We enter Purim tomorrow night in a moment of profound uncertainty, with the war unfolding in Iran heavy on our minds and hearts. Missiles are raining down on Tel Aviv; as I write one 40 year-old woman has died and others are injured. The casualty number will only go up and our hearts are heavy for the families of the US servicemen as well as people of all nations and faiths affected by the cruelty of war. It is hard to know how to hold celebration when the world feels so raw and our people in Israel in danger. Our tradition, though, gives us a response that is surprisingly steadying.

Tomorrow is Ta’anit Esther, the fast of Esther. In the book of Esther, when Esther resolves to approach the king, she is nervous about the outcome. So she instructs her community: “Go, assemble all the Jews… and fast on my behalf; do not eat or drink for three days, night or day.” She does this at a moment when she has no clarity, no guarantees—only the knowledge that she cannot face what is ahead alone. Her courage begins with the instinct to invite a communal act.

Every year, Ta’anit Esther precedes the festivities of Purim. Unlike the fasts of Yom Kippur or Tisha b’Av, it is a “minor” fast, meaning it begins at dawn rather than the night before. While I know many of us have not taken on this fast before, I reach out now to invite everyone to fast tomorrow, in solidarity with the Jewish people who need every drop of resolve we can muster to stay courageous and strong. This war is complicated, and we may not be sure what to make of it… but one thing I expect many of us sense is that this is one more moment that is exceptionally risky for the Jews, both in terms of physical safety in Israel and in terms of anti-semitism the world over. Fasting will not change the geopolitical reality, but it changes us. 

Purim is the holiday where we throw up our hands and admit we don’t understand a thing about the world and how it works—and we go ahead and throw a party anyway. The story itself takes place in ancient Persia, in the land we now call Iran, reminding us that our history has always unfolded alongside the complexities of this region. As we hear the Megillah, we boo when we hear the name of Haman… but we also inherit the custom of getting so drunk that we no longer can distinguish between the hero Mordecai and the villain Haman. I think for many that sense of confusion feels apt.

The fast begins at 5:09 am in South Orange; the custom is no eating or drinking from then until nightfall, at 6:23 pm. Tomorrow (Monday) night, we gather. The family fun begins at 5:30 pm; services and megillah reading begin at 7:15 pm. This is part of how Jews have always made sense of the hardest times in our history: by flipping deftly from fasting to festivity, from fear to courage, and by remembering that joy, too, is a form of resilience.

Wishing us a meaningful fast and a Purim of joy and peace.