We have entered the Hebrew month of Adar, a month that Jewish tradition associates with one central command: marbim b’simcha—we increase in joy.
Joy, of course, is not meant to be limited to a single month. Judaism never suggests that happiness should be seasonal. But Adar invites us to place joy at the center of our attention, to ask how we create it more intentionally, more generously, and more expansively than usual.

One of the oldest insights in Jewish wisdom is that joy grows when it is shared. We increase our own happiness not by accumulating more for ourselves, but by bringing joy to others—through acts of kindness, generosity, and care.

And if we pause for a moment, it becomes clear that this calling does not stop with other human beings.

We have the ability to bring joy—or suffering—not only to people, but to the wider circle of creation itself.

From the very beginning of the Torah, human beings are given a unique role in the world. Adam and Eve are placed in the Garden of Eden l’ovdah u’l’shomrah—to serve it and to protect it. We are not owners of the world, but stewards. And no other species on earth has the power we do to shape the fate of so many other living beings through our choices.

Joy, in Judaism, is never detached from responsibility.
 

Purim: Joy Rooted in Moral Courage

The joy of Adar reaches its peak on Purim, the most exuberant holiday on the Jewish calendar. But it is important to remember what Purim is actually celebrating.

It is not just a party. It is the story of survival in the face of existential threat, and of individuals who found the courage to act when it mattered most.

Mordechai refuses to bow to Haman—not because it is easy or safe, but because he knows it is wrong. He does not follow the crowd. He does not compromise his values to fit the moment. And even when his stance appears dangerous, it ultimately becomes the catalyst for salvation.

Esther, in her own way, shows equal courage. She could have remained silent, protected by the palace walls. Instead, she risks everything by revealing who she is and speaking on behalf of her people. Jewish history turns not because of force, but because of moral clarity and bravery.

Purim teaches us that joy is not shallow happiness. It is born from standing firmly in truth, even when that truth is inconvenient or unpopular.

That lesson has not lost its relevance.
 

Choosing Compassion in a World of Pressure

Every generation faces its own version of Haman—not always as a single villain, but often as powerful systems that normalize harm and tell us, “This is just how the world works.”

Few areas reflect this more clearly than our food system.

Today, tens of billions of animals suffer every year in industrial farming systems, largely so that humans can experience a fleeting taste. This suffering is hidden from view, sanitized by packaging and distance, but it is real—and it is immense.

Choosing to step away from that system can feel isolating. Those who make compassionate food choices are often told they are extreme, unrealistic, or naïve. And yet, Jewish tradition has never measured truth by popularity.

Like Mordechai, we are sometimes called to refuse to bow—not out of defiance, but out of integrity.

When we know that a choice causes unnecessary harm, and when alternatives are available, Jewish values of compassion (rachamim), justice (tzedek), and kindness (chesed) urge us to choose differently—even if we stand in the minority.

That choice, too, is a source of joy.
 

Esther’s Teaching About Food

There is a lesser-known detail in the Purim story that carries surprising relevance.

According to rabbinic tradition, Esther avoided the food of the royal palace because it was not kosher. Instead, she sustained herself on seeds, nuts, and plant foods. In other words, she kept kosher by eating what we would today call a vegan diet.

This detail offers a powerful insight: keeping kosher does not have to be complicated. Much of the complexity we associate with kashrut—waiting periods, concerns about mixing, questions of slaughter—exists only if we choose to eat animals.

When we do not, kashrut becomes simpler, cleaner, and less fraught with ethical and practical concerns.

This is not an abandonment of Jewish law, but a return to its ethical core. Many respected rabbis today have raised serious questions about industrial kosher slaughter, particularly the speed and conditions under which it takes place. Choosing plant-based food removes those concerns entirely.

It is, in many ways, the simplest form of kosher living.

And simplicity, too, can be a source of joy.
 

Joy That Radiates Outward

In my work as a rabbi and educator with Jewish Vegan Life, I meet many Jews who are not looking to be radical or confrontational. They are simply asking honest questions: How can my daily choices reflect the values I pray about? How can I live with greater alignment and less contradiction?

Again and again, I see that when people make compassionate food choices, something shifts. Their kitchens become simpler. Their lives feel more coherent. And perhaps most importantly, they experience a steady increase in joy—knowing that their actions are bringing less suffering and more kindness into the world.

Judaism teaches that we are meant to be a source of light. A better world is not an abstract idea; it is a world with more joy, more compassion, and less unnecessary pain.

Adar invites us to ask a simple but powerful question:

What can I do this month to increase joy—not only for myself, but for others, for animals, and for the world I am meant to protect?

Once we know the answer, the tradition challenges us not to wait.

Let us choose courage.

Let us choose compassion.

And let us allow that choice to become a source of deep and lasting joy.

Chag sameach, and may this month of Adar bring blessing to all of creation.