Symbols, Costumes & the Sacred

A Torah-Megillah-Olympics Reflection

By Rabbi Schneider | Parshah Tetzaveh: Exodus 27:20 - 30:10

There’s something wonderfully ironic about the fact that Purim almost always lands during this week’s Torah portion, Tetzaveh. On the surface, they seem like opposites. Purim is loud, funny, chaotic. Tetzaveh is detailed, priestly, focused on fabrics, jewels and sacred uniforms. One feels like a costume party, the other reads like an instruction manual.

Yet beneath the service, these traditions are in deep conversation.

Both Purim and Tetzaveh explore the power of what is hidden. Tetzaveh is the only Torah portion in Exodus through Numbers where Moses’ name doesn’t appear. He’s still there — commanding, guiding — but he’s unnamed. It’s a portion about leadership that operates without recognition. It’s about presence that isn’t obvious.

Purim, too, is a story of hiddenness. In the Book of Esther, God’s name never appears. Not once. The Megillah unfolds through court drama, political intrigue and brave human choices. Esther hides her identity. Mordechai refuses to bow. Events seem coincidental — until they don’t. God isn’t mentioned, but somehow, God is there.

Both Tetzaveh and Purim ask the same question: What holds us together when what we expect to see is hidden?

In Tetzaveh, the answer is clothing. Aaron’s priestly garments are described as being “for dignity and for beauty.” The High Priest literally carries the names of the tribes over his heart. The clothing isn’t about fashion; it’s about memory and responsibility. In moments when leaders remain unnamed, their dedication is carried not in titles, but in the garments that bear the weight of memory and responsibility

On Purim, we also put on costumes. But our masks are more than playful. They remind us that life itself often comes disguised. The absence of God’s name in the Megillah isn’t a theological accident. It’s a spiritual challenge: Can you find holiness even when it isn’t spelled out for you?

This year, watching the Olympic Games, I couldn’t help but think about sacred clothing. Olympic uniforms are carefully designed and powerfully symbolic. When athletes step onto the world stage, they’re not just individuals; they carry their country with them. The uniform transforms personal effort into communal representation.

 But what we see — the medals, the ceremonies — is only the outer layer. Beneath it are years of discipline, injury, sacrifice and unseen work. The spectacle hides as much as it reveals.

That’s the spiritual rhythm of Purim and Tetzaveh. The garments matter. The costumes matter. Symbols shape us. But what matters more is what they represent.

There’s also a quiet warning here. In Tetzaveh, holiness is about service, not performance. The priest carries names over his heart; he doesn’t chase applause. In the Purim story, Haman’s obsession with recognition nearly destroys everything. Visibility without humility can be dangerous.

We live in a time when so much is curated and displayed. Attention can feel like an Olympic sport. These texts push back gently. Moses teaches that leadership doesn’t depend on having your name in bold print. Esther teaches that stepping into the spotlight should be for the sake of others, not the self.

Purim and Tetzaveh, arriving together each year, remind us that Jewish life is a dance between what is seen and what is hidden. Sometimes we wear the uniform. Sometimes we wear the mask. Either way, we are called to carry one another’s names over our hearts.

And that may be the most sacred costume of all.