From Decree to Destiny

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

As Jews, we are meant to live with joy. No matter the situation, we know that everything comes from Hashem, Who seeks our ultimate welfare. That is a fundamental principle of our emunah. Yet, Adar is the only time of year when the obligation to rejoice is emphasized, to the degree that Chazal teach, “Mishenichnas Adar marbim b’simcha.”

What is it about this month that obligates us to increase our joy?

It cannot simply be that there was an edict calling for our annihilation. Tragically, that has been a recurring theme throughout our history. We recite in the Haggadah that in every generation there are those who rise up to destroy us and Hashem spares us from them. What, then, was so unique about the salvation of Purim in Shushan that it continues to generate such enduring joy?

The story of Purim began, for all practical purposes, at the lavish celebration hosted by Achashveirosh to mark his reign. Jews attended that grand seudah and drank from keilim that were plundered from the destroyed Bais Hamikdosh. That desecration of holiness, that defilement of the memory of the Bais Hamikdosh, evoked a Divine wrath and set into motion Haman’s plot to destroy the Jewish people across the vast Persian Empire.

Mordechai and Esther gathered the nation and led them in sincere teshuvah. When their repentance was accepted, the gezeirah was annulled. The Jews were spared, and their enemies met the fate they had intended for the Jews. A great celebration followed.

But the story did not end there. The same empire that had issued the decree ultimately permitted the Jewish people to return to Eretz Yisroel and resume construction of the second Bais Hamikdosh.

The simcha of Adar is rooted in something deeper than rescue from danger. Klal Yisroel witnessed the transformative power of teshuvah. The very failing that contributed to the threat—disrespect toward the Bais Hamikdosh—was rectified through repentance, and that teshuvah paved the way not only for survival, but for rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdosh they had sinned against. It brought about a geulah for that era that endured for generations.

As we continue through our long golus, this message strengthens us. It proclaims that if we would correct the sins that delay the geulah in our days, we, too, would merit Moshiach and the rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdosh. The teshuvah of Adar led to the geulah of Nissan in the days of Shushan, and that same thing can happen again in our day.

What could be a more joyous thought than that?

And perhaps that is precisely why this message is so urgent today.

We live in what many describe as an age of noise. Not only literal noise, though there is certainly no shortage of that, but a deeper kind: endless information, constant commentary, perpetual outrage, and a relentless stream of stimuli competing for our attention. Everything feels loud. Everything feels urgent. Everything demands a reaction.

The news unsettles us. War with Iran appears on the horizon. The choices seem bleak: Strike now and perhaps unleash a deadly war or allow a dangerous regime to strengthen its arsenal and expand its nuclear ambitions.

Anti-Semitism grows more brazen. Political instability intensifies. Economic pressures mount as expenses rise and the strain of keeping pace becomes crushing. Our world seems to have misplaced its bearings, and we pay the price.

And then Purim arrives.

Suddenly, there is joyous music. Happiness. Laughter. Mishloach manos piling up. Costumes. Friends with arms wrapped around one another, swaying in song.

The contrast is jarring.

Yet, Purim is not an escape from reality. It is a return to reality.

It reminds us of the steady Hashgocha Protis that guides history beneath the surface chaos. It reminds us that what appears random is anything but. It reminds us that teshuvah changes trajectories, that gezeiros can be overturned, that rebuilding can follow destruction.

And that certainty is a deep source of simcha.

We study the Megillah, and initially it appears as if random events are happening that have no historical importance or relevance to the Jewish people. A Persian king throws a lavish feast. A queen refuses to attend. Political reshuffling. An ambitious minister rising to power. Sleepless nights. Coincidences. And then the noose tightens around the neck of our people. Only at the end do we see what was happening all along.

Purim was a time of hester ponim—the Ribbono Shel Olam hidden behind curtains of politics, ego, power, and fear.

And if that sounds familiar, it should, because we also live in a time of hester. Things that appear to be random are actually setting up the world for geulah.

Purim reminds us that nothing is random.

One year, on Purim, surrounded by multitudes of chassidim hanging on to his every word, the Chiddushei Horim began speaking. This is what he said: “When we start reading the Megillah, we might wonder why we are being told stories about some Persian king. Why do we care that he feasted for three years after being crowned? We continue reading and are told stories about a queen who refused to attend a feast and her punishment. Then we read about the procedure of finding a new queen. And we wonder: Why do we need to know this?”

The rebbe was quiet, deep in thought. He sat up and answered his questions. “In the time of Moshiach,” he said, “many strange things will happen. Nobody will understand what is happening. And then, suddenly, they will realize that it was all tied to the geulah.”

To say that strange occurrences are taking place in our day is an understatement. We are confounded by the daily happenings, so many of which seem to make no sense. Soon the day will arrive when everything will become clear. For now, we have Purim.

We live in a period of darkness that will prevail until the coming of Moshiach. With his arrival, a great light will begin to shine and everything will become clear. But until then, we can cultivate our senses to hear and perceive the footsteps of Moshiach in all that is taking place. Purim is part of that training.

