The Hidden Pain of Purim—It’s Time to See It

I have been to too many funerals. Too many lives cut short. Too many families shattered by the unbearable pain of losing a loved one to suicide. Since October 7th, that pain has only grown. The losses have become more frequent, the grief more overwhelming.

Tonight, Jews around the world will fill the streets with joy. There will be singing, laughter, and l’chaims raised high. It is a night of pure celebration, a holiday of connection and togetherness. But for some, Purim is not a day of happiness. It is a day of loneliness, isolation, and feeling invisible in a sea of joy. While others rejoice, they are drowning.

We cannot keep looking away.

Some speak up. Many of us do. We raise our voices, try to sound the alarm, and beg people to pay attention. But it is not enough. A few voices cannot carry the weight of a crisis this large. A handful of people cannot be the only ones acknowledging the pain in our communities. We need everyone to open their eyes. We need everyone to start talking, listening, and acting—before another life is lost.

We have seen too many times how suicide tears families apart. Every time we think we have reached the breaking point, another tragedy happens. And then another. And another. And suddenly, another child grows up without a parent. Another family sits shiva, asking themselves impossible questions: Did we miss the signs? Could we have done something?

The truth is, suicide is not some far-off tragedy. It is here, in our own communities, affecting people we know and love. And yet, we still struggle to talk about it. Mental health remains a whispered topic, something many prefer to avoid or dismiss. But silence has never saved a life. Looking the other way does not ease suffering. Pretending it isn’t happening does not make it stop.

Too often, when someone takes their own life, people say things like, They must have been beyond help. There was nothing anyone could have done. But that is not true. That kind of thinking is dangerous because it allows us to believe that we have no power to change things. It stops us from reaching out, learning, and recognizing the people who are struggling before it’s too late.

Purim is a day of extremes. For some, it is the happiest day of the year. For others, it is the hardest. Being surrounded by joy can make you feel even more alone when you are already in pain. Where one person drinks to enhance their celebration, another drinks to numb their suffering. Where one person feels embraced by their community, another feels like they do not belong. The contrast is devastating.

We cannot keep ignoring this reality. It is not enough to feel sad when another tragedy occurs. It is not enough to mourn and then move on. We have to take responsibility. We have to educate ourselves, to notice the signs, to stop offering empty platitudes and start offering real, tangible help. Because telling someone, “Things will get better” means nothing to a person who feels trapped in darkness. What they need is someone who sees them. Someone who listens. Someone who takes them seriously and helps them get the support they so desperately need.

On Purim, we fulfill four mitzvot: hearing the Megillah, giving Matanot L’evyonim to the poor, sending Mishloach Manot to friends, and enjoying a Seudah to celebrate the day. But perhaps this year, we can take on a fifth—one not required, but deeply needed. The mitzvah of truly looking out for one another.

Let’s check in on the people who might be struggling. Let’s notice the pain that isn’t always obvious. Let’s make sure that no one feels forgotten in their suffering. Matanot L’evyonim reminds us to care for those in financial need—let us also care for those in emotional need. Mishloach Manot reminds us to strengthen our bonds with friends—let us also reach out to those who feel alone. The Purim Seudah is meant to bring us joy—let us also ensure that our happiness does not leave others feeling more isolated.

This is not something that a few people can fix alone. It is on all of us. If we do not step up together, if we do not make mental health a priority in our communities, we will continue losing people. We will continue attending funerals that should never have happened.

We cannot keep burying our loved ones and telling ourselves there was nothing we could have done. We cannot keep standing by while people suffer alone. This Purim, let’s take action. The time to open our eyes is now. The time to act is now.