From the Bima Blog

Rosh HaShanah Evening 5784 - September 15, 2023

Watch Rabbi Berry's RH Sermon

I remember it like it was yesterday - I was 17 - driving alone for the first time in my parent’s old Pontiac Grand Prix - I sped down the highway, windows open, singing loudly as music blasted from the speakers. It was a moment of pure delight. 

Of course there's more to the story and it may have involved a tow truck. 

After, I stood by the side of the road, waiting for my dad to pick me up. I was so worried. Would he be angry? Would he EVER let me drive EVER again? Would I be sent into exile? Okay, that one may have been a bit extreme. But I was 17. 

To my eternal luck - he wasn’t mad. Annoyed but not mad. The world did not end. The car was repaired. And a few weeks later I was out on the highway again. Singing loudly. And maybe driving a little slower. 

I’m so glad you laughed at this story - I look back and I laugh too. It feels great right? Who doesn’t love a good laugh. The best kind of laugh is a whole body experience. That uncontrollable kind of laughter when tears come to your eyes and you can hardly breathe. 

I recently learned that 4 year olds laugh around 300 times a day; for small children the world is filled with delight. Us adults, we tend to laugh a bit less. It can take us as long as 3 months to laugh 300 times.1I guess we all have to hang around kids more… 

And then there’s another problem - as we get older, strong emotional displays, whether it be anger, tears or full-on laughter are often frowned upon in public. Particularly in the work place. 

British author Bim Adewunmi describes it best on a podcast: “when I think about [laughter] - “fundamentally, I'm fighting against every urge in me, which is like…Don't do that…That’s too much emotion. You’re not supposed to laugh this loudly. You know, there's a reason why [British people’s] national sound is a tut. [TUTS]”2 

The fact that This American Life has developed a podcast called, “The Show of Delights,” that focuses on the lack of laughter and joy in our society is troubling. It’s clear that we don’t laugh nearly enough. And at the same time - I’ll give us this - there is so much about our world that is wrong, unfair and decidedly not funny. Our laughter could suggest that we dismiss or undercut the seriousness of the situation. If we laughed loudly about climate change, unemployment or reproductive rights, I’m not sure people would be all that appreciative. 

Knowing that there are so many legitimate reasons not to laugh - what is the role that laughter can play in our lives? 

For hundreds of years many religious thinkers would sadly say “not much.” More specifically there is no room for laughter in the religious experience. 

It’s just as 20th century theologian, Reinhold Niebuh explains: “…there is no laughter in the holy of holies. [It’s a place where] laughter is swallowed up in prayer and humor is fulfilled by faith… If we persist in laughter when dealing with the problem of human existence, when we turn life into a comedy, we…reduce it to meaninglessness.3 

Ouch. Niebuh seems to be saying that to laugh in front of God is to laugh AT God. And that laughter is irreverent if not a desecration of religious belief. 

And not only that, when life becomes nothing more than comedy - we have stripped it of all its’ depth and meaning. 

This feels so extreme. But Niebuh is not alone in this. 

During Judaism’s long history there have also been Jewish groups that understood religion from this point of view. Like the Essenes who lived in isolation in caves above the Dead Sea. This group abandoned the materialism and revelry of Jerusalem to live without frills or adornment. 

Lucky for us - they were not the ones to set the standard for Jewish tradition and practice. It was the ancient rabbis and they thought about laughter or its absence a lot. They were the sole survivors after the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. 

I can picture them now - gathered at the academy in Pumbedita, Babylonia - defenseless and forgotten. The temple was no more. They had no tradition to fall back on for comfort and for strength. And God was silent. There was nothing about their situation that was even remotely funny. 

But the genius of our ancestors was that instead of rejecting humor and levity - it became a cornerstone of the rabbinic tradition. The rabbis’ were resolute: laughter was necessary, desirable and good. And they sought out reasons to celebrate.

For the ancient sages, laughter was an act of theological resistance. God might be silent; but as long as there were reasons to laugh all was not lost. 

We can find abundant examples of this theology in rabbinic literature: 

The rabbis’ loved to write and to think about food - so it’s no surprise when they teach in the Talmud that, “You shall not guzzle wine...but, even so, despite all of the sorrow in the world there must still be room in the stomach for sweets.”4 The rabbis’ really did enjoy a good dessert. (I won’t comment on the wine). 

