As Purim approaches, I’ve been thinking about our community, about where each of us is in our lives, what we are carrying, and how often we are being asked, explicitly or implicitly, to take a stand.
During my sabbatical this year, I spent time in Bali, a majority Hindu island within Muslim Indonesia. What struck me most was not only the beauty of the place, but the way community life unfolds so visibly. Much of Balinese life happens outdoors. Daily offerings are placed on sidewalks and doorsteps. Ceremonies spill into the streets. Moments of grief, celebration, and transition are not hidden away; they are shared.
When I asked people why everyone showed up to these gatherings, whether joyful or painful, the answer was simple and repeated often: to be together. Even disagreement and protest have a ritualized form. In Balinese Hindu culture, when moral balance is threatened, the response is not framed as disruption for its own sake, but as an effort to restore harmony. Action is communal, intentional, and rooted in shared values. There is a sense that there is a right moment, a right way, and a responsibility to show up for one another.
Reading the Book of Esther this year, that felt deeply familiar.
The Purim story is not only about hidden identities and dramatic reversals. It is about a people facing an existential threat and discovering that survival requires collective action. When Mordecai learns of Haman’s decree, he does not act alone. He puts on sackcloth and ashes, an embodied, public ritual of mourning and protest, and calls upon the Jewish people to fast and gather. Esther, isolated in the palace, draws strength from knowing that her people are with her as she risks everything to speak truth to power.
Neither Esther nor Mordecai responds with violence. They respond with ritual, solidarity, and moral clarity. The community’s actions make Esther’s courage possible. The message is subtle but profound: difficult and risky work is not meant to be done alone.
Both Judaism and Balinese Hinduism understand something we often forget. Resistance was not originally framed as chaos or rebellion, but as an effort to restore moral order when the path, halacha, the way one walks, has been violated. Intention matters. Method matters. And community matters.
Many of us have lived through moments—on campuses, in workplaces, in our nation—when protest, debate, and moral urgency dominate the public conversation. The issues shift, but the deeper questions remain: What is my role? When do I speak? How do I show up? And when is silence itself a choice?
I wrestle with these questions too. I ask whether a moment calls for public action or private reflection, for resistance or restraint, for speaking or listening more deeply. Not every issue demands the same response—but none of us is meant to navigate these questions in isolation.
Mordecai does not tell the people exactly what to do. He simply calls them together. Perhaps to remind them that courage is sustained by community. Perhaps to say: whatever comes next, we face it together.
That is my hope for us this Purim.
Wrestle with your role. Learn deeply. Let your actions be guided not only by reaction, but by values. And know that you do not have to figure any of this out on your own.
I am in it with you, truly. Reach out anytime: to question, to disagree, to wonder, or simply to talk.
Chag Purim Sameach,
Rabbi Jodie
