Wide-eyed joy and street noise fill the air each Purim, a Jewish holiday that’s about saving lives and flipping luck on its head. It’s the only time you’ll see rabbis dressed in wizard hats, toddlers twirling noisemakers, and grown-ups handing out cookies to strangers—all in one wild, colorful swirl. As soon as the calendar hints that Purim is near, neighborhoods transform. Banners go up, bakeries churn out buttery hamantaschen, and even the most reserved folks seem ready for a spontaneous costume contest. What’s up with this playful chaos? At its heart, Purim is a yearly nod to an ancient rescue story, but it’s just as known for breaking the mold of how a religious holiday should look and feel.
You probably know Purim means fun, but why? It started more than 2,400 years ago in the ancient Persian Empire—think grand palaces and a king who loved a good party. The official Purim story, told in the biblical Book of Esther (called the "Megillah"), plays out with almost comic-book drama. Queen Esther, a young Jewish woman hiding her identity, rises to power after catching the king’s eye. The villain: Haman, a high-ranking advisor who hatches a plot to wipe out Persia’s Jews after a bruised ego. You’d want to boo him at every turn.
Esther risks her life to reveal her truth, persuading King Ahasuerus (also known as Xerxes I) to reverse Haman’s plan. The Jewish community flips from near-destruction to celebration, turning their would-be day of mourning into an annual party. The name “Purim” comes from the word “pur”—lots, as in drawing lots—which is how Haman picked the doom date. Ironically, this bad luck day turned into one of Judaism’s happiest festivals. Fast-forward to now, and people still act out the story, shake groggers (those loud noisemakers) at every mention of Haman, and embrace the message: standing up against hate with courage and faith can change everything.
Archaeologists have traced Persian coins and records that match the era of Esther and Ahasuerus, showing that the story reflects real historical tension for Jews in exile. Even if you’re not religious, it’s a classic underdog tale that’s hard to resist. And here’s something quirky—while many Jewish holidays involve strict prayers or fasting, Purim says, "Eat, drink, and be merry!" That rare ethic of joy sets it apart in the Jewish calendar.
Practically speaking, reading the Megillah is a Purim must. According to tradition, every word counts—some synagogues even use megaphones or props for extra excitement. For historians, the megillah’s blend of drama, humor, and plot reversals has inspired everything from Shakespearean plays to Hollywood comedies. Did you know several universities offer “Purim Spiels” each year, where students put on parody shows based on current events but set in ancient Persia? It’s all about turning the story’s themes of survival and irony into something vibrant and relatable, every single year.
If you’ve never experienced a Jewish holiday where costumes outshine Halloween and giving away gifts is required by law (well, religious law), Purim’s a welcome surprise. Costumes are the signature move. Kids and adults dress as everything from the classic Esther and Mordechai to astronauts, pop stars, or whatever’s trending on TikTok. In fact, Purim is often called "the Jewish Mardi Gras" because outward joy, noise, and whimsy take center stage. Why costumes? Scholars say it goes back to Queen Esther hiding her background, or maybe it’s all about turning things upside-down—showing that nothing is quite as it seems.
Every community has its own take. In Jerusalem, parades weave through ancient streets. In New York, you’ll find professional comedians headlining Purim bashes. The holiday actually encourages spirited, even silly behavior—many rabbis say it’s the one day you’re supposed to lose your dignity in the best way. Some even lean into the tradition of drinking wine, quoting a Talmudic saying that on Purim you should rejoice until you “can’t tell the difference between blessed Mordechai and cursed Haman.” Don’t test those limits if you have to work the next day.
