In Parashat Tetzaveh, we read in exquisite detail about the garments of the Kohen Gadol — garments of dignity and beauty. Clothing in the Torah reflects inner identity.
Surprisingly also that this is the only Parasha that Moses`s name does not appear. For the only time since his birth in the Torah, he is present — but hidden.
This hiddenness echoes the central theme of Purim too. In the Book of Esther, God’s name never appears — yet His presence guides every twist of fate. Coincidences stack too perfectly. Reversals unfold too precisely. The Divine light burns, even when concealed.
On Purim, clothing becomes a central theme. Esther hides her identity. Mordechai tears his garments in mourning, then later dons royal robes. Haman seeks honor but is humiliated publicly in the king’s garments. External appearances shift dramatically — but beneath the costumes lies a deeper truth: identity anchored in covenant. Perhaps this is why we wear costumes on Purim. We live in a world of concealment. God’s face may be hidden; our mission is not.
On the Shabbat before Purim, we read Parashat Zachor, It’s the only occasion that it’s the Torah`s commandment to come and to hear the torah reading in the synagogue, fulfilling the commandment to remember what Amalek did to us.
Amalek attacked the weak, the stragglers, the vulnerable. More than a physical assault, it was a spiritual attack — an attempt to inject doubt and randomness into a world guided by Divine providence. Amalek represents the ideology that nothing has meaning, that history has no moral direction. Haman, the villain of Purim, is identified as an Agagite — a descendant of Amalek. His hatred was not political; it was existential. He could not tolerate a people who testify that history has purpose and that God is present even in exile.
To remember Amalek is not merely to recall an ancient enemy. It is to reject cynicism. It is to fight the voice that whispers, “It’s all coincidence. It’s all chance.” Purim answers Amalek not with despair, but with joy.
Tetzaveh teaches Avodah — steady, consistent service. Zachor teaches moral clarity about evil. Purim teaches Simcha — transformative joy.
The menorah’s flame burns continually. Memory burns continually. And joy, when rooted in faith, burns continually. The message woven through these readings is this:
Even when God seems hidden — He is present.
Even when evil seems powerful — it is temporary.
Even when identity feels concealed — it is eternal.
On Purim, we do not merely celebrate survival. We celebrate meaning. We declare that history is not random, that light can be drawn from pressure, that hiddenness can house holiness.
Chag Purim Sameach,
Rabbi Refael Cohen