On Purim, nothing is as it seems.

That ferocious monster is really sweet shy Sarah from second grade. That beautiful Queen Esther with the jewel-studded crown is really your brother Moishe. Is that a gigantic 3-cornered-poppy-seed-filled-cookie walking down the street? And how did little Michael grow that luxuriant white beard?

Why do we disguise ourselves on Purim? Because on Purim nothing is as it seems. Was the banishment of Queen Vashti simply one of those things that happen when a debauched Persian emperor gets drunk? Was it just coincidence that Mordechai happened to overhear a plot to kill the king? Did Achashverosh choose Esther to be his queen because she happened to be the most beautiful woman in the empire? Was it plain bad luck for Haman that he happened to come visit Achashverosh just as Mordechai's heroic deed was being read to the king? Was it Esther's charm and Achasverosh's flippancy that made the king suddenly hang his favorite minister?

Purim was instituted because the Jewish people at the time understood that it was G-d Himself who directed all of the above, to save His people. He was just disguising Himself as a Persian palace soap opera.

When G-d took the Children of Israel out of Egypt on Passover, the entire neighborhood, from Giza to Gaza and from Memphis to Mesopotamia, resonated with the miracles wrought by the G-d of the Hebrews. When a small jug of oil burned for eight days on Chanukah, the most skeptical Hellenist saw that it was an act of G-d.

Purim ("lots") is unique in that the most miraculous of salvations was shrouded in the garments of nature, luck and coincidence. G-d was hidden and remained hidden--His name does not once appear in the entire Megillah (Scroll of Esther)!

Purim is truly a masquerade. Indeed, the word Esther is related to the Hebrew word “in hiding.”

Even the poppy-seed filling is hiding inside the folds of dough of the Hamantash dough (or is it prune?), not to mention the wholly concealed meat (chicken?) filling in the kreplach.

Not paradoxically, Purim is also the most joyous festival on the Jewish calendar. It's great to celebrate miracles, but how often does a miracle come your way? Far more exhilarating is the realization that nothing is as it seems, that G-d is always pulling the strings, even when things seem to be "just happening."

The Underhand Spin
Purim and Chanukah are very different holidays. On Chanukah we get spiritual; on Purim we get physical--money to the poor, food to friends, a big festive meal with lots and lots of wine.

But there is an interesting common denominator: the customs surrounding the two festivals both include a spinning toy.

On Chanukah, it is customary to play with a dreidel, a spinning top inscribed with the Hebrew letters that form an acronym of the phrase, "A great miracle happened there."

On Purim we spin a noisemaking device called a gragger to drown out the name of the wicked Haman.

Still, there's a difference: the dreidel is spun from above, while the gragger is turned from below.

On Chanukah, G-d suspended the laws of nature to save us, as a small band of fighters defeated one of the mightiest armies on earth and a cruse of oil burned for eight days.

On Purim, the salvation came about in what could be explained as a series of lucky coincidences: King Achashverosh gets angry at his wife, and selects Esther as queen in her place; Mordechai happens to overhear a plot to kill Achashverosh and saves the king's life.

Haman happens to be "in the wrong place at the wrong time" just when Mordechai's deed is being read to the sleepless king; Esther uses her position and influence to turn the king against Haman; and so on. Indeed, G-d's name is not directly mentioned in the Book of Esther! In other words, on Chanukah the divine salvation came "from above," while on Purim it came "from below," disguised as ordinary, natural events.

Chanukah celebrates the fact that our commitment to G-d, and His to us, transcends natural limitations. Purim celebrates that our relationship with G-d also pervades the most ordinary, everyday details of our lives.