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Increasing Joy in Adar: Humor, Speech, and the Fine Line Between Laughing With and Laughing At

We are just days away from the beginning of the Hebrew month of Adar — the month in which we celebrate Purim.

Purim commemorates the events recorded in the Book of Esther, when Haman, prime minister of the Persian Empire under King Ahasuerus, sought to annihilate the Jewish people across the known world — 127 provinces. Through what can only be described as hidden or “natural” miracles, the decree was overturned and the Jewish people were saved.

One of the most striking aspects of the Book of Esther is that G-d’s name does not appear anywhere in the text. Not once. And yet, our sages teach that Purim is precisely about recognizing G-d’s presence behind the scenes — arranging events long before we realize we need them.

Esther is placed in the palace long before Haman rises to power. The cure precedes the illness. The salvation is prepared before the threat emerges.

On a deeper level, the story reveals something even more profound: evil itself becomes the mechanism of redemption. Haman engineers the downfall of Queen Vashti, paving the way for Esther’s ascent. He builds gallows for Mordechai — and is hanged upon them himself. When the king asks, “What should be done for the man whom the king wishes to honor?” Haman enthusiastically outlines royal treatment — only to be told to perform those honors for Mordechai.

Every step he takes brings about his own undoing.

There is even a beloved Midrashic addition to the story: as Haman leads Mordechai through the streets on the king’s horse, Haman’s daughter, assuming her father is being honored, empties a chamber pot onto the man leading the horse — only to discover it is her father, not Mordechai. Toilet humor? Absolutely. My children adore that story. Ages four through twenty-five — you can’t beat toilet humor.

But beneath the laughter lies something profound.

From the Moment Adar Begins…

Onze wijzen leren: “Mi’shenichnas Adar marbin b’simcha” — from the moment Adar begins, we increase our joy.

Adar is a month of happiness because it reminds us that even when G-d seems hidden, He is guiding events. That knowledge brings comfort. It brings security. It brings joy.

But what is the role of humor in that joy?

A Personal Parable: The Pain of Gout

Allow me to share something personal.

There is a phrase known as “man flu” — the idea that men become utterly incapacitated by minor colds. I have occasionally been accused of suffering from it. My wife kindly tucks me into bed with hot lemon and honey and says, “See you in three days.”

But once, I experienced real pain — the kind that leaves you writhing. My foot swelled to twice its size. X-rays showed no fractures. Eventually, the doctor diagnosed gout — uric acid crystals in the joints. He informed me it ranks among the most painful conditions known.

He treated the symptoms with powerful medication. But more importantly, I asked him: What caused this? How do I prevent it?

He explained the dietary triggers and prescribed long-term prevention.

The rabbi known as Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan (the Chofetz Chaim) uses precisely this type of analogy when discussing negative speech. When we speak badly about others, that is a symptom. If we only treat the mouth — trying occasionally to hold back a comment — we fight endless battles.

Instead, we must ask: What is the root?

He lists seven triggers that lead to harmful speech:

  1. Anger and irritation
  2. Mockery and joking
  3. Arrogance (including low self-esteem)
  4. Despair
  5. Social pressure
  6. A habit of complaining
  7. Ignorance — thinking the behavior is permitted

To this list, in modern times, we might add boredom.

Today, I want to focus on mockery and humor.

The Double-Edged Sword of Humor

By nature, I am sarcastic. British sarcasm can be sharp — sometimes too sharp. Humor easily turns into trampling others.

And yet, Jewish humor has sustained us through exile, pogroms, persecution, and suffering. Much of Jewish humor laughs in the face of adversity: “You may oppress us, but we will outthink you.”

Humor has healing power.

The Talmud tells of Rabbi Beroka, who once asked Elijah the Prophet which people in the marketplace would merit the highest levels of Heaven.

Elijah pointed to two jesters.

Rabbi Beroka was puzzled. Why comedians?

They explained: “When we see someone depressed, we cheer them up. When we see people arguing, we bring peace through humor.”

The Talmud places these jesters on the same spiritual level as a prison warden who risked his life to protect vulnerable women and secretly warn Jewish leaders of impending attacks.

Seventeen hundred years ago, the sages recognized what modern science now confirms: laughter heals.

But only when used correctly.

Laughing With, Not At

The test is simple:

Would the subject of the joke laugh with us?

If the humor depends on humiliating someone — even subtly — it crosses a line.

A student once asked whether she could retell a funny incident involving a friend who fell while holding onto a bus pole. It was hilarious — until we considered that her friend was overweight. The story might easily shift from situational humor to body-based mockery.

Intent matters. Context matters. Consequences matter.

Racial humor, too, is deeply problematic. Every culture has its targets. But jokes that divide and demean erode unity. Humor should elevate, not fragment.

What About Pranks?

Pranks introduce another ethical layer.

There is a prohibition called ona’at devarim — causing pain through words. Many pranks involve inducing panic or distress before the “reveal.”

Even if relief follows, what about the suffering in those moments? What about the anger or humiliation triggered in between?

If humor requires someone to experience genuine fear or shame, it becomes ethically questionable.

Better are pranks where observers are amused without causing the subject harm. Humor that surprises without traumatizing.

The goal is not to eliminate humor. On the contrary — Judaism values it deeply. There is even a profession in Israel known as hospital clowns — individuals trained to bring joy to patients, often children. Research supports what our sages long ago understood: happiness supports healing.

The Challenge of Adar

As Adar begins, we are instructed to increase joy.

Let us do so thoughtfully.

Let our humor be generous.
Let it build, not break.
Let it heal, not humiliate.

Because the Talmud teaches that those who lift others out of darkness through laughter merit the highest levels of Heaven.

And that is no small thing.

Talk van Rabbi Menachem Salasnik


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