The soldiers
Purim, like most Jewish holidays, is multifaceted. There is the remembrance aspect where we read Megillat Esther and remember how our people were nearly exterminated after the sacking of our Holy Temple and our exile to Babylonia, and there is the joyous aspect where we wildly celebrate our redemption from disaster and our elevation to the highest rungs of the Babylonian empire.
To be honest, I never really paid much attention to the remembrance part.
Sure, I participate in the Fast of Esther and listen to the weekly Torah portion on Amalek, but that always felt to me like classic Jewish guilt until I could get to the “good part” of the holiday. For that good part, Purim is always circled in my calendar way in advance, to start planning an epic banquet with family and friends.
It goes without saying that after 126 days of reserve duty, two months of which were spent in combat in Gaza, I will be acutely aware this year of Purim’s remembrance aspects. The thing is, I don’t want to care about that part, I want to party it up like I do every year or at least like I did until I had two little boys. But I feel like celebrating Jewish victory and salvation while we’re still fighting is tone-deaf to the all-too-real reality Israelis are living right now. How can we celebrate knowing that there are still hostages being held in Gaza and countless soldiers spending the holiday fighting?
Compounded with this is that ever since I was released from reserve duty, I can’t stop checking my phone at least once an hour to see if a larger war breaks out in the North – as I know that if it does, I will be called back soon after to one of the fronts. I am anxious about the possibility of having to leave my family again as I am just getting settled back after four months away.
Going into Purim, I feel I am confronted with a choice to either lean into the remembrance part of the holiday in light of everything that has been happening to me and in our country since Oct. 7 and the uncertain future I have ahead, or to somehow push through and try to connect to the joyous aspects of the holiday, despite what has been going on.
If I wallow in remembrance to the detriment of the joyous aspect, am I letting Hamas and ancient Amalek win? If I celebrate, am I betraying all those suffering as a result of Oct. 7 and all the days afterward?
I don’t know what the “right” feeling to choose is, but I do know that the result of this dichotomy of feelings will be a more profound Purim holiday. What do I choose? I choose to focus on the unity we felt following Oct. 7 as the type of joy that I’m chasing – different and deeper somehow than the “Purim joy” of my youth.
I choose to believe that by deeply connecting with both the remembrance and joyous aspects, I can connect to the Jewish history – and present – of suffering, to the people that we are protecting, and the freedoms we keep fighting for.
This year, in every way possible, I celebrate Purim as an opportunity to maintain our sacred commandment “to choose life.”
– Yair Rudick, IDF reserve soldier, 99th Division
My name is Daniel and I serve as an IDF soldier in the Kfir Brigade, within the Samson Battalion. Ever since I was a child, my dream was to become a fighter. It’s amusing to recall how I once dressed up as a soldier for Purim with immense pride. Now, being a fighter in the battalion feels like coming full circle, reconnecting me with that very child.
On Oct. 7, my battalion and I were in charge of securing an area in the northern region. That period was undoubtedly complex. Amid all the tough combat, a moment that stood out for me was when an alarm went off. We were near a mother and her two young daughters who were terrified yet they felt safe when I arrived and assured them of their protection. It’s a moment I’ll never forget.
This year, I find myself in the role of a fighter during Purim, but I approach it with positivity. At present, I am stationed in an area within the Judean Desert Brigade, feeling that in addition to celebrating my favorite holiday, I am contributing something meaningful.
And it even spares me the effort of thinking of an original costume.
– Daniel, IDF soldier, Kfir Brigade
‘Jerusalem Post’ staff
Looking ahead to Purim, I am forced to reflect on just how much my life has changed over the past six months, in so many ways for the better.
Firstly, my beautiful son was born on October 11, the culmination of a week of intense emotion and trauma that our whole country was experiencing. I also had the privilege of being hired as news editor of The Jerusalem Post.
My day is constantly filled with news of the Israel-Hamas War, the ongoing military and political fallout from the conflict, and the fate of the hostages. I am so looking forward to my son’s first Purim and celebrating with him (he shall be dressed as a giraffe) but this year it will definitely be tinged with sadness and I cannot envisage celebrating as I would in a ‘normal’ year.
On the flip side, to me, Purim represents exactly what we are going through as a People and in some ways, makes me determined to celebrate it with even more vigor (but less alcohol) than usual.
– Alex Winston, News Editor
Celebrating Purim is complicated this year. As part of my work as senior military analyst, I visited Be’eri only days after the Oct. 7 attack and saw the fresh blood, wanton destruction, and carnage there – images which will remain burnt into my memory forever, like my visit to Auschwitz when I was 18.
I have visited Gaza twice and Jenin once, embedded with soldiers in areas that were completely destroyed by fighting between the IDF and terrorists. I have seen up close a large tunnel network under Shifa Hospital in northern Gaza where Hamas planned aspects of the Oct. 7 massacre, while stealing electricity, water, and other supplies from the hospital.
Add in my visits to the North and how well I know, again up close, that we have a potentially much larger war with Hezbollah hovering over our heads, and all of this could easily lead me to want to skip Purim this year.
But I will be celebrating almost normally. I will go with my family to synagogue, hold a festive meal, exchange present-style mishloach manot meals with friends, and make donations to the needy.
Maybe it is because I, like many others, lived through the COVID crisis not so long ago, when many holidays actually were canceled. Maybe it is because I believe that beating terrorism means showing terrorists and global critics that we, in essence, just want to live our normal lives and are not only about war.
We certainly need to find a way to remember the around 1,500 Jews killed from this war, but we need to do that alongside making their sacrifice count for the continuing of this incredible modern State of Israel project that we are fortunate to live through.
