Sunday night, all of us, collectively, witnessed something surprising -- and outstanding. Something ultimately even more entertaining than acting.

We witnessed someone, seemingly effortlessly, acknowledging the truth.

As I'm sure everyone here already knows, this past Sunday night, La La Land was awarded "Best Picture" at the Oscars.  At least, it seemed that way.  And then, gradually, awkwardly, and inexplicably, it became clear that in fact the producers of that film hadn't won Best Picture at all. A mistake had taken place.  And yet, as that fact -- for that is what it is -- became clear, there was reluctance among some to acknowledge it.  Some of those who were on stage at that awkward moment made feeble attempts to smooth over the situation, to pretend that it hadn't happened at all.  

One person, though, stood out.  He took charge and said, "No." It was Jordan Horowitz , the producer of La La Land. Having been awarded an Oscar, he had just given a beautiful acceptance speech. But when he realized what had happened, he pivoted and said:  

"No. There's a mistake."

"'Moonlight,'" he went on, motioning to the producers of that film, "you guys won best picture."

"This is not a joke," he continued.  

He motioned to the Moonlight group and said "Come up here," and insisted that they come up to accept their rightful place on the stage.

Now, I don't think that ordinarily I would be making such a fuss about this, and taking the time to draw it to our attention, but we're living in extraordinary times.  We're living in an era when we are repeatedly getting the message and being given the impression that the more normal approach is to deny truth -- rather than to assert it; to pretend that things went our way -- even when they didn't.  It's to audaciously and pugnaciously assert ourselves and respond defensively -- to any suggestion that things may not be as they appear to be -- with a strong (and occasionally nasty) offense.  

Jordan Horowitz is a class act.  Of course, those who've followed his career may already have known that.  He was one of the producers of The Kids Are All Right, which was a film about how hard it is to acknowledge the truth -- yet how important it is to do that.  

To see someone move from joy to disappointment within the space of a few seconds and to move through that transition with straightforward honesty and courage, ... to see all that play itself out live on television -- it doesn't get any better than that.  

(See Stephanie Merry's article  in the  Washington Post , which I think captured these sentiments very well.)

What happened that night reminded me of one of the themes in the Megillah that we'll be reading on Purim.

Let's remind ourselves:  Early on in the Megillah, we are introduced to the beautiful and charming Esther, who, seemingly miraculously, is chosen by Ahasuerus to become his queen. What could be a better fate, in that society?

Well, although it seems as though Esther has it made, she is, of course, living a lie.  She is "passing" as a non-Jewish Persian. Now, of course, there's a reason for that deception: self protection. There's nothing immoral about it. 

But then a moment of truth arrives -- as it does for most of us sooner or later. Esther learns of a plot to do away with the Jews. As we know, because she's been passing, she is not personally at risk. She can continue to pass, presumably indefinitely.   But somehow -- it takes some persuasion, but not as much as you'd think -- she realizes that she can't do that; she realizes that to continue her charade would be a false choice.  She realizes that, if she is to be true to herself, she must reveal her identity, acknowledge who she is, and take the consequences.  As she puts it, "If I perish, I perish." (Esther 4:16)  

And so, in that climactic scene in chapter 7 (Esther 7:4), she reveals herself to the king.  Fortunately, as we know, it all turns out well in the end.   But at the time she exposed herself, she didn't know that it would. She revealed herself, she acknowledged the truth, not knowing whether she'd have to pay for that admission with her life.

Now, I'm not suggesting that the risks that Jordan Horowitz took approach those of Queen Esther. And I'm not suggesting that the stakes are the same. That's not the point.  What I am saying is that what happened Sunday night at the Oscars teaches us an important lesson that the Megillah is also trying to teach us: Sometimes it's hard to acknowledge the truth.  And yet, as we know, we have to do that. Otherwise, our lives are less than fully authentic. 

Jordan Horowitz carried it off with clarity, grace and purpose. He took charge and accepted and acknowledged the truth with aplomb.  

And so, I for one am delighted that this year we have invited everyone to come to "Temple Aliyah-La-Land" for our annual Purim celebration, complete with our Sisterhood wine tasting and a terrific local jazz duo from the Berklee College of Music.  In my mind it is a small tribute to a class act that took place not in the film but before our very eyes.

To prepare for Purim this year, I have a recommendation:  Read the Megillah BEFORE the holiday rolls around, so you become familiar with its well-crafted story and rich themes.  

On the holiday itself, come celebrate with us.  (Click here for a full schedule of Purim happenings this year at Temple Aliyah.)

Let's all commit ourselves to fulfilling the four mitzvot that we're called upon to observe on Purim:  

1. Listen to the reading of the Megillah. 

2. Eat a feast on the holiday. 

3. Send packages of treats to one another; and 

4. Give gifts to the poor.   

Why do we fulfill these mitzvot?  We read the Megillah to remember the story and to remind ourselves of its age-old lessons. We eat a feast to celebrate the unlikely, implausible and fortuitous -- in other words, miraculous -- redemption of our people, and because feasts figure prominently in the story. We give gifts to the poor because they too should have something to celebrate on Purim. And, in the words of my friend and colleague, Rabbi Benjamin Samuels, we send packages of treats to one another "to create and sustain the bonds of friendship and to engender good cheer."

I look forward to celebrating Purim at our shul with you this year with "light, joy, gladness and honor." 

Looking forward to seeing you in Temple Aliyah-La-Land!  

Sincerely,

Rabbi Carl M. Perkins