I’ve always loved the mitzvah of Mishloach Manot—giving gifts of food to others on Purim. My Mishloach Manot have never been extravagant, and many years, there’s nothing homemade in the bag (which is sometimes just a brown lunch sack). But the practice of connecting with others—of giving something of me, from me, to you—has always spoken to me. Rabbi David Hartman taught that the mitzvah of Mishloach Manot relates to the fact that the story of Purim doesn’t mention God at all. Purim reminds us of times and experiences when we can’t necessarily see the presence of divinity in our lives. And so, when the world feels hard, painful, chaotic—what do we do? How do we cope? What grounds us? We reach out to the people around us. We take care of each other by giving of ourselves. Even if it’s not extravagant—that was never the point—we connect.
Rabbi Yaakov Yechiel Weinberg, who survived the Warsaw Ghetto, raised the question of why we don’t recite a blessing over the mitzvah of Mishloach Manot. And I think his reasoning speaks to the beauty of the act itself. He writes that the mitzvah is referred to as a mitzvah t'midit—a perpetual mitzvah—meant to foster peace, love, and friendship. It’s a mitzvah that is always upon us; we never take a break from trying to increase these values in the world. And therefore, we can never say we’ve fulfilled it entirely—there is always more to do.
Perhaps that’s why I’ve always been drawn to Mishloach Manot. It’s a tool for deepening relationships, for creating connection when we so desperately need it. It reminds us of what our world should and could be. And it reminds us that it doesn’t have to be elegant—what matters is that increasing peace, love, and friendship is something we practice, always.
Wishing you all a Chag Purim Sameach today. May this be a year when good prevails over evil, when all the harsh decrees are nullified. And may we continue to perpetuate love, peace, and friendship—at all times.
