In just a few hours, Jewish communities will erupt in celebration. The streets will fill with laughter, the sounds of joyous singing and lechaims shared among friends and family. Purim is a day of joy, but for too many people, it is something else entirely. It is a day of isolation, of suffering in plain sight while the world around them dances.

It is for these people—the ones who feel invisible in their pain—that we at YWN feel compelled to speak up right now.

For many months now, the growing mental health crisis in our community has been something we wanted to write about but held back. Each time we considered addressing the issue, another suicide had just occurred. Out of respect for the grieving families, we waited. Then, another suicide happened. So we waited again. And then another. And another. Now, another family has been shattered. Another set of children will grow up not only without a parent but with the trauma that lingers for those left behind. The unshakable questions will follow them for the rest of their lives—wondering what they could have done, whether they were at fault, whether they missed something.

Suicide is not a rare tragedy. It has happened too often, to too many people, in too many families, for us to continue pretending this is not a crisis. Depression and mental illness have claimed fathers, mothers, teenagers, and children. And yet, it remains a subject that is either ignored or whispered about in discomfort, disguised publicly as sudden illness or unexplained tragedy. The truth is, as a kehilla, we have not shown the urgency that this issue demands.

Mental illness does not go away because we refuse to talk about it. The suffering does not end because we pretend it does not exist. Too many times, people shrug off suicide with quiet rationalizations—that person must have been deeply troubled, or had issues that were beyond help. That kind of thinking is not just dismissive; it is dangerous. It fosters complacency and ensures that the cycle of suffering continues, unchecked, until it reaches someone you know. Someone you love.

Purim presents a stark contrast. It is a day of pure joy for many, but it is also the hardest day of the year for those who struggle with depression. The celebration that surrounds them only intensifies their loneliness. While one person is lifted by the spirit of the day, another is drowning in despair, feeling more alone than ever. While one person drinks to enhance their simcha, another is drinking to escape their pain. The happiest day for some is the darkest day for others.

We cannot afford to keep ignoring this. It is not enough to shake our heads in dismay when another tragedy occurs. We need to learn. We need to recognize when someone is struggling. We need to understand how to respond. Telling someone that “things will get better” does little to help a person who feels trapped in hopelessness. What they need is someone who sees them, who understands them, who knows how to help, and who will guide them to the professional support they need. So many lives could be saved if more people simply knew how to respond to those who are suffering.

Purim is a day of achdus, of giving, of caring for others. If there is one thing to take upon ourselves this year, let it be this: to open our eyes to those around us. To pay attention. To recognize the struggles that are not always spoken about. To be the person who offers a lifeline instead of looking away. To be someone who learns from a professional how to respond and provide assistance to people in crisis.

We cannot continue to lose people to suicide and remain silent. We cannot keep walking past shattered families while pretending everything is fine. There is no more time to wait. The time to act is now.