Purim in Israel: A Lesson in Life
- Claire
- Mar 1
- 3 min read
Updated: Mar 2
Purim is almost here, but videos shared on social media of dancing and partying in Tel Aviv are already everywhere. People are celebrating in sheltered basements and underground parking garages because of the missile threat from Iran. And I’m not surprised. And it makes me smile.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned from living in Israel, it’s this: Israelis don’t wait for perfect conditions to live. They live anyway. There’s a quiet strength in that. I don’t know if it comes from history, survival, or something else — but it’s real, and it’s beautiful.
The first time I saw this up close was just after my first Purim in 1991, at the end of the Gulf War. Within hours, people were organizing parties with food, drinks, and music, determined to move forward. I was still new to the country and had just experienced my first war. Unlike everyone else, I couldn’t switch so quickly into celebration. I hadn’t processed the weeks of sirens yet. It felt too soon. Still, I remember being amazed at how fast people organized gatherings — at work, among friends, everywhere.
It was only months later, during the Independence Day (Yom Ha’Atzmaut) celebrations that follow Memorial Day (Yom HaZikaron), when my husband had to push me to go out, that I finally understood. I didn’t feel ready to celebrate; the sadness from the day before was still with me. He explained that the days are placed back-to-back on purpose — so people don’t stay stuck in grief, but remember why they keep going, and choose life again.
I go into more detail about these experiences in my unpublished memoir, which this blog post is supporting. But for now, to end on a lighter note, here’s a true Purim story my mother-in-law once told me about my husband, “Tom,” when he was four.
His kindergarten sent a letter asking parents to prepare a Purim costume. Tom was assigned Mordecai. The letter suggested either a glima (גְּלִימָה - robe) or michnasayim (מִכְנְסַיִים- trousers) in white satin.
When his mother mentioned the option of a glima, he loved the sound of the word. To him, it sounded like a majestic cape. He assumed, of course, that his mother wouldn’t send him outside half-naked, so the choice seemed obvious.
When the day came, he discovered the truth. The glima was not a heroic cape but a long robe — closer, in his eyes, to a dress — plus a “stupid hat” (his words).
The second shock came at school. All the other Mordecais were in white satin trousers, running and jumping. Tom, wrapped in his robe, could barely walk without tripping. It’s the only Purim he remembers. When I later asked what happened in the following years, he claimed total amnesia.
His lasting wisdom from that first Purim:
Don’t be fooled by a beautiful word.
And to end on a sweet note — a picture of Oznei Haman (the “ears of Haman,” also called Hamantaschen, or the “purse of Haman”)!
I’ve never baked them myself — there’s really no need when the stores in Israel are full of them — but here’s supposedly an easy recipe if you want to give it a try:
Dough: 2 cups flour, 1/2 cup sugar, 1/2 cup butter, 1 egg
Filling: jam, chocolate, or poppy seeds
Shape: Roll into circles, fill, fold into triangles
Bake: 12–15 minutes at 180°C (350°F)
For a more detailed step‑by‑step baking guide, check this video on YouTube .
Bake, share, and enjoy — after all, celebrating life is what Purim is all about! Wishing you a Purim full of laughter, life, optimism, and a touch of peace — whether you’re seeing ears, purses, or just enjoying the cookies! 🎉
This post is inspired by my memoir, which is currently seeking publication. Thank you for reading—feel free to share and explore more posts!
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