Reflections Of Purim At War 

By Moshe Gerstley

Hands trembling, windows shaking, the ground quaking, sirens blaring. This is the second time Israel has come into direct armed conflict with the Iranian regime since I’ve been in Israel, but it was most certainly not like the last.

The blasts are more intense, the scenes fiercer, the impact far more consequential. It is also far more world-shattering and Biblical in scope. At least what’s observable to the layman. The Houthis, Hamas, Hezbollah are all virtually—gone. Now, just hours into the war he spent his entire life threatening to unleash on the world, Iran’s Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei was eliminated in Tehran, ending his near 40-year totalitarian reign.

Days later, on Purim, his gang of mullahs and clerics gathered to “cast a lot” to determine who would succeed him and they too were struck down by Israel. But don’t mistake this war as something easy. It would not be honest to portray this scenario as an idyllic, messianic dream. It’s not easy to run in and out of bomb shelters, watch the fear on children’s faces, and hearing bombs exploding and knowing there’s a real chance people have been killed. It’s all gut-wrenching and real.

But even in the darkness, I’ve seen the light—quite a lot of it. I want to talk a little about that, about experiencing Purim in the middle of war.

I’ve never really taken a liking to Purim. I know it’s not a popular thing to say, but it simply never resonated with me. It always felt like an untamed, chaotic day: crowds of drunks without much direction. Certainly, it was fun, but it never struck me as especially spiritual.

I had heard people compare it to Yom Kippur, but I always brushed that off as a nice-sounding cliché.

Until last week.

My day was simply holy. I have no other way of describing it.

The outpouring of absolute joy and love on the streets of Israel was simply indescribable. Perfect strangers wrapped their arms around you in pure happiness, dancing like old friends who’ve known each other for years.

I think, for the first time, that I also experienced what wine is meant to be in its ideal form on this day. As the Gemara says, “When wine comes in, secrets come out.” Wine reveals what is hidden inside a person. On that Purim day, people were acting as if it was truly one of the Yomim Noraim: apologizing to one another, embracing, and singing together. It all felt incredibly soulful and genuine.

And my rebbe, who had done so much to shape the day into that experience, shared a remarkably timely message. He spoke about finding Hashem even in the lowest places, about how someone who returns through teshuvah can reach spiritual heights that even the wholly righteous cannot enter. And I think that’s exactly the message people need to hear today.

It’s dark in our world. There are many forces tearing us down. But it’s in those very spaces that you find that there are equally as many forces trying to uplift us. It’s exactly in those spaces—the war zones of our minds—and in the case of this past week, the war zone on the ground, where you find the most positivity, love, and humanity.

As I finished Sefer Shmuel this week, a striking line near its end suddenly felt profoundly relevant; “For You are my lamp, Oh, Hashem! And You, Hashem, You light my darkness.”