MARCH 12, ‘25 // Thankfully, everything he wanted to do turned out to be venahapoch hu. That, in a nutshell, is why we are all so happy on Purim. Of course, the story is much longer. We read the story in the megillah, but we know that the story runs far deeper than the words. I try to focus on all the details, but I am in my kitchen now, thinking mostly about Haman. I am puzzled and wonder what was so remarkable about Haman that he deserved to be remembered for future generations, through baking haman tashen. Or rather, I am not concerned so much about the reason, as I am about how many haman tashen I must produce to ensure that enough of them will look decent enough to show off. I am pressured that they should match the caliber of the haman tashen my friends have to offer. Why do we choose to replicate Haman’s hat, rather than his tash which means a pocket? My little mind tells me that the chachomim foresaw that the price of eggs would skyrocket and we would need large pockets to afford making haman tash. Haman was one of the richest men on the planet at that time, the Shushan equivalent of Elon Musk. Making a pastry out of Haman’s hat is a segula to being blessed with full pockets. It is Purim tomorrow, and I imagine that those who will drink ad belo yoda might even accept my assumptions as valid. Haman wore a three-cornered hat. It was most probably leather all around and wool in the middle. It was certainly not edible, and a tailor who knew nothing about baking sewed it up. I generously acquiesce that since Haman was of royal blood and Viceroy to King Achashverosh, he may have had ten, or even twenty such hats. They lasted years. His children Haman was a rosha beyond any measure of doubt. ANGLES Haman Tashen and all its 160
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