Not only did the rabbis’ enjoy good food and drink. In another Talmudic story they advise, “Use every possible way to bring yourself joy, even by joking or acting a little crazy!”5 So to anyone here tonight who is a parent of teenagers - when they tell you you are the most embarrassing person to have ever lived - double down - now you really can act crazy - and when you do - tell your kid that it’s not your fault; the rabbis’ told you to do it. 

And finally, another example, this one from Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav who himself suffered from depression: “Sometimes, when people are happy and dancing, they grab someone who is in sadness and black bitterness. Against their will they bring them into the circle; they force them to be happy along with them.”6 

These examples, among hundreds more found in the Mishna, the Midrash and the Talmud, illustrate a fundamental rabbinic principle: At our darkest moments, joy and laughter can come first. 

And surprisingly, even during the most solemn days of the Jewish year this continues to hold true. One of the traditional Torah portions read on the first day of Rosh Hashanah underlines this message. 

Many of you will know this story from Genesis well even if it is not our practice to read these verses at Temple Shalom. 

For years, the Biblical characters Abraham and Sarah struggled to have a child. Towards the end of their life 3 messengers appear. They tell the couple that Sarah will soon give birth to a son. Abraham immediately falls to the ground, while Sarah laughs uproariously.7 

There is a great deal of debate in rabbinic literature about whether Sarah’s laugh was ironic or one of pure joy. If her laugh was ironic who could blame her - she had waited for years, and now she was biologically too old to have children - the chutzpah of these messengers. The chutzpah of God.

But a Midrash offers a second explanation: When Sarah laughs, she causes others to heal. And when she gives birth, those who are infertile also give birth; those who are deaf regain their hearing; And people who are blind have their eyes opened.8 

Sarah’s laughter leads to healing. It restores her faith in God; a God she had perhaps given up on when for years she prayed and there was no answer. One short moment of laughter had the power to transform her and to transform others who also suffered in darkness. 

When Sarah’s son is born, she names him, Isaac - Yitzchak, “he will laugh.” Isaac was a child born out of joy and pain - but most importantly - laughter. 

I couldn’t think of a better story to tell on Rosh Hashanah. 

On this day of the world’s birth we know that in the year ahead there will be moments of sorrow amongst the moments of joy. Laughter offers us an opportunity to rise above a difficult situation and remind ourselves that tikkun - repair - doesn’t have to be some elusive hope or ideal - it really is still possible. 

Ross Gay writes in his book, Inciting Joy, “My hunch is that joy - [and laughter] - emerging from our common sorrow…might draw us together. It might depolarize us and de-atomize us enough that we can consider what, in common, we love...And though attending to what we hate in common is all too often the rage, noticing what we love in common and studying that, might help us survive.”9 

Just as laughter heals, it is a way to protest all that is wrong in the world. It is a way to reclaim our power when we feel powerless. And instead of turning anger on ourselves and on each other, we can laugh. 

Our laughter does not ‘reduce life to meaninglessness.’ Miriam Zami writes, “Laughter has the power to do just the opposite: ascribe meaning and agency to the darkest moments of history. The point to be underscored is this: the world is not ultimately tragic….And that is a cause for joy.”10 

So the next time you are having coffee with a friend and inevitably the conversation turns to the state of our world - take a moment - acknowledge all that is wrong, feel it, don’t dismiss it, and then find a reason to laugh. It’s ok. It isn’t irreverent or selfish. 

Maybe it’s because of a funny joke about a seemingly intractable situation, maybe it’s because of the delight you take in being together, or maybe it’s too much caffeine - but even for a few minutes give laughter and joy the right of way. It is our common joy and our common laughter that are the secret to our resilience. This year, as we begin 5784, may all of us be inscribed for a good laugh.11

Endnotes 

1. Pamela Gerloff. Psychology Today: “You’re Not Laughing Enough, And That’s No Joke,” June, 2011. 2. This American Life, “The Show of Delights,” Episode: Prologue, January, 2020 3. Reinhold Niebuhr, Discerning the Signs of the Times - Sermons for Today and Tomorrow 4. Megilla 7b 

5. Likutei Moharan, Part II 23:1:2 

6. Likutei Moharan, Part II 23:1:2 

7. Genesis 18 

8. Bereishit Rabbah 53:8 

9. Ross Gay, Inciting Joy, p. 9-10. 

10. Miriam Zami, Laughter in the Face of Tragedy: The Enduring Resistance of Rabbi Akiva. Posted on Sefaria, 2022. 

11. Phrase based on an article written by Meir Soleveichik, Commentary Magazine, 2017.