Hello, comrades. I’m sure you’re all busy putting together your costumes for Jewcy’s upcoming Purim Pun-A-Palooza. So now is a good time to remind you to stop and consider whether your costume is actually a good idea.

For example, you want to dress as a person from another background ethnicity? OK, rule #1 is no makeup that makes you look like another race.

It’s 2017, and that still seems confusing to some. So, if you don’t know, here’s why:

There’s a history, particularly in the United States, of white people dressing in costume as other races in order to make fun of them. No matter how someone may try to do it today, wearing blackface has roots in performance that was used to mock stereotypes of African Americans. In addition to creating broad caricatures, the arts have a history of casting white actors as people of color, and that’s a one-way street— it keeps non-white actors from being able to play their own ethnicities, and therefore, any role.

But you probably hear this every Halloween— what does it have to do with Purim?

While we can sit around all day and debate the whiteness of light-skinned Jews, we’ve definitely been part of the problem in this regard. Al Jolson infamously performs in blackface in The Jazz Singer (and lots of other times throughout his career), and he was far from the only Jewish performer to do so; it was actually quite common. Edward G. Robinson, Paul Muni, and Joel Grey, great Jewish actors, have all performed onscreen in yellowface.

Well, we can’t change the past. But you know what we can do? Stop dressing in offensive costumes for Purim.

Some people legitimately don’t think that they’re mocking a race by using them as the subject of a costume. But here’s the thing: it doesn’t matter what your intent is. If a minority community overwhelmingly communicates that an aspect of emulating them for a costume is offensive, and you do it anyway, what does that say about your respect for others?

Finally, Purim is about subverting social order, about mocking those in power, and using humor to address otherwise challenging issues. Even outside of race, if your costume is intended to mock someone who’s already put-upon? That’s just lazy. You can do better. Don’t you know that those inflatable T-Rex costumes are less than $100!? WHY WOULD YOU PASS UP ON AN OPPORTUNITY LIKE THAT JUST TO MAKE YOUR FRIENDS HATE YOU?

And the thing is, it’s definitely going to happen this year (did you know think pieces don’t solve all social ills?). We’ve all seen questionable Halloween costumes, and we’ve all seen questionable Purim costumes, and we will again. Remember when Dov Hikind, the Brooklyn Assemblyman, dressed in blackface for Purim back in 2013? You can barely call his response an apology. For some New Yorkers, that’s their association with Purim.

And if none of this is news to you, and you would never wear a costume like this? Then consider this your reminder that if you’re at a Purim party with someone in an offensive outfit, you’re obligated to say something. Don’t go on the attack, and don’t do it in front of others; that will only make them defensive. Just take them aside and politely explain why their costume is a problem; they legitimately might not know.

And if you’re still stumped for costume ideas? Be Cher Horowitz. You’re welcome.

Image of absolutely terrifying, but not offensive Purim costumes via Wikimedia.

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According to the Internet, Krusty is supposed to be based on Jerry Lewis, and indeed both make funny faces, are beloved by the French, and have substance addictions. But we are trying too hard if we don’t point to the resemblance most obviously suggested in the Season 3 episode in which Krusty, asked to say grace at the Simpsons’ Evergreen Terrace abode, proceeds to recite the motzi and, prompted by Lisa’s characteristic prying, reveals that his real name is Herschel Shmoikel Pinchas Yerucham Krustofski. (“A Jewish entertainer?” wonders Homer. “Get out of here.”) He is Al Jolson, which is to say he is also Al Jolson’s character in The Jazz Singer: an entertainer who has betrayed his father—”my father was a rabbi,” sighs Krusty, “his father was a rabbi, his fathers’ father was a—well, you get the idea.” To a lesser extent, he is the comedian Jackie Mason, who also comes from a long line of rabbis, but who clearly does not feel so weighted by that burden that he couldn’t guest-star as the voice of Krusty’s father, Rabbi Hyman Krustofski.

There is betrayal: Rabbi Krustofski is shamed that the sandwich named after his son at Izzy’s Deli features “ham, sausage, and bacon with a smidge of mayo—on white bread” (maybe they should call that the Ted Danson). There is, of course, reconciliation at the end: Bart’s quotation (supplied by Lisa) from the Babylonian Talmud fails to move the rabbi, who easily ripostes with a different authority; but a melodramatic line about Jewish persecution from the autobiography of Sammy Davis, Jr., leaves the rabbi with no response. Mason won an Emmy for the part. In a post-Golden Age episode (Season 15), he returns, and Krusty gets bar mitzvahed.

But that’s about it. You most likely don’t remember Krusty saying the brucha (his word). You remember him betting against the Harlem Globetrotters (“I thought the Generals were due!“); taking a break to show an Itchy & Scratchy sketch; nearly killing Bart by merchandising shoddily made cereal that has o-shaped pieces of metal in it; hosting an unfortunately named Krusty Komedy Klassic at the Apollo Theatre; and, of course, having unleashed the sinister Sideshow Bob on the world.

Ultimately, we see Krusty as the Simpsons do: as an entertainer. In fact, Krusty is one of the earliest Simpsons characters, tracing his origins all the way back to Matt Groening’s shorts on The Tracey Ullman Show—and even there, in the The Simpsons‘s Mesozoic Era (they looked like this), he is not a stand-alone character, but somebody the Simpsons watch on television. From the beginning, he’s the TV actor within the TV show—the other prominent example being local news anchor Kent Brockman, born Kenny Brockelstein.

Because in the world of The Simpsons and in the Simpsons’ world, that’s who the Jews are. And so Krusty’s Jewishness ultimately says the most when it articulates what makes The Simpsons distinctive. You would probably have to go back to the mid-1960s and The Andy Griffith Show—and cede the rule-proving-exception of South Park, which owes a self-acknowledged, tremendous debt to The Simpsons—to find a quality and popular television series that isn’t either set in a major city or among a milieu from a major city: in either case, among people for whom Jews are neighbors, bosses, friends, or enemies—just other people. The Dick Van Dyke Show had Carl Reiner playing Sid Caesar. Mary Tyler Moore’s boss was Ed Asner. The doctors in M*A*S*H* are sophisticated city-folk transplanted to a warzone. Dallas was in Dallas, Cheers in Boston, The Cosby Show in Brooklyn. Oh, and then Seinfeld happened, and you can take things from there.

But there was and is The Simpsons. We don’t know what state Springfield is in, but we do know that it’s the sort of small American town that actually doesn’t typically have many Jews (Krusty grew up “on the Lower East Side of Springfield,” literally ghettoized). If they do have Jews, they are likely to be entertaining you on television. More than any other show, Jews can watch The Simpsons and watch them watching Krusty, and watch Krusty through their eyes, to feel like real Americans. Or, at least, the sort of Americans that would eat a ham sandwich with mayo—on white bread.

Previously on Network Jews:

Schmidt from FOX’s breakout hit New Girl

Marc Tracy is a staff writer at Tablet Magazine. He tweets here.

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