Why Do We Fast Before Purim?

Purim is perhaps the most festive holiday in the Jewish calendar: we wear costumes and perform comedic plays (the famous shpiel among Ashkenazi Jews), send delicious food packages with friends (mishloach manot), dance, sing, and embrace joyful chaos, and For adults, there’s even the tradition of drinking ad de lo yada—until one can no longer distinguish between good and evil.

With its celebratory excess and blurred boundaries, Purim has all the hallmarks of a carnival—a joyful release that every society needs to maintain its sanity throughout the year.

And yet, the day before Purim, Jewish tradition calls for a completely different state of mind through the Fast of Esther (Ta’anit Esther).

One might wonder: does Judaism always have to be a killjoy? Why precede such festivities with such an austere practice?

And yet—What if fasting, despite being a self-mortifying discipline, was actually one of the most profound spiritual practices that brings us closer to life?

The Story of Esther: Strength Through Fasting

In the straightforward reading (pshat) of the Purim story, as told in Megillat Esther, fasting plays a crucial role in Esther’s transformation. Before revealing her Jewish identity and interceding with the king to save her people, the young hidden queen prepares herself through fasting.

And she does not do it alone. She calls upon all the Jews to unite and fast with her—a communal gathering (knos), a word that shares the same root as beit haknesset, meaning “house of assembly” (today, the term for a synagogue).

Here is what she tells her uncle Mordechai:

לֵךְ֩ כְּנ֨וֹס אֶת־כׇּל־הַיְּהוּדִ֜ים הַֽנִּמְצְאִ֣ים בְּשׁוּשָׁ֗ן וְצ֣וּמוּ עָ֠לַ֠י  

וְאַל־תֹּאכְל֨וּ וְאַל־תִּשְׁתּ֜וּ שְׁלֹ֤שֶׁת יָמִים֙ לַ֣יְלָה וָי֔וֹם 

גַּם־אֲנִ֥י וְנַעֲרֹתַ֖י אָצ֣וּם כֵּ֑ן ׃

. 

וּבְכֵ֞ן אָב֤וֹא אֶל־הַמֶּ֙לֶךְ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר לֹֽא־כַדָּ֔ת וְכַאֲשֶׁ֥ר אָבַ֖דְתִּי אָבָֽדְתִּי

"Go, gather all the Jews who are in Shushan and fast for me.

Do not eat or drink for three days, night or day.I and my maidens will also fast.

Then I will go to the king, though it is against the law, and if I shall perish, I shall perish."

Esther knows she is risking her life in three ways: by approaching the king uninvited, by revealing her true identity, and by pleading for the abolition of the decree against her people.

But after initial hesitation and Mordechai’s encouragement, she makes her decision.

Her entire people face annihilation, and she alone may be able to save them. Perhaps, as Mordechai reminds her, this is precisely why she was placed in the royal palace at this critical moment.

Esther risks death to save her people.

The Paradox of Fasting: Weakness That Strengthens

How can fasting—an act that weakens the body—give someone the strength to overcome fear and, like Esther, bring about miracles?

Spiritually, fasting is a form of asceticism that paradoxically draws one closer to life.

Across many spiritual traditions, there is a recognized link between physical deprivation and heightened spiritual awareness.

Temporarily stepping away from the very things that sustain us—food and water—can lead to a deepened connection with our soul, with nature, and with the divine.

How so?

When we fast, as hunger and thirst set in, we become acutely aware of our fragility. The body weakens, the mind fogs, and we are left facing the stark reality of our dependence.

And perhaps, in this realization of our smallness, a greater awareness awakens within us—an opening of consciousness to the simple yet profound fact of our existence and our reliance on something as basic as a glass of water.

Sometimes, it is only in the absence of something that we recognize its true value.

Fasting invites us to perceive the preciousness of Life in a new light.

A Personal Awakening

I did not grow up in a religious environment and I only began fasting later in life.

I still remember my astonishment at how quickly the act of abstaining—even for just a few hours—from food and water affected not only my body and mind but also, more deeply, my perspective on the world:

When I fast, I physically experience how much I depend on something as simple as water, and I realize how precious the gift of life is.

And in these moments of vulnerability and dependency, something unexpected occurs:

A greater humility.

A deeper gratitude for the world.

A profound connection to nature—the fruits of the earth, the water, and, ultimately, the Source of Life itself, which silently sustains all things.

In Jewish tradition, this source is expressed in the beautiful blessing Borei Nefashot:

"For all that You have created to sustain life—blessed is the Source of all life."

עַל כֹּל מַה שֶׁבָּרָאתָ לְהַחֲיוֹת בָּהֶם נֶפֶשׁ כָּל חָי בָּרוּךְ חֵי הָעוֹלָמִים

The Unexpected Spirituality of Deprivation

Yes, when we fast, though the body weakens, the soul often sharpens.

A different kind of vitality emerges within us—an awakening of consciousness, an opening of the soul.

Recently, some of our brothers and sisters in Hamas captivity have experienced this kind of awakening without choosing it.

When Liri Albag, one of the female soldiers (tatspitaniot) kidnapped on October 7, was asked what she longed for most in captivity, she answered without hesitation:"A glass of cold water."

Elie Sharabi, who returned from captivity emaciated and transformed, shared in an interview his newfound awareness of life’s simple privileges:

"Opening a refrigerator... Everyone should understand what it means to be able to open a fridge and take what you want—a piece of fruit, an egg, a slice of bread...That is the act of a free person."

Elie came back weak, grieving his brother who died in captivity, and mourning his wife and daughters who were murdered on October 7.

And yet, he also returned with incredible strength. He confided that in the darkness of the tunnels, from the very first day, he found himself saying words he had never spoken before:

"Shema Yisrael."

When the journalist asked why, he paused before answering:

"There is something that watching over you, from above."

Even after losing everything, tortured and facing death daily, Elie felt the presence of the Divine.

Sometimes, it is when we are deprived of everything that an inner path opens, connecting us to that luminous and invisible source breathing within us—the unity of the Source of Life that sustains all things.

Choosing Awareness Before Life Forces It Upon Us

Fasting is a way to cultivate such awareness voluntarily, rather than waiting for suffering, war, or the brink of death to awaken us.

Spiritual practice is a choice—to awaken without waiting for life’s harshest trials to force our souls into awareness.

Ultimately, Judaism seeks this awakening and the joy of connection with the Source of Life. That is why the fasts in our calendar follow the principle of yerida l’tzorech aliyah—a descent for the sake of elevation.

If we fast on Yom Kippur, it is to be reborn before celebrating the joy of Sukkot.

And if we fast on the Fast of Esther, it is to prepare ourselves for the joy of Purim—a redemption so deep that our sages see it as the ultimate horizon of Yom Kippur.

Awakening to Identity and Collective Strength

Extreme situations not only awaken us to the Source of Life but also to our identity.

Esther’s call for all Jews in the Persian Empire to fast together was not just a spiritual act—it was a wake-up call to their collective Jewish identity.

In a kingdom where they had believed themselves comfortably assimilated, Jews suddenly faced the threat of annihilation for who they were.

The prayers of Elie, Keith’s Shema, Omer’s Kiddush in the tunnels, and Sapir’s recitation of Psalms—these are testaments to such awakenings.

When they realize they are targeted for who they are, they also realize that their identity was worth embracing.

This is one of Judaism’s great gifts: it is both an intimate, personal journey and a shared destiny.

And, as the Fast of Esther reminds us, a practice we are invited to do collectively, it is together that we are most resilient.