Living through the crises humanity has caused and endured over the past five years, we have seen so many different ways of responding. How do we know what types of responses are most effective? The Purim story has something to teach us.

When the decree against the Jews goes out in Shushan, Mordechai acts quickly and publicly. Esther, faced with the same decree, however, quietly prepares for months for an intimate meeting. 

Same crisis. Two radically different ways of expressing opposition and effecting change.

The megillah tells us that Mordechai dresses in sackcloth and ashes, standing at the main gates of the palace. In effect, he publicly announces that he is mourning, fearing for his and others’ lives.  He announces a moral emergency, calling out the evil decree publicly, and, perhaps, in doing so, working to bring others along with him in protest.

Esther’s response is almost the opposite. She spends months preparing herself to make her way into the palace. She soaks herself in perfumes and oils and dresses in beautiful clothing, using every tool available to help her get to King Ahasuerus. Rather than remaining outside the palace for all to see, as Mordechai did, she makes her way into the inner chambers of the palace, quietly but effectively. 

It would be easy to treat these as opposing moral archetypes for how we ought to respond in times of trouble. Some of us instinctively reach for sackcloth. We go out and protest when we believe something is unjust, dangerous, or corrupt. We want our objection to be visible, and we refuse to soften our language. 

Others of us reach for the approach of dignitaries or diplomats, dressing in finery to fit in with those in decision-making roles. We believe that change happens through relationship, access and persuasion. We moderate our tone and language not because we lack conviction, but because we are trying to use influence and diplomacy.

Unfortunately, we are often too quick to judge each other and our opposing approaches. The sackcloth camp sees the other as compromising, cowardly and complicit. The finery camp sees the other as self-righteous, reckless or using performative outrage.
But the Megillah shows us not to choose between one or the other.

The Megillah shows us that we need to work together with those who have very different strategies from our own, to effect change. 

Mordechai’s public grief matters. It signals to the Jewish community that the threat is real, while disrupting complacency and creating urgency. Esther’s composed entry into the king’s court also matters. Without it, there is no reversal. No “v’nahafoch hu.” 

The story does not choose between them, but insists on both.

In our polarized world—especially in Jewish communal life—some of our fiercest disagreements are not only about substance, but are also about style. It is about how dissent should look. Should it be loud or measured? Confrontational or relational? Public or private?

Purim points to the importance of both, especially in a time of great danger and fear.

While in times of fear we may unite to fight a common enemy, we may also have vehement disagreements about that fight. The question is not whether we should express our differences, but how—and whether we can make room for expressions that are not our own.

Some crises require wailing in the streets, and some require using quiet influence. Of course, most require both. Purim reminds us that there is more than one faithful way to resist and more than one authentic way to object. 

Maybe our task is not to decide which method is more effective, but rather to learn how to recognize courage in forms that do not look like ours.

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