Dear TBZ Community,
Today is Ta’anit Esther, the Fast of Esther, one of the minor fasts in our tradition. It commemorates the moment in the Purim story when Esther fasts for three days, and asks the Jewish people to do the same, before she approaches the king (Esther 4:16). However, I believe today’s fast is not merely about echoing Esther’s preparation for that pivotal moment. It is also an opportunity to pause and reflect, just before the joyful celebration of the day, on the complexities that accompany it. This theme appears often in our tradition. For example, in a month’s time, as we prepare for Passover, we will also observe a fast beforehand. A fast before a celebration of victory encourages us to look inward—not only to reflect on the victory itself, but also on our actions, much like the fast of Yom Kippur, which serves as a time for teshuva (repentance) and recalibration. Perhaps the Fast of Esther reminds us that no victory or celebration is ever absolute. It offers us a moment to reflect on what it means to move from being the victim to becoming the one with power and victory.
Tonight we will celebrate Purim joyfully (Purim at TBZ is always fun, even a little wild!), while also holding the complexity of our lives in our hearts. Purim invites us to turn everything upside down and lift up joy—and we do that beautifully at TBZ. In a world where each day feels upside down, I wonder if the goal of this Purim is to briefly embody that very upside-downness, just for a moment, because we know we cannot carry it all year.
However, before we dive into the merriment this evening, we will pause before reading chapters 9-10 of Megillat Esther (Book of Esther), where the fate of the Jews is dramatically reversed. Instead of perishing, the Jews strike their enemies, slaying and destroying them, including their children. The megillah tells us that in the fortress of Shushan, the Jews killed five hundred men, and seventy-five thousand of their foes. We must acknowledge the dangers and troubling messages within this text. What does it mean to survive and escape oppression, only to become oppressors? How have texts like this shaped us? How can we reject their violent messages in favor of working toward peace?
From the joy of Purim, we then transition to Shabbat, and to the reading of Parshat Ki Tisa. This week’s Torah portion tells the well-known story of the golden calf. In Exodus 32:1, we read:
וַיַּרְא הָעָם כִּי־בֹשֵׁשׁ מֹשֶׁה לָרֶדֶת מִן־הָהָר וַיִּקָּהֵל הָעָם עַל־אַהֲרֹן וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֵלָיו קוּם עֲשֵׂה־לָנוּ אֱלֹהִים אֲשֶׁר יֵלְכוּ לְפָנֵינוּ כִּי־זֶה מֹשֶׁה הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר הֶעֱלָנוּ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם לֹא יָדַעְנוּ מֶה־הָיָה לוֹ
When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, they gathered against Aaron and said to him, “Come, make us a god who shall go before us; for that fellow Moses—the man who brought us from the land of Egypt—we do not know what has happened to him.”
Why did the people build the golden calf?
Perhaps it was a response to fear: Moses, their leader, the one who brought them out of Egypt and saved them from Pharaoh, had not returned. For the first time since leaving Egypt, they found themselves alone, without Moses’ physical presence. The Targum (the Aramaic translation of the Hebrew Bible) understands the word boshesh (בֹּשֵׁשׁ) in the above text to mean that Moses was late—later than the people could tolerate. They became impatient, fearful, and eventually hopeless. In their confusion, they built something, however misguided, to quell their fear and reignite their hope.
We often think of the sin of the golden calf as the people rejecting God, the God who liberated them from Egypt. But in truth, that’s not what happened. They didn’t reject God; they missed God. They decided to “make God” in their image. The sin of the golden calf is not that they worshipped another god, but that they confused what God was. They mistook the calf for the very God who liberated them:
וַיִּקַּח מִיָּדָם וַיָּצַר אֹתוֹ בַּחֶרֶט וַיַּעֲשֵׂהוּ עֵגֶל מַסֵּכָה וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֵלֶּה אֱלֹהֶיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲשֶׁר הֶעֱלוּךָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם
This he took from them and cast in a mold, and made it into a molten calf. And they exclaimed, “This is your god, O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt! (Exodus 32:4)”
Idolatry, then, is not merely the worship of another god, but the service of what we think is God or what we think we are doing in God’s name. This is one of the most dangerous things we can do in the name of religion. To believe that God wants us to harm others, oppress others, or wield violence in God’s name is a form of idolatry. Our sacred stories often depict struggles for liberation, redemption, and victory (yes, sometimes through violent means), but our tradition also carries the most radical messages of compassion and empathy for the suffering of others. Those who use religion for extremism, to oppress or denigrate others in God’s name, are like the idolaters: They have fashioned for themselves a golden calf that may seem to reflect the God who liberated us from Egypt, but it does not.
But there is more, and I believe it lies at the heart of this holiday and our Jewish practice, something tangible we can hold onto in the chaos of the world. At the core of Purim, beyond the costumes and the joy, is the practice of kindness.
There are four mitzvot (commandments) we fulfill on Purim: the reading of the megillah, the Purim feast (mishte), mishloach manot (gifts to friends and neighbors), and matanot l’evyonim (gifts to the poor). Two of these mitzvot focus on kindness, sharing, and hesed (loving-kindness). Our tradition takes a radical step here: when celebrating our survival from those who sought to destroy us, our response is to give to others. We respond to fear with generosity, to uncertainty with care, and to hardship with kindness.
As we move from this fast into Purim and then into Shabbat, we have an opportunity to hold the complexity of our lives. We can reflect, allow ourselves to be joyful, and embrace the joy of Purim, even as we acknowledge the world’s upside-downness. And more than that, we are called to respond with generosity and loving-kindness.
May this Shabbat bring us peace, strength, and clarity. May we find the courage to forgive, heal, and move forward together, knowing we do not walk this journey alone.
May God grant blessings and comfort to all of us and our loved ones. May we discover strength, courage, and patience, and may our hearts be open to generosity.
May those who are ill find healing.
May all the remaining hostages soon return to their families and friends. May peace prevail, and may our leaders prioritize life.
May those working for peace be granted the strength and courage to continue their sacred work, and may we soon witness peace and dignity for all.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rav Claudia