– Yonah Jeremy Bob, Senior Military and Intelligence Analyst
To me, the answer of whether or not it is appropriate to celebrate this Purim is an easy one. To live is to win.
Many have kept the Holocaust in mind since the massacre of Oct. 7. As a people who have endured so many massacres, to survive has long been regarded as victory. Yet I believe we should follow the framework of Purim.
Haman, like Hamas, sought to destroy the Jewish people. Instead, the followers of evil were themselves destroyed by the Jews. We remember this event, and those who protected us, with a fast but also with merrymaking. We are celebrating not the fact of surviving but what that survival means: that we can live as Jews. We can truly live, eat, drink, and be happy.
We have survived Oct. 7 and soldiers are now laying down and endangering their lives so that you can live yours. I took off my IDF uniform only a few weeks ago, but I know that victory doesn’t just come on the battlefield, it comes from being able to live our lives in spite of Hamas.
So, instead of a uniform I’m going to wear a costume, drink, and remember Mordechai and the soldiers fighting, because to live is to win.
– Michael Starr, Jewish World & Diaspora Affairs Correspondent; IDF reserve soldier
I wait for Purim every year. To me, it’s a sign a long winter is at a close and it’s time to don a silly costume, break out of our homes, and engage in wine-sodden, natural-as-could-be cheer.
The holiday took on a new dimension during the pandemic when March 2020 revelry became what I dubbed “the last good time.” We endured for a few years, then seemed to pretty much go back to normal. (Well, as normal as it could be in our Middle Eastern neighborhood.) We – at least I – thought nothing could impact our everyday lives in such a serious way again.
Then came Oct. 7, and COVID-19 was relegated to a disaster dress rehearsal.
Another holiday, Simchat Torah – one actually involving simcha (Jewish joy) – was forever tainted by that black day and all that followed. These five-plus months are hard to put into words, but I will try: the endless tragedies and heartache, fallen soldiers, hostages and their frantic families, gleeful antisemitism, losing all belief in our leaders and hallowed institutions, our best and most beautiful torn from us. Eyes hollow with panic and grief, hearts skipping a beat every time we hear a siren-like sound.
It’s difficult to imagine celebrating anything ever again, let alone Purim. It’s hard to put pen to paper and articulate my own particular feelings when my peers on the page are soldiers who have been at the front. Who am I to speculate whether Klal Yisrael will be joyous?
Yet I know myself. I will be joyous. I’m the granddaughter of four Holocaust survivors. I’ve been a bona-fide Israeli since 2009. Israel has been an official Jewish state since 1948. The Jews’ unwavering peoplehood and emunah goes back 4,000 years. No Pharoah, Crusader, Cossack, Hitler or Hamas/Hezbollah can break our chain. We have God, and goodness, on our side.
We will, of course, soldier on. We will, of course, win. We will be more broken but more whole, having faced down another mortal enemy and a world intent on shaming us for existing.
And that’s worth celebrating. Chag sameach.
– Erica Schachne, Editor, The Magazine
Reading the Megillah, I never truly understood what it meant to be “almost exterminated,” then salvaged from that extinction by having the chance to fight back for the right to live.
Never until this year.
This year made it crystal clear, more than ever before, that those planning to exterminate us do not allow themselves a second to rest. They, just like Haman, indulge in endless scheming and tireless planning to bring about our destruction, carefully choosing a date for their master attack, rounding up all the support they can find from other haters (including many who they hate themselves), ingratiating themselves with those in power – all the while spewing ugly conspiracy theories and generalizations about our nation.
For over a decade and a half, I had the dubious honor of being exposed to vast scopes of malignant content from our vicinity, from traditional and media to historical and academic accounts, in several languages. Too much of this content was comprised of hate speech, antisemitism, fake news, Holocaust denial, rejection of Jewish history, and downright dehumanization of Jews and Israelis. All this came from an area of the world that was once home to bustling Jewish communities that predated Islam, the Arab conquests, and, in some cases, Christianity too.
And, of course, following the Oct. 7 massacre, this hateful content saw exponential growth.
What especially struck me was the disgusting gloating over the pain Israel was experiencing – from the burning of entire families to the kidnapping of babies and raping of festival-goers, and then soon enough, the gaslighting and denial of the same events which they had only just celebrated and filmed.
It took me some time until I internalized that this is the same process of dehumanization that Jews underwent under dark regimes of the past. Just as the seeds of hate planted in the 1920s and ’30s grew in the hearts of those who participated and remained silent in the greatest massacre of our nation during the ’40s; here too, after decades of brainwashing and indoctrination, for the perpetrators of the massacre Jews and Israelis have long ceased to be human. For them, Israelis and Jews can’t hurt; which in turn means that it’s completely fine to kidnap a three-year-old from her home after having murdered her parents, or use the crying of terrified babies to lure innocent civilians into a death trap from point blank.
So how will I celebrate Purim this year?
While I might not be indulging in joyous celebrations or parties, as I believe these painful days demand, I will surely feel a stronger connection to the messages drawn from the Megillah.
I will understand better what it means to be salvaged from a terrible fate. I will be filled with even more appreciation for those unnamed Jews who left everything behind to defend our nation – both back then and today. I will be thankful for the fact that we’re not dependent on royal decrees to affirm our right to self-defense (though they are nice to have). And, looking at the looming threats and learning from the painful past, I will understand even better that no one in this world can guarantee our safety but us, and I will celebrate our resilience, steadfastness, and prosperity in spite of all the spiteful.
Purim sameach.
– Ohad Merlin, Middle East Affairs Correspondent