For years, celebrating the Jewish holiday of Purim was just that: a celebration. As a kid, I dressed up in all manners of costumes, from a purple Crayola crayon to a cheerleader from one of my favorite childhood television shows; I attended carnivals put on by my school and synagogue; I gathered with my family, friends, and community to read the Megillah (scroll) of Esther, which commemorates the deliverance of Persian Jewry from near destruction. I was always entranced watching the elders of my community read from a parchment scroll, synagogue members of all ages dressed up in a myriad of costumes and engaged in the redemptive narrative of our people.
This year felt fundamentally different. It was still celebratory, as it is a religious imperative to celebrate. But for once, I found it difficult to fulfill what was once an easy commandment—if such a thing even exists.
Every Jew is required to hear the Megillah twice during the day-long holiday. During the reading, one cannot speak and must concentrate and listen closely to every word. So that is what I did. I listened to every word of the melodic Hebrew. Twice. And each time, I registered how different this year felt from past years. I felt chills run down my spine listening to the plot to destroy the Jewish people—the plot that Persia’s leadership signed onto without pause or question; one that masses across the empire took upon themselves, their personal safety less important than their vitriol towards the Jews.
I found it tough to celebrate in the moment when I felt history’s repetitive nature at its strongest. When Jews were slaughtered in their own homes, parents gunned down beside their babies, women raped, and entire families snuffed out. When antisemitism has spread over every inch of the American public square.
To put it mildly, it has not been pleasant to be a Jewish student on campus in the wake of October 7. My anti-Israel classmates have organized demonstrations where they harassed Jewish students, stalked and obstructed reporters—myself included—and led antisemitic chants. They declared that the Palestinians “have the right to resist, and live, by any means necessary,” and called for an “intifada” from “Princeton to Gaza” and for “One Solution,” ominously–and perhaps intentionally–invoking Hitler’s final solution. I was personally assaulted at a rally and subsequently silenced by my own University until I acquired legal help.
Harassment, intimidation, and support for violence against a religious and ethnic minority cannot be allowed to run rampant in a free country like ours—yet they do. The challenges we confront today extend beyond our immediate moment; today is not just about today. It also shapes the trajectory of our future. As the granddaughter of Holocaust survivors who grew up with the harrowing stories about how my family in Romania and Poland experienced the same dismissals at the early hints of hatred and discrimination, I am fearful of what will happen if you fail to answer these calls. And this Purim, I was reminded of just how dangerous such a reality would be.
(Esther Scroll, c. 1750 – Google Art Project)
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