Giving is key, too. The tradition of mishloach manot (sending food baskets) keeps people connected—neighbors, friends, or even strangers exchange baskets full of fruit, cookies, or sweets. You don’t have to splurge; the act matters more than the contents. Another pillar is matanot la’evyonim (gifts for the needy). Synagogues organize big drives, with charity sums often doubling each year. Some communities track donations and share numbers to spur friendly competition:
| City | Average Charity Donation (USD, 2024) |
|---|---|
| New York | 120 |
| Jerusalem | 55 |
| London | 70 |
| Sydney | 60 |
The creative “Purim Spiel”—part play, part satire—tops it off. These mini theater shows, staged in synagogues and schools, poke fun at everything from politicians to pop stars, all while retelling Esther’s story. If you’re ever asked to join one, jump in. Nothing bonds a group like collective silliness on a stage.
You can spot Purim season just by following your nose to a batch of hamantaschen. These triangle-shaped cookies are supposed to look like Haman’s tri-cornered hat (though some say it’s his ears—either way, bite into them without guilt). Bakers across the globe fill them with everything from classic poppy seed to Nutella, fruit preserves, and even peanut butter. My personal favorite? Raspberry jam with a dusting of powdered sugar. My wife, Sierra, always experiments and once made a version filled with lemon curd that disappeared in a heartbeat.
If you want a classic dough that won’t dry out:
Mix, chill, roll, cut circles, spoon in some filling, pinch into corners, and bake at 350°F (175°C) for 15-20 minutes. Kids love helping—the messier the kitchen, the better the memories.
Kreplach—dough stuffed with meat or potatoes, boiled, and sometimes fried—are another Purim treat. The secret? Hiding a filling, just like Esther hid her identity. Some families add extra spice or create vegetarian versions to keep everyone in the game. Food here isn’t just a side note—it ties in with the holiday’s entire spirit of revealing, concealment, and giving. Hosting a Purim meal? Go big on bright colors, sweet wine, and lots of laughter. People actually treat the Purim meal (“seudah”) as an all-out feast, often stretching it out with games and toasts.
If you want your mishloach manot basket to pop, go for variety. Toss in hamantaschen, chocolate coins, fresh fruit, and a mini juice box. These don’t have to be gourmet—it's about spreading cheer. People swap tips on Facebook about packaging ideas—decorated mason jars, reusable bags, or playful hand-drawn cards can make yours the talk of the neighborhood.
Pro tip: If you’re not local to a big Jewish community, you can order hamantaschen online—bakeries ship fresh versions even to smaller towns. Or, get together with friends for a virtual bake-off, comparing creations over Zoom. Purim is one holiday where a sense of humor and a sweet tooth go a long way.
Purim isn’t about perfection—it’s about turning things upside down, sharing what you have, and inviting others to laugh at the chaos with you. Some synagogues organize food drives, encouraging attendees to donate extra canned goods instead of focusing on costly baskets. Others use Purim as a spark for charity marathons—one community in Los Angeles raised over $100,000 in a single day for food banks last year, proving the holiday is just as much about modern activism as ancient stories.
If you’re looking for ways to amplify your celebration, why not host a “reverse costume contest”—the wilder the outfit, the higher the score? Or set up an anonymous gift exchange, expanding the idea of mishloach manot past your usual friend circle. Schools often rope in local businesses to sponsor deliveries, pulling together hundreds of baskets for families in need.
One of my favorite Purim moments happened at our dining table last year. My son (he was six) wanted to dress as a dinosaur, my daughter as Queen Esther, and Sierra went as an... avocado. The parade across our living room ended with a game of charades that nearly broke the furniture from laughter. That’s the Purim spirit—no rules about who you “should” be, just the joy of transformation and imagination. People sometimes say the world feels heavy, but for one day a year, Purim reminds us to shake it off, flip our perspective, and give with open hands.
And the secret sauce? Unlike most major holidays, Purim doesn’t judge. Dress up, goof off, give gifts, and cheer for the people who aren’t afraid to be loud. By the end of the day, you’ve got a mess of crumbs, some stories to retell, and the rare feeling that joy—for its own sake—is enough to hold a community together.
Written by Felix Greendale
View all posts by: Felix Greendale