As we approach the month of Adar, traditionally a time of joy and celebration in the Jewish calendar, many may find it difficult to feel the uplift that should accompany this season. In the wake of coffins being returned in Israel, the usual joy feels distant and perhaps even inappropriate. During a recent father-son trip to Washington, D.C., I encountered the words of President Lyndon B. Johnson following JFK’s assassination, which resonated deeply in our current reality of grief and resilience: “No words are sad enough to express our sense of loss…and no words are strong enough to express our determination to continue forward.”
This year, Purim falls unusually on the calendar, occurring right before Shabbat, which raises ritual questions about reading the Megillah (Book of Esther). The Talmud discusses why the Megillah isn’t read on Shabbat. One reason, given by Rav Yosef, states that “the eyes of the poor are raised to the reading of the Megillah.” Beyond the literal meaning about monetary gifts to the poor on Purim not being possible on Shabbat, this suggests the Purim story itself provides spiritual and emotional uplift to those who desperately need hope. In our current circumstances, we are all like those poor — aniyim — in need of something to carry us through our pain and into a brighter reality.
The unique nature of Adar’s joy distinguishes it from other forms of happiness in Jewish tradition. Unlike the joy of festivals (Simchat Yom Tov), the joy of performing mitzvot (good deeds), or the joy of weddings, Purim’s joy is transformative. Looking at Mordechai’s words in the Megillah itself, we find the essence of this special quality: “וְהַחֹ֗דֶשׁ אֲשֶׁר֩ נֶהְפַּ֨ךְ לָהֶ֤ם מִיָּגוֹן֙ לְשִׂמְחָ֔ה וּמֵאֵ֖בֶל לְי֣וֹם ט֑וֹב” — “And the month which was turned for them from sorrow to joy, and from mourning to holiday” (Esther 9:22).
This is not a joy that merely sets aside pain temporarily, but one that actively converts suffering into celebration — transforming the very nature of our experience. As we draw nearer to the powerful story of Esther and the commemorations of Purim, we look to this unique transformational power. In times of national distress, we pray for that special Purim transformation: from mourning to dancing, from grief to joy. We beseech God to give us a taste of this redemptive joy, even in our darkest moments, turning our “יָגוֹן לְשִׂמְחָה וּמֵאֵבֶל לְיוֹם טוֹב” — our “sorrow to joy, and our mourning to holiday.”
May this be God’s will for us all as we enter the month of Adar.
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