For many of us, Purim is the most joyous day of the year. The streets bustle with noise and activity as we step well beyond our comfort zones, donning festive attire, sharing and consuming sizable amounts of festive food and drink, and engaging in the type of boisterous activity we would shun and even frown upon at other times. Where does this mindset and energy come from?
Surely there is a mitzvah for us to be cheerful on Purim. We are told that “When the month of Adar comes we increase our joy” (Taanis 29a). But we also know there are some mitzvos we admittedly fulfill at more basic levels (or perhaps even below standard). What is it about Purim that motivates us to maximize the day to its fullest and celebrate with a particular gusto?
One obvious explanation for this display of deep joy is our feeling of immense appreciation. We express gratitude for the way Hashem orchestrated a series of seemingly unrelated events in order to anticipate and then undermine Haman’s heinous and destructive decree.
The problem with this suggestion, however, is that there are a number of other holidays, most notably Pesach and Chanukah, that also revolve around deliverance, with redemptions far more miraculous than what was witnessed on Purim. Yet the joy we demonstrate on those days does not come close to that of Purim.
Another possible reason for this distinction may stem from the fact that Purim commemorates our survival against the threat of physical annihilation, as opposed to a spiritual attack such as that of Antiochus IV or the callous maltreatment that was inflicted upon us by Pharaoh (which, outside of the decree to kill firstborn males, did not threaten our people with physical annihilation as much as with dehumanization, which affected them mentally and spiritually; this would explain why the Hebrews pined for a return to Egypt any time they felt worse off in the desert).
That explanation also fails to satisfy, since our physical survival would not seem to matter much had our spiritual identities and practices been snuffed out, a prospect that nearly materialized in each instance.
Why, then, did our sages instruct us to be so joyous specifically on Purim, more so, it seems, than at any other time in the Jewish year? For the answer, we need to look a bit deeper at the Jewish concept of joy and its special connection to Purim.
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A central concept in any discussion about happiness is achieving clarity. “Ain simcha ela k’hataras hasefeikos” – there is no joy as that experienced with the removal of doubt. (This phrase is quoted by Teshuvos HaRama in Responsa #5 and by Metzudas Dovid in his commentary to Mishlei 15:30, among others.)
Joy emerges from lucidity of purpose and direction, a feeling of inner contentment that develops from connecting deeply with our personal pathway and role in this world. Our joy deepens when we get past our fears and limiting beliefs and take the necessary steps to fulfill our purpose and mission.
While the pre-redemption experiences of Pesach and Chanukah were wrought with personal and communal doubt and fear, one could argue that they don’t compare with the levels of uncertainty and dread that confronted the Jews at the time of Purim.
The redemption from Egypt was long foretold, dating back to the bris bein habesarim, the covenant between the parts: “And [God] said to Abram, ‘You shall surely know that your seed will be strangers in a land that is not theirs, and they will enslave them and oppress them, for four hundred years. And also the nation that they will serve I will judge, and afterward they will go forth with great possessions’ ” (Bereishis 15: 13-14).
