Shalom All,

As you know, my family and I have been mourning the death of my father, Harvey Thalblum, for a few weeks now. I first want to thank this community for the outpouring of condolences, prayers, messages, and quiet presence. Your kindness and concern has been a blessing during this difficult time. In moments when grief feels disorienting and heavy, your embrace has reminded me what sacred community truly means. I am deeply grateful.

It may seem odd, then, to pivot from death to celebration, to write about Purim while still sitting with loss. And yet, in many ways, that is exactly what Purim asks of us.

Purim is our most exuberant holiday. We wear costumes, exchange gifts, feast, and laugh loudly. At first glance, it feels like pure celebration, almost frivolous in its joy. But beneath the masks and merriment lies one of the darkest threats our people have ever faced: a decree of annihilation.

The story of Purim begins not with triumph, but with terror. Haman’s edict was not symbolic. It was specific, dated, sealed, and sent throughout the empire. The Jewish people were marked for destruction. There is no splitting of the sea in the Megillah, no plagues, no overt miracles. There is only fear, uncertainty, and the terrifying possibility that history could end in silence.

And yet, Purim becomes the loudest, most defiant celebration on our calendar. Why?

Because Purim teaches us that joy can be an act of resistance. When Esther risks her life by approaching the king unsummoned, she embodies courage in the face of death. When Mordechai refuses to bow, he asserts dignity in the face of hatred. And when the decree is overturned, the people do not simply sigh in relief. They feast. They give gifts. They ensure that no one is left out. They transform vulnerability into communal strength.

Purim does not deny danger. It does not pretend that enemies disappear. Instead, it insists that even when God’s name is hidden, as it is throughout the Megillah, divine possibility still pulses beneath the surface of events.

To celebrate in the face of death is not naïveté. It is faith.

In a world where loss is real and grief is personal, Purim reminds us that choosing joy is not a betrayal of sorrow. It is a declaration that love, community, and hope endure. May our celebration this year be tender, courageous, and defiantly alive.

Our Purim Celebration and Megillah reading is happening on Monday, March 2nd, starting at 6:30pm. I hope you all can join us.