I walked into the Barry Family Campus Purim morning dressed as the Queen of Hearts. I wore a glittering silver tiara, a sweater covered in hearts, pink glittery eyeshadow, and bedazzled heart earrings. I also fashioned a makeshift brooch using tape, a safety pin, and a Queen of Hearts playing card. It was a last-minute touch, but it tied the whole look together.
I had worn the same costume the night before at my shul’s megillah reading and “Haman’s Hot Dog Bar Break Fast.” Purim night is always a spectacle, and this year was no exception.
People showed up in full force with their most creative costumes: a giant shrub, a ferret, Wonder Woman, Corduroy, Mike Wazowski, a present, Glinda, and Elphaba. My rabbi stole the show though. He arrived in a bright yellow chicken jumpsuit with a pug mask and a collection of mini rubber chickens that kids squeaked loudly every time Haman’s name was mentioned. The absurdity of it all brought so much laughter to the room.
Many people are Purim people but I’ve never been one. I’ve always preferred the quiet intensity of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur to the noise and chaos of Purim. The High Holidays are reflective and solemn; they invite a certain spiritual heaviness that has always felt more meaningful to me.
Purim, with its playful irreverence and carnival-like atmosphere, never quite resonated in the same way. Yet, in a post-October 7th Jewish world, I’ve started to understand Purim differently.
This year, the costumes and the noise and even the dry triangle treats felt less like chaos and more like an act of resistance—a joyful, defiant celebration of Jewish life. Purim reminds us that Jewish joy and Jewish survival are intertwined. We laugh because we are still here. We dress up and make noise because there is something sacred about choosing joy even when the world feels dark.
The story of Purim is often framed as one of hidden miracles and quiet strength. Esther’s name itself comes from the Hebrew root meaning “hidden,” and the story unfolds through a series of concealed and revealed truths.
Esther’s bravery lies not only in speaking up, but in knowing when to reveal herself and when to remain hidden. Mordechai’s strength lies in his quiet defiance, refusing to bow to Haman, even when it would have been easier and safer to do so. Neither of them knew how the story would end when they acted. They only knew that silence was not an option.
It is a difficult time to be Jewish. Feeling politically isolated, unsafe at school or work, frustrated with friends and family, and emotionally exhausted has become an almost universal experience. I know I’ve felt all of those things at one time or another. It’s hard to hold onto joy when it feels like the world is collapsing around you; and harder still to find meaning in something as seemingly frivolous as Purim.
Yet this Purim has never felt so poignant. In the face of fear and uncertainty, we are still finding reasons to celebrate. We are dressing up, making noise, and gathering together because Jewish continuity and Jewish joy is itself an act of resilience.
Esther showed incredible courage when she went before the king uninvited to save her people. Mordechai stood firm, refusing to bow to evil even when it could have cost him his life. Their bravery wasn’t loud or showy, it was quiet and determined. They acted because it was the right thing to do, even when the outcome was uncertain.
May we all draw strength and inspiration from Esther and Mordechai. Stand up, speak out, and change the world, even when it’s hard.
And while you’re at it, don’t forget to have a little fun too. Sometimes joy is the bravest act of all.
