A broad look at the Jewish calendar reveals an intriguing pattern. Each festival invites us to experience a particular emotion. Rosh Hashanah calls us to feel the awe of judgment; Yom Kippur invites holiness and elevation. Sukkot ushers us into the chambers of joy; Chanukah summons us to praise and thanksgiving; Pesach calls forth a sense of freedom; Tisha B’Av asks us to diminish joy and feel the sorrow of the Temple’s destruction.
And Purim? The days of Purim invite us to “make them days of feasting and joy.”
Is it truly possible for every Jew — each person as they are — to experience the same emotion at precisely the same time?
This raises a question: Is it truly possible for every Jew — each person as they are — to experience the same emotion at precisely the same time? How can each of us tune our hearts to feel the “right” emotion for a given moment in the calendar?
And another question follows: What distinguishes the joy of Sukkot from the joy of Purim? What differentiates these two festivals, both of which call upon us to rejoice? Is there duplication here, or are these fundamentally different forms of joy?
In the lines that follow, I will suggest a new lens through which to view the days of Purim — the emotional invitation they contain, and the way in which one might connect to the pulse of the Jewish collective through shared joy.
Reactive Joy and Initiated Joy
In her final address before her passing (on the 26th of Adar, 5695), Sarah Schenirer delivered a profound and moving message to her students.
She pointed to a psychological transformation in Queen Esther as reflected in the Megillah. At the beginning of the narrative, Esther appears in a passive posture: she is taken to the house of Achashverosh; she does not reveal her people or her birthplace; and when her turn comes to approach the king, “she requested nothing.” Her inner movement is one of flowing with circumstance — without initiative, without choice, even without resistance.
Then comes the turning point. Esther’s maidens inform her that Mordechai walks about clothed in sackcloth. Disturbed, she sends garments for him to wear. Mordechai refuses and sends word to her: arise and act on behalf of the Jewish people.
At this stage, Esther’s response still reflects her earlier posture. She sends Hatach and tells Mordechai: “And I have not been called to come before the king.” Esther chooses a passive position (“I have not been called” — a passive verb). She knows that entering unbidden could cost her life. But Mordechai clarifies the stakes: “If you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance will arise for the Jews from another place — but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows whether it was for a moment such as this that you attained royalty?” Esther hears these words — and rises to act.
The following verse describes her transition from passivity to agency: “Esther clothed herself in royalty.” It does not say she donned royal garments; it says she clothed herself in royalty. She enters into the consciousness of kingship. She makes an inner decision and moves into leadership — and through her, Hashem brings about the salvation of Israel.
Purim is different. The days of Purim invite another kind of joy — joy born of searching, reflection, and effort.
There are two ways to experience emotion. The first is reactive. A joyful event occurs — the heart fills with joy. A sad event — the heart is covered in pain. Someone angers us — we respond in anger. Someone accuses us — we feel shame. This is the natural mode from early childhood. When a mother smiles, the baby laughs; when a face frowns, he cries.
In a certain sense, the joy of Sukkot is reactive joy: joy in response to what is. The commentators offer many reasons for the festival’s happiness: remembrance of the Clouds of Glory, the cleansing after Yom Kippur, the gathering of the harvest, the celebration of the water-drawing. All of these are causes of joy. They generate emotion.
Purim is different. The days of Purim invite another kind of joy — joy born of searching, reflection, and effort.
Seeking Hashem Within Concealment
What does this mean?
The Gemara states: “We are still servants of Achashverosh.” That is to say, the exile of Persia did not end with the annulment of the decree. The miracle occurred within exile. (For this reason, Hallel is not recited on Purim.) If so, what is the great joy of Purim?
Furthermore, the Midrash teaches: “All the festivals will one day be nullified, but the days of Purim will never cease.” What is the timeless message of Purim — which, despite its partial nature (for it was not a complete redemption), carries eternal significance?
The answer is that Purim teaches us a joy that is not reactive. From Purim we learn to choose joy even in a state of concealment, darkness, and exile.
Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner offers a striking parable: two people walk in the dark. One searches for his friend with a candle; the other gropes through the darkness. The latter, moving in darkness, learns to listen carefully — perhaps he will detect a rustle that signals his friend’s presence. He sharpens his sense of smell, his sense of touch. He develops “night vision.” Through the effort of searching in darkness, he acquires capacities that cannot be gained in any other way.
Unlike other miracles in Jewish history that brought exile to an end and were enshrined as festivals in our calendar, Purim takes place within exile, within concealment.
The story of the Megillah unfolds in exile, in darkness. Unlike other miracles in Jewish history that brought exile to an end and were enshrined as festivals in our calendar, Purim takes place within exile, within concealment. And it is precisely there — precisely there — that the Jewish people accept the Torah anew out of love.
At Sinai, standing beneath the mountain in the face of overwhelming revelation, choice was far more limited — “He held the mountain over them like a barrel.” What room is there to refuse the Torah when it is given with such signs and wonders? Yet here, in the events of Purim, within the natural order of events, the Jewish people adopt an active posture and choose to perceive within them the revelation of Hashem.
When we take initiative and seek connection with the Ribbono Shel Olam, when we actively pursue the discovery of divine closeness precisely within great darkness, we acquire eternal acquisitions. Of these, it is said: “Their memory will not depart from their descendants.” These are eternal values, possessing trans-historical validity.
The days of Purim teach us to labor in order to recognize Hashem’s presence precisely within an unfinished process — within unresolved pain, within concealed natural governance. This is the great lesson of Purim’s joy. Sukkot teaches us to connect to reactive joy — to rejoice in what is given. Purim teaches us to discern the subtle and partial manifestations of the Shechinah within darkness.
Of Purim it is said, “They accepted it again out of love,” for the discovery of Hashem within concealment engenders love and deepened closeness — and there is no greater joy than that.
