Finding and Building Joy in Adar

 By Rabbi Shaya Hauptman

Happiness is something every one of us has tasted at different times in our lives. Some people seem to carry it naturally. It appears to be part of their temperament and how they move through life. Others experience it in moments when life perfectly lines up, and something good happens. And some of us attach it to the next thing on the calendar, the vacation, the wedding, the promotion, the new purchase, telling ourselves that when we finally get there, we’ll feel that lift we’ve been waiting for.

There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s human to look forward to milestones and special occasions. But it does raise an honest question. What role is joy, or simcha, actually supposed to play in our lives? Is it a reward that just shows up when circumstances cooperate? Is it a personality trait that only some people seem to have? Or is it something more constant and balanced?

Our tradition assumes something different. In Masechet Ta’anit 29a, the Talmud teaches that just as we reduce joy when the month of Av begins, so too we increase joy when Adar begins. The wording is deliberate. In Av, we’re not told to eliminate joy. We simply reduce it. In Adar, we’re not told to create it from nothing. We just increase it.

That language suggests that joy is expected to be present all year long. The calendar adjusts the volume, but it never turns it on or off.

This connects directly to a verse many of us know. “Ivdu et Hashem be’simcha,” serve Hashem with joy (Tehillim/Psalms 100:2). If life is about connection with Hashem, then joy isn’t optional. It isn’t something added only when things are going well. It’s the emotional state that makes connection possible. The Orchot Tzaddikim writes that the highest level of closeness to Hashem can only be reached through joy. Simcha isn’t just pleasant; it’s essential.

It’s also practical. King Solomon writes, “A joyful heart improves health” (Mishlei/Proverbs 17:22). Long before modern research spoke about stress and resilience, the Torah recognized that our emotional state affects our physical well-being. Joy strengthens. It steadies. It empowers us to think clearly and respond thoughtfully.

At the same time, joy doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Whether it’s stress, family strain, health concerns, financial pressure, or any number of the issues we all deal with that inhibit our sense of joy, they’re real and can’t be ignored. And for those of us who spend our days helping others with those very struggles, there’s an added responsibility. We invest emotional energy in supporting clients, colleagues, and community members. We remind others to rest, to breathe, and to take care of themselves. Yet it’s easy to overlook those same needs in our own lives.

We understand that flight attendants instruct us to put on our own oxygen mask first, not because we matter more than anyone else, but because if we can’t breathe, we won’t be able to help anyone else. Increasing simcha isn’t self-indulgent; it’s responsible. It’s how we sustain ourselves so we can continue to serve without burning out.

The month of Adar arrives, inviting us to turn the volume up a bit. Not to deny hardship or pretend everything is perfect, but to be intentional about expanding what’s already meant to be there. Purim itself came after a period of uncertainty and fear. The salvation in Megillat Esther unfolds in hidden ways. Hashem’s name doesn’t even appear openly in the text, yet His presence becomes clear when we step back and see the full picture. The joy of Purim isn’t naive optimism. It’s the clarity that comes from recognizing meaning even when it isn’t obvious at first glance.

So perhaps the question for Adar isn’t whether we feel happy at every moment. A more realistic question might be what it would look like to increase our joy by, say, one degree this month. Not a dramatic personality shift, and not forced cheerfulness, but a small and deliberate expansion.

It might mean noticing the small things we usually rush past. It might mean setting aside time to recharge without guilt. It might mean giving more intentionally, knowing that generosity shapes the giver as much as it supports the recipient. It might simply mean preparing for Purim not only with costumes and food, but with perspective.

We’re never instructed to live without joy. Even in Av, we reduce it, but we don’t erase it. That’s intentional. Simcha is part of a healthy and whole life, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Perhaps the real question isn’t whether we’ll find joy, but whether we’ll choose to build on it.