We Affirm and We Receive
Purim under the Mountain of Despair
“I feel swallowed by despair, and I know I’m not alone,” writes Yotam Marom in his recent essay “What to Do When the World is Ending.” Marom advocates for responding to these moments of despair, when it truly feels like the world might end, with action. He finds motivation to do so in the realization that this feeling might not actually be so new.
“Almost every article I read these days begins with the same preamble listing all of the overlapping crises, topped off by the climate crisis, which will quite possibly lead to the extinction of our species…But while there are some things about this moment that feel unique, I remind myself that the experience of the world ending is not new. Whether due to a prophecy or a very real looming threat, many of our ancestors also likely felt that the world was ending. And in many cases their worlds did end. The devastation on Easter Island, the fall of Carthage, the arrival of Columbus, the centuries of chattel slavery, the destruction of Hiroshima, the Cold War, even the Cuban missile crisis — these all must have felt like the end of the world. Facing loss, despair, uncertainty, and death is as much a part of the human experience as anything else.”
Marom points out that while the specifics of our current reality may be unique, we are not the first to experience seismic geopolitical shifts that make it feel we are on the verge of collapse. The precedented nature of our grave existentialist feelings can provide hizuk, or strength, in moments of heartbreak and terror. Rather than downplay the extreme challenges of the moment we are in, we ought to remember that we are part of a lineage of people who, though they could not imagine the world in which we live, successfully exercised the resilience we find ourselves needing today.
The rabbis of the Talmud are an important part of this lineage. An oft-cited midrash from Masechet Shabbat describes how when the Jews were at Sinai, God turned the mountain upside down and held it above the Israelites’ heads until they agreed to accept the Torah.1 The rabbis were troubled by the idea that the Torah was accepted under duress. After all, why adhere to something that was forced upon you?
The Babylonian sage Rava thought otherwise. Rather than believe this origin story was cause for negation of the importance of Torah, he saw it as a reason to look to the arc of Jewish history, bringing us right to the month of Adar. Highlighting the phrase “קימו וקבלו,” “confirmed and received,” from Megillat Esther, Rava taught that in the days of Ahasverus the Jews affirmed what they had previously accepted. Problem solved, says Rava. Here we see the Jews accepting the Torah of their own accord.
While I am compelled by Rava’s instinct to look to our past, I cannot help but think about the context of the Purim story. The Jews might not have been coerced to accept or practice their religion in the time of Ahasverus. And yet, surrounded by violence and chaos, they still might have felt at times as if the proverbial mountain were upside down, similar to how the Sages imagined the Jewish people at Sinai.
Purim is the quintessential Jewish story of feeling like the world is turned on its head. In a moment when the Jewish people were grappling with sexual exploitation, violence, and the Jewish community under attack, it was hardly an obvious moment to affirm Torah. Yet according to our Talmudic story, this is precisely the time when Jews accepted Torah of their own accord.
Not only might our ancestors have felt like many of us do now, like their entire world was crashing down, but they also chose a life-affirming, action-oriented religious tradition in the face of these great challenges. Purim can remind us that facing the darker realities of our world does not have to come at the expense of affirming and pursuing what we value most. In fact, our tradition expects this of us. We must accept Torah anew, even when it feels as though we are under the mountain.
Perhaps you too are feeling despair. Whether the origin is the climate crisis, Russia’s ongoing attack on Ukraine, the pandemic, or circumstances in your personal life, such despair can be exhausting. Yet the stakes are too high for us to let the exhaustion become all-consuming, keeping us stuck in place. We can honor the feeling of despair and choose to act. Purim teaches us that when the stakes are high, we still have agency. It is in our muscle memory as Jews to affirm our core beliefs through action.
In these moments, I find it helpful to follow the lead of those affirming what’s truly important by taking action. This could be Yotam, it could be the rabbis, or it could be someone in your daily life. For me, that person is Tzipi, a JTS rabbinical student who was born in Russia and now calls Ukraine home. Earlier this month, she urged me, my colleagues, and all of us to support the people of Ukraine in concrete ways. Tzipi, too, responded to her own experiences of overwhelm and fear by drawing on the Purim story, this time the moment of Esther. Perhaps this is the moment, Tzipi said, for which I was created.
This Purim, may we have the strength of Tzipi, the boldness of the rabbis, and the wisdom of Yotam to face any despair we might be experiencing with an even stronger affirmation that we can and must meet this moment.
For more on how to support Ukraine, please see these suggestions from Tzipi.
BT Shabbat 88a