We don’t recite Hallel on Purim; should we?

Many aspects of the Purim holiday resonate deeply with our experiences following the horrific events of October 7 and its aftermath. In particular, I have found one text especially relevant. It addresses a perplexing feature of Purim: the fact that Hallel is not recited. Although this is primarily a technical halakhic discussion, it carries profound messages that can guide the Jewish experience, in times of both joy and hardship.

Despite the holiday’s brevity (this year being an exception), Purim carries with it a series of important obligations—reading the Megillah, giving charity, sharing food baskets (mishloach manot), and celebrating with a festive meal. However, one ritual that is observed on nearly every other Jewish holiday is notably absent: the recitation of Hallel.

So glaring is this omission, in fact, that it is the subject of a rather short yet fascinating discussion in the Babylonian Talmud. In explaining why Hallel is not recited on Purim, two different perspectives are presented, which are at the core of the Jewish experience throughout history. These values, which are particularly poignant at this moment in time, stand in tension with each other:

The Talmud, in Tractate Megillah 14a, begins by noting that the observance of Purim is unique among religious commandments because it is not explicitly written in the Torah. Nevertheless, the prophets instituted it as a religious duty. The reason behind this innovation is explained through an analogy to the Exodus: If we are required to sing Shira (praise) to God when we were freed from slavery, how much more so should we offer praise when we are saved from the threat of mass extermination?

This raises another question: if we are obligated to offer praise when we were freed from slavery, why is Hallel not also recited on Purim, when we were saved from the brink of annihilation?

The Talmud presents several answers. The first, an anonymous response, suggests that Hallel is not recited for miracles that occur outside of Israel. This prompts an obvious challenge, since the Exodus took place outside of the Land of Israel, and yet we still recite Hallel. The resolution to this challenge is that the requirement for Hallel only became operative once the Jewish people entered the Land of Israel.

Two additional answers are offered by Babylonian Amoraim. R’ Nahman, a third-generation Babylonian Amora, argues that we do recite Hallel—reading the Megillat Esther itself is a form of Hallel.

His student Rava counters that Hallel is not recited on Purim, because Purim is not comparable to the Exodus. In the Exodus, the Israelites were freed from the tyranny of Pharaoh, whereas on Purim, we were still slaves to King Ahasuerus. As the Talmud states, “we are still slaves of Ahasuerus.”

(There is a lack of clarity regarding the first anonymous position in the Talmud, which states that Hallel is not recited for miracles outside of Israel: is this just a technicality, implying that we should recite Hallel but don’t due to the miracle’s location? Or does it reflect Rava’s view—that a miracle outside Israel is incomplete by definition? For Rava, the fact that the miracle took place in exile signals that we are still in a precarious, dependent state, not fully free.)

Although this is a technical debate—with some possible practical implications—it reflects a much more fundamental argument between these Sages that mirrors two opposing approaches to the Jewish experience.

On the one hand, there is the view that Purim is a unequivocal victory and salvation, which warrants unrestrained jubilation and praise. We therefore celebrate with all of joy and jubilation of the Exodus. Reading the Megillah is a form of Hallel; a victory anthem of sorts.

On the other hand, Rava argues that this isn’t complete victory. There is a recognition that, despite this salvation, the struggle for true freedom and redemption is ongoing. We don’t have self-determination; we’re still subject to the rule of a gentile king. Yes, Ahasuerus spared us this time, but the reality is that we remain his subjects and our fate is therefore still in the hands of another ruler. This lack of total self-determination is why, for Rava, the recitation of Hallel is not appropriate. We may have been saved, but we’re not fully free.

The difference in R. Nahman’s and Rava’s answers reflects not only differing perspectives in this case, but correlates with the distinct worldviews of these two sages evidenced in other places in the Talmud. While both are Babylonian Amoraim living under Sassanian Persian rule, R’ Nahman is portrayed throughout the Bavli as someone with close ties to the Persian aristocracy, particularly the Reish Galuta (Exilarch). A famous story in Kiddushin 70a contains critique of his Persian ways, including his use of the Persian language. R’ Nahman is portrayed as feeling at home in Persia and there, unsurprisingly, takes a confident, secure approach: We won, we’re safe—let’s recite Hallel!

In contrast, Rava seems more attuned to their precarious existence. Just a page earlier, on 13a, Rava critiques Mordechai for not bowing to Haman, since it contributed to Haman’s rage against the Jewish people and thus the danger faced by them. Rava’s perspective is marked by realism and humility. For Rava, while the salvation of Purim is significant, it does not signal complete freedom—he recognizes that, like the Jews of his time, they are still subjects of the Persian empire.

R’ Nahman’s confident stance is tempered by the realist Rava—while we may have dodged this bullet, we’re not in the clear. Yes, we’re grateful for being saved—hence, we read the Megillah—but we cannot let our guard down. We are not invincible.

This tension lies at the heart of our passage: on one hand, we acknowledge and express gratitude for the miraculous salvation. We do so by reading the Megillah, recounting the story twice, which serves as our way of praising and thanking God. On the other hand, we retain our humility and remain vigilant, recognizing that we must not grow complacent.

This tension is certainly a relevant message for all of humanity, but it has been particularly characteristic of the Jewish experience throughout history. We can think of the Golden Age of Spain, the flourishing of Ashkenaz and Provence, and, of course, the once flourishing Jewish communities of Eastern and Western Europe. This tension has continued since the founding of the State of Israel—witness the jubilance following the Six Day War, followed by the humbling reminder of the Yom Kippur War.

At this moment, in the wake of October 7th and the ongoing reflection on what went wrong that day and over the past 17 years, this message is especially poignant. This sugya teaches us that while we must celebrate our victories, we must not be guided by hubris. We thank God for the good, but we must never take it for granted.

May we be worthy of the ultimate, complete redemption and victory, so that we can recite Hallel with the confidence of R’ Nahman.