Purim has come and gone, but its lessons linger. As we return to our routines, I find myself still thinking about Esther—not just the queen who saved the Jewish people but the young woman who had to hide who she was to survive. She masked her identity, playing the role expected of her, gaining power in a world where she had little control.
Meanwhile, Haman rose to power, driven by hatred, and devised a plan to destroy the Jews of Persia. When Mordechai learned of the decree, he turned to Esther, urging her to speak out. At first, she hesitated—approaching the king uninvited could mean death. But Mordechai’s words stayed with her: “Perhaps you have come to your royal position for just such a time as this.”
Esther’s story is not just one of power, but of courage. She waited, she calculated, and when the time came, she acted. And because of her bravery, the story took a dramatic turn—Haman fell, and the Jews were saved.
Purim is a holiday of irony and exaggeration, a world turned upside down where nothing is as it seems. But sometimes, parody becomes reality. And that is the scariest part.
Right now, many of us feel like we have to mask parts of ourselves—our fears, our beliefs, our grief—because of the political climate. We wonder when and how we should speak, when it is safe, when it is necessary. Esther waited until she could not wait any longer. Do we have to do the same? Do we wait to protest, to fight for safety, until we are forced into a corner? How do we stand in our truth when fear and powerlessness feel overwhelming?
Even though Purim is behind us, its message is still in front of us. Esther was afraid. She didn’t know if she had the power to make a difference. But she did. And so do we. Even when it feels like we are only whispering into the void, our voices matter. Our actions matter. And together, we are stronger than fear.
What I want you to know, more than anything, is that you are not alone. You are part of a community that believes in safety for all people. A community that is actively working to affirm the dignity and rights of trans people, to support immigrants seeking refuge, to create spaces of belonging for those who feel vulnerable. We hold each other tightly as we navigate unimaginable loss and grief. And we hold onto hope—hope that the bloodshed and sorrow in Israel and beyond will come to an end, soon and in our days.
May we carry the strength of Esther forward—not just on Purim, but every day.
With love and solidarity,
Rabbi Jodie