All through the year, we strain to “see”—to understand what is happening, to conjecture what this leader will say and what that one will do. Purim teaches us that what counts is what is happening behind the scenes, beyond the headlines, where we cannot see. We are reminded that it is not the politicians and bosses who dictate events, but Someone much more powerful.

The spiritual light of Purim, the Arizal says, is brighter than any other light that has shone since creation. The clarity of Purim brings joy along with it. After laining the Megillah, current events are not as menacing.

Purim declares that beneath the decrees of history stands the steady Hand of Hashem.

The Jews of Shushan believed the lot had sealed their fate. The calendar had marked their destruction. Yet, through teshuvah, tefillah, and Esther’s courage, guided by Mordechai, the script flipped.

A day designated for annihilation became a day of eternal celebration. That pattern has repeated itself through centuries of Jewish history. Again and again, we stood on the brink. Again and again, the curtain lifted just enough for us to survive.

All year long, people carry burdens, but on Purim something softens. The guarded expressions fall away. The inner emunah surfaces.

On that day, we gain clarity.

Purim is not an escape from reality. Purim is reality, unveiled.

It tells us that no Haman rises independently. No Achashveirosh rules alone. No sleepless night is insignificant. No hidden act of courage is wasted.

No matter what challenges surround us, when Purim approaches, something shifts.

Our hearts beat a bit faster. Our smiles stretch a bit wider. Even people weighed down by worry find themselves humming a niggun, singing along with the crowd, uniting in simcha shel mitzvah. Though we may be mired in personal struggles, dulled by routine, distracted by headlines and burdens, the simcha of Purim breaks through.

The joy that erupts among Jews, from the most learned to the most distant, testifies to the intrinsic greatness of the day. Something real is happening. Something ancient, yet entirely present.

The simcha that Hakadosh Boruch Hu shined into His world in Shushan so many years ago was not a one-time illumination. It was implanted into the fabric of time. Wherever Jews live, that joy can be felt every year on this day.

Purim is not just a commemoration of something that happened nearly 2,400 years ago. It is a celebration of its yearly recurrence on that day. It is a celebration of its lessons, which provide daily chizuk for us.

Every year on Purim, the kochos that saved the Jewish people from annihilation are reawakened. The miracles of Purim are not locked in the past. The days of Purim have a redemptive power that we can tap into. In Al Hanissim, we thank Hashem for the miracles that took place “bayomim haheim bazeman hazeh.”

The knowledge that Hashem guides every detail of our lives and directs the destinies of nations reminds us that our story will be as comforting for us as it was for them.

Every generation has its Hamans and Achashveiroshes. Every generation experiences threats against Jewish lives, hostile regimes, economic fluctuations, illnesses that confound doctors, political climates that feel increasingly unstable, and cultural confusion that erodes clarity. The names change. The geography shifts. The methods evolve. But the pattern is the same.

A month after Purim, at the Seder, we will declare, “Vehi she’omdah la’avoseinu velanu… shebechol dor vador omdim aleinu lechaloseinu, v’Hakadosh Boruch Hu matzileinu miyodom.”

In every generation we have challenges and Hashem saves us.

When we unroll our Megillos each year, we are not just unrolling a story that took place in the past. We are opening a channel of salvation.

The Sefas Emes teaches that just as Elul prepares us for Rosh Hashanah through teshuvah m’yirah, the month of Adar prepares us for Nissan through teshuvah m’ahavah, repentance born of love and joy.

Just as Mordechai gathered the Jews of his day and instructed them to fast, daven, and do teshuvah to bring about their salvation, that koach remains embedded in the day. The salvation of Shushan ultimately led to the building of the second Bais Hamikdosh. The teshuvah of Purim reshaped history.

Who is to say what our Purim could build?

The events unfolding around us may appear disconnected—random political shifts, unsettling global movements, personal upheavals that seem to make no sense. But the Megillah teaches us that what appears fragmented is often tightly woven.

At the time, Achashveirosh’s seudah looked like decadence. Vashti’s refusal seemed like palace drama. A sleepless night appeared trivial. Only later did those details reveal themselves as steps toward redemption.

Purim trains us to live with that awareness.

This day is marked for deliverance.

On this day in Shushan, a decree of death was transformed into celebration. Since then, Jews have experienced yeshuos on Purim in ways public and private. It is a day stamped with light and possibility.

If we are worthy, we will soon witness how the threats that intimidate us today, the forces that seem to gather strength, and the pressures that weigh upon Klal Yisroel and upon each of us personally are necessary chapters leading to a geulah.

The Megillah teaches us not only that redemption is possible, but that it is already unfolding beneath the surface.

May we merit to see it clearly.

“LaYehudim hoysah orah v’simcha v’sasson viykor kein tihiyeh lonu.” May the light that shone in Shushan pierce the darkness of our golus as well and lead us to the geulah sheleimah for which we have been waiting so long.

Ah freilichen Purim.