… losing my religion … 6

Purim

Purim is here, and the streets are on fire with joy. In Bnei Brak, children are released to the Jewish Mordecai and fund evil, running between houses, knocking on doors with deliveries of meals. Holiday songs emerge from the houses, tables are filled with the ears of men and wine, and the atmosphere is holy. Everything is communal, warm, familiar. There is no moment alone - all together, celebrating like one big family.

And in Tel Aviv? The name of the streets screams colour. Pirates, fairies, unicorns and delusional costumes that can't be described - everything goes. Parties start early and only end when the sun comes up. The alcohol flows, the music thunders, and joy is loose, wild, free.

But between all the colours and joy, dissonance also floats. Young Tel Avivim celebrates after military service, while their friends in Bnei Brak are not required to enlist at all. The unity of holidays suddenly looks a little fragile. Some see it as wrong, others believe it's another mission.

And yet, the two worlds have something in common - Purim is a holiday of a bridge, of free love. One night where everyone is laughing, singing, dressing up. At least for a moment, the arguments are put aside. Because Purim, whether we want it or not, is a holiday that unites.