more certain relationship with G-d. Revelation, for them, might feel like a finite event that was powerful enough to extend through time. But for someone like myself, maybe The Book of Esther offers an alternative to Revelation at Sinai. It’s a whisper, not a roar. It’s a more subtle invitation to enter into a relationship with G-d. It allows someone like me—a chronic skeptic—a seat at the table. It’s as if Queen Esther is saying: “It’s okay if G-d’s presence isn’t obvious to you. The fact that you’re here, searching, is enough.”

I now realize I don’t need to resolve my uncertainty. I can linger in it like a warm bath. It’s a vital lens that maintains ongoing curiosity and keeps me seeking and striving.

And while I remain a person of great uncertainty, I did find one definitive thing this Purim: Esther is going to be my Jewish name. I feel like I’ve chosen it and it has chosen me.

Chag Sameach!

xoxo Jen xoxo