When Joy Is Nowhere To Be Found

We’re often quoted a quip of Talmud at the start of Adar. A typical translation of this quote from the Sages found in Taanit 29a is: “When Adar enters, one increases in joy.” During times like these, many of us are left to wonder: what happens if we don’t increase our joy this month? Not simply because we choose not to be joyful, but because it is difficult to find the joy that could even be increased.

When Adar entered, my joy did not increase. My joy has decreased on quite a few of these long days. I’ve been struggling with major family difficulties, grieving the loss of my friend who died in January, and moving through feelings of deep sorrow and even alienation. That does not even account for the daily bombardment of horrifying news that flashes across my phone screen. Where is joy to be located amid all of that pain and grief? 

In the tradition of our ancestors and the practice of our yeshiva, I decided to move slowly and carefully through that text being quoted at us during Adar. I decided to turn my attention to the words on the daf rather than the words in my social media feed. 

כָּךְ מִשֶּׁנִּכְנַס אֲדָר מַרְבִּין בְּשִׂמְחָה / Kach mishennichnas adar marbin besimchah

The word מַרְבִּין/marbin caught my eye immediately. The word comes from the root רבה meaning to be or become great, many, much, or numerous, the same root as Rabbi is derived from. The ין suffix indicates that the word is plural and the מ is a prefix tells us that the word is present and in Hifil, or causative form. I quickly put together using my Jastrow dictionary that this word is present tense and masculine plural, but there is no clear subject in the sentence. Maybe it is Adar’s joy? Maybe it is some vague plural masculine entity? Whose joy is being caused to become great, many, much, numerous–or to polish it up a bit, increased–is unclear in the text. 

The translation I want to offer you during this season of scarce joy is derived from the words above, but also from my own svara:

So, when Adar arrives, joy will increase around you even if it cannot within you.

I don’t believe the Sages intended for us to assume that our individual joy is increased. It isn’t your joy or my joy that is increasing this month. Rather, it is a joy that simply exists without us needing to do anything. I wholeheartedly believe that our personal joy is irrelevant in Adar and every other month. We can exist just as we are, and the month of Adar, with all of its increasing joy, is here regardless of where we each fall on the joy-o-meter.

There is not a part of Jewish life left untouched by the presence of joy. But this ever-present joy is not the same as the joy of Purim. It is not the upside-down, wine-soaked, costume-adorned, carnival-type joy that increases around us this month. It is a joy that runs deep and is comfortable alongside our pain. It is a joy that remains steady and unbothered by the tears that must be shed by all the mourners of the world. It is a joy that is unrelenting, entirely independent of individual participation, and patiently abides those who cannot join in at the moment.

Rabbi Alan Lew, the author of the beloved book on the High Holidays, This is Real and You Are Completely Unprepared, said that “the truth is, any moment of our life fully inhabited, any feeling fully felt, any immersion in the full depth of life, can be the source of deep joy.” Jewish joy is exactly this kind of joy. It is the full feeling of life. It is the ability to find fleeting moments of pleasure in darkness or loss. It is the sensation of living into each moment and even each breath of our bodies. 

While joy will inevitably be increasing around us, and we are free from any shame if we can’t meet the joyful mandate, I want to offer a word of encouragement to try joy. I am offering that encouragement to myself more than anything. I find myself resisting joy during this season of my life because it is a painful reminder of how much joy there was in the before-my-friend-died-time and before-so-much-family-difficulty-time. I have winced at the sight of others’ joy on my worst days. Yes, I am admitting that I winced and begrudged the joy of someone else. I am admitting that because I don’t think that I am alone in that feeling or the urge. 

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, an 18th-century Hasidic rabbi and teacher, knew about sadness–the kind of sadness that sits heavy on a person’s soul and can feel immobilizing. Modern scholars believe he likely suffered from severe mental health struggles. His writings reflect this. Rebbe Nachman often wrote about the necessity and vitality of joy. Yet, he acknowledged the immensity of suffering that we must contend with in this world. When joy seemingly could be found nowhere, he taught it could be found in curious places:

Often you must do something a little bit nonsensical in order to make yourself happy (Likkutei Etzot, Happiness 30)

In this month of Adar, I am going to push past my urge to begrudge joy when I see it and instead follow the advice of Rebbe Nachman. I’m going to try something a little bit nonsensical here and there. Nothing too out-of-pocket, don’t worry. Maybe just nonsensical enough to let in the tiniest bit of the joy that shows up around me—the kind that exists in the breath I breathe and even in the tears I shed. I know that joy will contentedly sit beside my pain until I am ready to feel it more fully. I am going to trust that joy has a lot of patience for all of us who are unable to easily find it this month.