The month of Adar arrives with an ancient Jewish prescription: “Mi’shenichnas Adar, marbin b’simcha”—“When Adar enters, we increase in joy.” This teaching, found in the Talmud (Taanit 29a), is both a spiritual directive and a radical act of resilience. But what does it mean to increase joy when the world around us feels increasingly uncertain, divided, and filled with rising antisemitism? How can we embrace happiness when we feel overwhelmed by politics, disconnection, and fear?

This year, as we journey through Adar, we must take this call seriously. We must seek joy not as a distraction from reality but as a way to strengthen ourselves and our communities. The tradition of finding delight—even in difficult times—is one of Judaism’s greatest gifts.

Throughout Jewish history, our ancestors have faced moments of deep uncertainty. Empires have risen and fallen, communities have been exiled, and antisemitism has persisted in different forms. Yet, Jewish joy has never been extinguished. Instead, it has been a weapon against despair, a way to affirm life and hope.

We see this especially in Purim, a holiday that turns the tables on fear. The story of Esther and Mordechai is one of vulnerability and survival, but it is also a tale of unexpected joy. The Jewish people of Persia faced existential threat, yet when the tide turned, they did not simply survive—they celebrated. They exchanged gifts, fed the hungry, and rejoiced together. The Megillah concludes with a powerful verse: “LaYehudim hayetah orah v’simcha v’sasson v’ikar”—“For the Jews there was light, joy, happiness, and honour” (Esther 8:16). This phrase, which we recite every Saturday night at Havdalah, reminds us that even in the face of darkness, there is always the possibility of light.

Purim teaches us that joy is not a privilege for times of peace; it is a necessity for times of struggle. It is the ability to laugh, to dress up, to revel in absurdity, and to embrace community even when the world feels heavy. In a world where political uncertainty and a lack of social cohesion leave many feeling untethered, our traditions offer an anchor. Lighting Shabbat candles, sharing a meal with loved ones, singing familiar tunes—these are not just rituals. They are small acts of resistance against despair, reminders that we are part of something greater than ourselves. Even the simplest joys—a deep breath of fresh air, a child’s laughter, the taste of a favourite food—become sacred in times of struggle. They remind us that the world, despite its brokenness, still holds beauty.

The rising tide of antisemitism makes it easy to feel fearful or isolated, but Adar teaches us that Jewish joy is never meant to be solitary. It is something we cultivate together. Whether it’s through acts of kindness, gathering for Purim festivities, or simply checking in on a friend, increasing joy is a collective effort. In this month of Adar, let’s take this lesson to heart. Let’s tell stories that lift our spirits, share laughter even when things feel uncertain, and embrace the beauty of our traditions. Let’s dress up, bake hamantaschen, give gifts to those in need, and celebrate with intention.

Because increasing joy is not just a response to sadness—it is a strategy for resilience. And in a world that too often tells us to be afraid, choosing joy is one of the most powerful things we can do.

Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom, a joy-filled Adar, and a Chag Purim Sameach.