Purim Stories

It was Purim eve, but what was there for us to celebrate in the German concentration camp of Gross-Rosen?

Grief enveloped the poor man, and he seemed to drag his feet wherever he went.

In the face of tyranny and upheaval, Judaism’s future always remained the Rebbe's foremost concern.

As the young man became richer, his commitment to his business became greater and greater, until it became the entire focus of his life.

World War II had finally come to an end. My family was back from Siberia, where we had spent most of the war years . . .

Suddenly, there was an awful noise. The name of Haman had been read, and little Yaakov was swinging his gragger with all his might. Everyone became very frightened. One man wanted to take the gragger away from him...

In the course of the investigation, the king discovered that he was a descendant of Haman, the son of Hamdatha the chief minister of King Ahasuerus in Shushan, the capital of ancient Persia and Medea...

“This year we’re not going to allow even one mishloach manot (food gift) in the house,” Shira announced as Purim approached.

There I was again, in the familiar corridor at the Bikur Cholim hospital in Jerusalem. But this time I had two healthy children at home, which gave me hope that maybe, just maybe, there would be good news...

After completing the circumcision, as he dipped his finger in the wine to place a drop in the baby’s mouth, the Chatam Sofer called out: “When wine goes in, secrets come out.” Seventy years were to pass before the significance of the great sage’s words would be revealed.

“Yisrael! We have good news and bad news. Bad news: we’re way out of our four-block radius. Good news: we’re five minutes away from the one house that we were not planning on going to!”

400 apartments housing 1,200 people were destroyed or damaged. Tel Aviv hospitals were prepared to handle mass casualties

Suddenly, the rebbe gave an order to turn around and stop at the inn. His students were surprised. What could they possibly do in the company of drunken peasants?

“Me, too,” I lied. “It’s . . . indecipherable.” I had seen that word the day before in a copy of Time magazine lying around the house, and decided that it sounded as glamorous as any other.

“Listen to me, Mrs. Rosenberg,” her heavy face was flushed with excitement. “Let me take her. Why should she die, the innocent babe? I will care for her as if she was my own. I never had children, you know. Give her to me . . .”

This year there was no Megillah scroll available to be read. There were some occasional loud noises, but they did not come from kids cranking noisemakers. There was no music to dance to, and nobody was really in the mood to dance....

"I’ll make you a deal," said the Rebbe. "I know a certain girl who is soon to get married and she still needs 300 rubles."

The peasants were by this time a little drunk and had begun to curse the Jews.