Chapter Text
Purim Generations
by IrenaAdler
1: Daughter
"Mom," 21-year-old Margaret Mann groaned. "I'm too old for Purim!"
"Too old to give gifts or charity?" her mother responded mildly, folding the triangular Hamantaschen cookies.
"No, but the costumes and the noisemakers and ... It's all in support of a patriarchical, oppressive religion, anyway." The words were out of her mouth before she remembered that she was in her mother's kitchen, not at a protest meeting. She folded her arms and lifted her chin.
Her mother paused, then very slowly finished the cookie she was folding. Her motions were steady but her voice hard as she asked, "Is that what they teach in college these days, to disparage the beliefs of your family, beliefs that have supported us through terrible times?"
"No," Margaret snapped, "Just to think for yourself."
"Then you should appreciate the story of Esther."
"Where a woman's value is dependant entirely on her physical attractiveness and ability to get men to fall under her sexual wiles?"
Her mother turned around, her mouth pursed. She brushed the flour from her hands. "I don't know what you're learning at college, but it's obviously crowding out everything you were taught as a child. You know that's not what Esther's story is about!"
Margaret groaned again and threw herself in a chair. She didn't really want to get into this debate with her mother right now. Normally she was up for, even excited about, debates on feminism and religion, but she was home for just a few days and had been looking forward to some happy, relaxed hominess.
"I know, Mom," Margaret said. "I'm just ... I'm just tired, okay?"
Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Are you staying up all night at those parties of yours?"
"They're not parties, Mom. Okay, well, some are parties, but most of the time we're planning and organizing."
"Planning what?"
"Revolution, change, making things better."
"Then you should feel right at home with the story of Esther."
Margaret grimaced and pushed back her hair. "Maybe I could just not dress up this year?"
"Of course, dear," her mother said in that long-suffering tone of voice that drove Margaret crazy.
Margaret eyed her mother and decided that now was as good a time as any to bring up another subject. "I'm thinking of changing my major."
"But you love music!" Her mother looked genuinely upset and Margaret tried - and failed - to not feel guilty.
"Maybe a double major," Margaret said quickly, "though it will mean probably another year at college."
"Double with what?"
"Pre-Law," Margaret said then waited anxiously for her mother's response.
To her delight, her mother nodded slowly. "I think you'd have a good mind for law. And do what with it?"
"I'd go on to law school. I'd like to focus on civil rights and tenants' rights."
"Admirable, dear, but what about your musical career?"
"Oh, I can do that, too," Margaret said confidently. "In fact, Professor Tisdale wants me to prepare something for a solo concert."
"That would be lovely, but what about a family? Can you do law, music, and a family?"
Margaret grumbled under her breath. She'd wondered when her mother would get to this topic.
"I'm a little young to start a family, Mom."
"Too old for Purim, too young for a family? Exactly what age is that?"
"Look," Margaret said, trying to sound calm. "I know that you got married young and had kids but things are different now."
"Oh, really?" her mother snapped. "Don't you dare think of getting pregnant without getting married, young woman."
"Maybe I don't want kids at all?"
Her mother stared at her in horror. "No kids?"
"It's just a thought," Margaret backpedaled quickly. "An option. I'm not saying that's what's going to happen."
"I certainly hope not! A daughter of mine, throwing away family ..."
"I'm not throwing away-" Margaret took a deep breath and employed a tactic that worked well at meetings - diversion.
"There's a guy," she said. "That I like but he won't ask me out."
Her mother's face softened and Margaret could almost hear the thinking that the right man would make her see the light about children.
Her mother sat down at the kitchen table and took her hand. "Why won't he ask you out, dear?"
"He's kind of shy," Margaret said, picturing Alan Eppes at the back of a crowd. "But he's very nice. An Engineering major."
"That's good," her mother said and Margaret smiled as her mother put Alan in the category of `good provider'."
"His name's Alan Eppes."
"Eppes, not Epstein?"
"Yeah, but I know he's Jewish," Margaret said, though it was just a guess on her part.
"What do you know about his family?"
"Not much," Margaret hedged. "But he grew up in LA. I haven't gotten the chance to talk much to him otherwise."
"Well, then," her mother said briskly, "What's the use of this `new thinking' if it doesn't mean that a girl can ask a guy out?"
Margaret laughed in surprise. "Mom!"
"Do you think I waited around for your father?" Her mother smiled. "I'd still be waiting!"
"Really?" Margaret gasped, trying to picture her mother as a forward young woman.
Her mother chuckled. "There are many ways to ask a boy out without actually doing the asking, and making the boy think it was all his idea."
"Mom," Margaret laughed again. "I've got to hear this story."
"Perhaps," her mother teased and stood up. "Now, help me finish these cookies. No Epstein is going to be interested in a woman who can't bake."
"Eppes, Mom, not Epstein."
"Probably just shortened," her mother said dismissively. "I wonder if he's related to Mary Epstein."
Margaret shook her head and joined her mother at the kitchen counter. Maybe she'd have to figure out a way to get Alan to ask her out. Wait, weren't they both in Professor Stevenson's math classes? She could ask him to tutor her in math. Might as well make use of the class. It wasn't like math was going to have anything to do with the rest of her life.
end