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Haman, agog with the sense that fate itself had endorsed his wicked plan, went immediately to see King Achashverosh, and made the following declaration: “Your Majesty,” he said, “it has come to my attention that there is a certain folk scattered and dispersed among the peoples of the provinces of the kingdom whose laws are different from the ones the other ethnicities obey and, more to the point, who do not obey the edicts of the king. Furthermore, after due study, I have come to feel that it is wholly contrary to the king’s best interests for that kind of insubordination to be tolerated. Therefore, if it please the king, let an edict of annihilation be written up against these people. I personally would be so flattered if my advice were to be followed that I would gladly send ten thousand talents of silver to the king’s bankers for immediate deposit in the royal treasury.” The king, impressed with his minister’s largesse, and all too eager to comply, removed his ring from his ring finger and gave it as a gift of gratitude to the archenemy of the Jewish people, Haman ben Hamdata, the descendant of King Agag of Amalek. Then, having handed over the ring, the king spoke generously to Haman and politely declined the enormous sum of money proffered. “Keep the money,” he said, “and do as you wish with that people you just mentioned, the ones who refuse to obey my edicts.” And so it came to pass. (Esther 3:8-11, published by The Rabbinical Assembly, 2022)

You might think of this as the first recorded moment of institutional antisemitism, but you would be wrong. We read in Exodus 1:8-11: A new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph. And he said to his people, “Look, the Israelite people are much too numerous for us. Let us deal shrewdly with them, so that they may not increase; otherwise in the event of war they may join our enemies in fighting against us and rise from the ground.” (Etz Hayim)

Both narratives exist within the story of the Jewish people for over 4,000 years, yet the Purim story is the most often-retold tale, for as Martin Scorsese points out, there must be a clear protagonist and antagonist. Esther was at the right place at the right time, and her bravery teaches us that not only will we never know our true purpose on this planet, but one person can make a difference.

I attended both sessions of the Allegheny County Council, and stated my case that the subject of a ceasefire in Gaza did not belong within the purview of such a body, but within the ongoing talks that were occurring in Paris. I remain hopeful that an equitable ceasefire, which must include the release of all of the hostages taken by Hamas, can be achieved. The distortions that I heard during the two council meetings were disturbing and upsetting, a testament to my comments that this discussion did not belong here, and instead of building more bridges, as we only have 446 in Pittsburgh, the motion built a wall. I had not imagined that after 10.27 there would be further words and deeds expressing H for the Jewish people in Pittsburgh. What should our response be?

I have regularly answered this question by stating the following: the more H, do more Jewish. That opportunity exists on a daily basis through prayer and mitzvot. But I have an even more meaningful and important response. The story of Purim is a cautious tale about antisemitism. We respond with graggers, booing Haman’s name, and levity. This year particularly, we need to respond by being there. While I know that some of my readers are not members of the Tree of Life (thank you for reading), for those who are, I am addressing you first. You need to come to services on Purim eve, March 23. Levy Hall should be SRO. This is how we respond to antisemitism. It is through community that we draw strength and reassurance. This is a moment to stand and be counted. For those readers who live beyond Pittsburgh, the same holds true: go to shul. Your presence will be a powerful statement of support for your fellow Jews. I’m sure that there are people who might not have checked their calendars before making plans that coincide. I’m sorry that you will not be present with us at a time when we need to be together. For everyone else, just being present is an act of defiance, a demonstration that the Jewish people are still here, that we are resilient, and that the strength we draw from each other in community is beyond measure.

The usual greeting in Yiddish would be a freilich Purim, a joyous Purim. While joy would be welcome, even more crucial would be a derhoybn Purim, an uplifting Purim. I look forward to seeing you in person and saying so. And may you have to stand because there are not enough seats.