Purpose in the Face of Fear

Stalin, Under Whose Regime State-Sponsored Antisemitism in the USSR Became Systemic, Died in Moscow During Purim

Conjunctions in the calendar sometimes cause historical dates to speak a symbolic language. During Purim in 1953, while the Book of Esther was being read in synagogues, Joseph Stalin was dying in Moscow—a ruler under whose regime state-sponsored antisemitism in the USSR became systemic and repressive.

This alignment was more than merely chronological. The Megillah (Scroll of Esther) is a text addressing political threats, the mechanics of suspicion, and human choice in an atmosphere of fear. This was precisely the reality of Soviet Jewry during the final years of the Stalinist era.

The Book of Esther describes a comparable structure:

firstly, the image of an "alien" people is constructed; secondly, this distinctiveness is declared a threat; and finally, rhetoric is transformed into an official decree.

Centuries separate the history of Ancient Persia from the events of the twentieth century, yet the apparatus of suspicion remains remarkably recognizable.

Nevertheless, the Book of Esther is not only a narrative of fear, but of choice.

Central to logotherapy, the system developed by Viktor Frankl, is the principle that the ultimate human freedom—the freedom to choose one's attitude—cannot be stripped away. Even under intense pressure, a space of meaning remains accessible.

An individual does not choose their circumstances, but they do choose who they will be within them.

Soviet Jews of the late 1940s and early 1950s found themselves at precisely such a juncture.

The dissolution of the Jewish Anti-Fascist Committee, the assassination of Solomon Mikhoels, the closure of Jewish cultural institutions, the banning of "The Black Book," the campaign against "rootless cosmopolitans," and subsequent "Doctors' Plot" created an atmosphere in which the very term "Jew" became synonymous with suspicion. In my book, *Suitcase, Train Station, Israel: On the History of Antisemitism in the USSR*, I examine in detail how accusations of "dual loyalty" were instrumentalized for state repression.

This motif is particularly acute in the fate of the poet Itzik Feffer—a symbol of the era's dual tragedy: a Jewish poet and Soviet patriot who celebrated the struggle against Nazism, who was nonetheless executed in 1952 as a "nationalist." His fate encapsulates the core tension of the Book of Esther: state loyalty does not guarantee immunity from the suspicion of alterity.

During the war, he wrote:

"Through all the wanderings and tribulations / I repeated that I am a Jew..."

These lines contained neither a challenge to the system nor a political manifesto. Instead, they represented a decision to preserve an identity in a space that increasingly demanded total assimilation. Such a public declaration of being Jewish was not a slogan, but a readiness to remain oneself despite external pressure. It reflects the preservation of meaning where fear demanded silence, maintaining inner freedom when external liberty had already been extinguished.

The Book of Esther is universal precisely because it offers no promise of miraculous external deliverance. The text features no overt divine intervention; the narrative unfolds solely through human decisions. Esther could have remained in the palace, ensuring her personal safety, yet she chose responsibility.

Frankl wrote that meaning is revealed when an individual perceives a situation not as an impasse, but as a task. Esther accepted this challenge, and in doing so, altered the course of history.

The Soviet Jews of the late 1940s and early 1950s were not biblical figures. They lived in communal apartments, worked in institutions, and stood in queues. Yet they faced comparable questions: to assimilate or to preserve their name; to remain silent or to remember; to abandon the memory of the Holocaust or to continue gathering testimonies; to keep a low profile or to remain internally true to themselves.

Some wrote letters supporting Israel. Others preserved books in Yiddish and Hebrew. Others gathered at the synagogue when Golda Meir arrived in Moscow in 1948—not for political reasons, but out of a sense of solidarity with the rebirth of Jewish statehood. Though modest, these actions demonstrated the sphere of freedom described by Frankl.

The death of Stalin during Purim served as a symbol of historical reversal. However, the Book of Esther reminds us that such reversals do not occur in a vacuum; they become possible when individuals refuse to allow fear to have the final word.

For this reason, the Book of Esther remains one of the most universal texts of Jewish culture. Its motifs resonate across different countries and eras whenever the rhetoric of suspicion targets "others," whenever language is used to construct an enemy, and whenever loyalty is questioned.

This text is not addressed solely to Jews. It is directed toward any society facing the temptation to explain its difficulties by attributing them to the existence of a "particular people."

It serves as a reminder that history is shaped not only by decrees, but by human choices.

Perhaps its primary lesson for today is this:

even in the most unsettling times, an individual remains capable of choosing meaning, thereby preserving freedom where it seemingly no longer exists.