Chag Purim Sameach

On September 13, 2022, 22-year-old Jina “Mahsa” Amini was arrested by Iran’s Morality Police for “improperly” wearing her hijab. Three days later, she died in police custody. Her death, shared by reporters who were then jailed, set off protests across Iran and then across the world. These protests—which have since spread and which continue to this day—were led by women who tore off their hijabs, cut their hair, and adopted the slogan “Zan, Zendegi, Azadi: Woman, Life, Freedom.” It seems fitting to honor these Persian women today, one week into Women’s History Month, on a day which honors the bravery of another Persian woman.

The story of Purim is, of course, a Persian story. And the story of Purim is the story of a dutiful-but-strong, modest-but-assertive Persian woman who had to break barriers and stereotypes to save not just herself, but her people. Biblical scholar Karen Jobes writes: “Esther has to overcome two levels of conflict, both as a woman and a Jew, to come into her own as Queen of Persia. We modern readers probably cannot fully appreciate how truly remarkable a feat that was.”

Watching women in Iran—and Iranian and other women across the globe—maybe we can appreciate, and celebrate, how remarkable it was … and is.

Aylin Sedghi-Gabbaizadeh, an Iranian-American Jewish woman, wrote a beautiful piece about why Queen Esther is a hero and a role model to her as a Persian woman. She writes:

At the beginning of the Purim tale, Esther is passive and submissive, a model of docility. Though Esther had no desire to become queen, she was forced to enter a beauty contest the king held in order to find a new wife. Esther followed her uncle’s directive—she entered the pageant; she hid her identity—and then, dutifully, she follows the rules set forth by her uncle as well as the king. Like so many Persian women, Esther took her lead from the men in her life, thereby safeguarding her family’s aberu (a Persian word roughly translated as “honor” or “reputation”).

However, when met with a crisis—when the king’s evil adviser, Haman, decreed that all the Jews were to be killed—Esther looked deep within herself and realized she had strength. And so, she stepped out of the cultural norms she had been raised with in order to save her people. After some initial trepidation, Esther took control of her uncle’s plans, made them her own, and—after several plot twists—convinced the king to pardon the Jews and punish the evil Haman instead.

Mahsi Alinejad is a journalist and an activist who, over the last eight years, has posted and shared smaller stories of women’s civil disobedience in the face of the Iranian regime. Telling stories of hope and despair, she tells the story of a teenage girl whose mother cautioned her against joining the protests for fear she would be killed. “I can’t choose what I wear. I don’t have the right to dance in public. By law, I’m not allowed to be myself. I’m already dead,” Alinejad says the girl told her mother. “But when I go to the streets, I have a dream. And that makes me alive.”

Writing on fear and on barrier-breaking, Sedghi-Gabbaizadeh continues: “Her steadfast resolve and calculating plans lead to the saving of her people. Esther is the epitome of the motto, ‘Feel the fear, but do it anyway.’”  But, unlike Esther, I hope the lesson that we learn this Purim is that we cannot allow the women in Iran to feel that they are standing alone.

Rabbi Tarlan Rabizadeh taught me that, along with the words “Zan, Zendegi, Azadi” there is a slogan that the Iranian people are chanting throughout the nation. Taking to the streets in protest of an authoritarian regime, they are chanting: “Natarseen! Natarseen! Mah hameh baham hasteem,” which means: “Don’t be afraid! Don’t be afraid! We are all in this together.” And, that, certainly, is a lesson for and from the Purim story, today and always.

—Rabbi Sari Laufer