A Persian Purim Reflection

Purim feels different this year.

The Megillah unfolds in ancient Persia. For many, it is a dramatic story of danger and reversal. For me, as a Persian Jewish woman born in Los Angeles, affectionately known as Irangeles or Tehrangeles, home to the largest Iranian community outside of Iran, it is also deeply personal.

Before 1979, nearly 100,000 Jews lived in Iran. Today, closer to 10,000 remain. My family, along with many Jews, Bahá’ís, Zoroastrians, Christians, and Muslims who did not wish to live under a theocratic regime, left a country they loved in search of freedom and stability. Though I was born in the United States, that history shaped my home, my community, and my understanding of what it means to live without guaranteed freedoms.

So, when Purim arrives at a moment of global tension connected to Iran, it lands differently. Many in the Persian Jewish community carry complicated emotions, including grief, memory, pride, hope, and for many, even celebration.

There is hope and celebration that this moment may signal the end of oppression and the beginning of greater freedom, and that a regime which silenced voices, restricted basic rights, and instilled fear for decades may no longer shape the future.

It is precisely in moments like these that the story of Purim speaks most powerfully.

Purim is a story about hidden identity and revealed courage. Queen Esther conceals who she is until the moment comes when she must step forward. Her revelation changes the course of history.

We honor that theme by wearing costumes. On one level, we play with masks and disguise, echoing Esther’s hiddenness. On another level, dressing up invites us to explore parts of ourselves that are not always visible.

When a child puts on a superhero costume, they are trying on courage. When someone dresses as a surgeon, they may imagine how their life might have unfolded differently, or what it would feel like to carry that kind of responsibility. When I place a crown on my head and call myself a queen for a day, I ask: What authority do I already possess? What leadership have I not yet fully stepped into?

Costumes are playful, yes. They are also aspirational. They allow us to experiment safely with qualities that may already live within us: strength, boldness, compassion, resolve. Qualities waiting to be revealed.

There is something else about Purim that feels especially relevant right now.

The Megillah reads almost like satire. The king is extravagant and impulsive. The banquets are excessive. The numbers are grand. Even the scope of the empire, 127 provinces, reflects the vast Persian world of that era, often associated with rulers like Xerxes. The danger in the story is real, but it is told with irony and exaggeration.

Our tradition understood something profound. In moments of existential fear, joy is not denial. Joy lowers the temperature of anxiety. Joy allows a community to breathe.

Purim insists that even when we face threat, we do not surrender our spirit.

For Persian Jews, there is also pride in this story. It is set in Persia. It is written on a parchment scroll, like a Torah scroll. The Jewish presence in Persia is one of the longest continuous diasporic chapters in Jewish history. Our story is intertwined with that land and with the unfolding of Jewish destiny.

Many may not fully understand why some Iranians, inside the country and in the diaspora, speak passionately about change. For those who have lived with restrictions on speech, assembly, song, dance, and personal autonomy, the longing for freedom runs deep. That longing is not about revenge. It is about dignity. It is about the ability to live openly and fully.

As Jews, as Americans, and as members of a global community, we pray for the safety of innocent lives caught in conflict. We pray for wisdom among leaders. We pray for courage among those who seek freedom. And we pray for a future in which the Iranian people, and all people, can live with security and self-determination.

The Megillah is not a modern history book. But like so much of our biblical tradition, it carries enduring truths. It teaches us about vulnerability, moral courage, hidden identity, and the power of stepping forward at the right moment.

This year, as you celebrate Purim, may you discover the hidden strengths within yourself.

May you bring joy into moments of fear.

May you stand with courage when it is time to reveal who you are.

Chag Purim Sameach.

With pride in our tradition and hope for a freer and more peaceful world.

Rabbi Tarlan Rabizadeh is Vice President for Jewish Engagement and Director of Maas Center for Jewish Journeys at American Jewish University.