Tuesday, September 30, 2008

Humor and Repentance

Rosh Hashanah Day 2
October 1, 2008


One of my favorite Jewish thinkers is a Greek by the name of Philo. He lived in the first century of the common era in Alexandria, Egypt. In his commentary on the Binding of Isaac, he reads the story as a philosophical parable. It pivots on Isaac’s name, Yitzhaq, from the Hebrew word for laughter. The story, says Philo, portrays Abraham’s command to sacrifice his son as a metaphor for the task of every truly pious man -- that he should sacrifice his laughter and joy in service to God. These earthly pleasures, Philo reasons, pale in comparison to the ultimate joy of knowing, fearing, and obeying the one true God.

I humbly submit that Philo didn’t get this one quite right. I believe that humor can be redemptive, helping us shine the light of day on our faults and so become better able to address them. But don’t take it from me, take it from Freud, another of my favorite Jewish thinkers:

The occurrence of self-criticism as a determinant may explain how it is that a number of the most apt jokes...have grown upon the soil of Jewish popular life. They are stories created by Jews and directed against Jewish characteristics….

The Jewish jokes which originate from Jews...know their real faults as well as the connection between them and their good qualities, and the share which the subject has in the person found fault with…

Incidentally, I do not know whether there are many other instances of a people making fun to such a degree of its own character.
(~Sigmund Freud, Jokes and their Relation to the Unsconscious)

Especially in this season of teshuva, we should be grateful for the gift of humor. A good joke can disarm the ego, and a good laugh can bring estranged friends back together. Although mocking humor can hurt, warm humor can heal. And if we can laugh about our own faults, then we may yet conquer them, and -- laughing -- turn back to God, to each other, and to the better angels of our nature.

Now, since I’ve been talking about humor in such solemn and rational Greek and Freudian terms, I’d like to close with the words of yet another of my favorite Jewish thinkers, Woody Allen. His retelling of the Binding of Isaac, I believe, balances delicately on that line between reverence and irreverence:

And Abraham awoke in the middle of the night and said to his only son, Isaac, "I have had a dream where the voice of the Lord sayeth that I must sacrifice my only son, so put your pants on." And Isaac trembled and said, "So what did you say? I mean when He brought this whole thing up?"

"What am I going to say?" Abraham said. "I'm standing there at two a.m. in my underwear with the Creator of the Universe. Should I argue?"

"Well, did he say why he wants me sacrificed?" Isaac asked his father.

But Abraham said, "The faithful do not question. Now let's go because I have a heavy day tomorrow."

And Sarah who heard Abraham's plan grew vexed and said, "How doth thou know it was the Lord and not, say, thy friend who loveth practical jokes." And Abraham answered, "Because I know it was the Lord. It was a deep, resonant voice, well modulated, and nobody in the desert can get a rumble in it like that."

And Sarah said, "And thou art willing to carry out this senseless act?" But Abraham told her, "Frankly yes, for to question the Lord's word is one of the worst things a person can do, particularly with the economy in the state it's in."

And so he took Isaac to a certain place and prepared to sacrifice him but at the last minute the Lord stayed Abraham's hand and said, "How could thou doest such a thing?"

And Abraham said, "But thou said--"

"Never mind what I said," the Lord spake. "Doth thou listen to every crazy idea that comes thy way?" And Abraham grew ashamed. "Er--not really ... no."

"I jokingly suggested thou sacrifice Isaac and thou immediately runs out to do it."

And Abraham fell to his knees, "See, I never know when you're kidding."

And the Lord thundered, "No sense of humor. I can't believe it."

"But doth this not prove I love thee, that I was willing to donate mine only son on thy whim?"

And the Lord said, "It proves that some men will follow any order no matter how asinine as long as it comes from a resonant, well-modulated voice."

And with that, the Lord bid Abraham get some rest and check with him tomorrow.
(~Woody Allen, Without Feathers)

I hope this joke helps remind us of our own faults, and also of our faith in the power of getting some rest and checking in again tomorrow. For tomorrow is another day, and the gates of teshuva are always open...

Shanah Tovah.

A Rosh Hashanah reflection (2008)

Rosh Hashanah Day 1
September 30, 2008 / 1 Tishrei 5769


A story is told of an old man who, on his 104th birthday, raised a glass of wine to the sky and proclaimed:
“Up there, they have forgotten about me!”

This old man’s toast reflects the view -- perhaps of many -- that when God remembers us, we are called from this life, but when God forgets us, we remain, neglected, here on earth.

In Judaism, where God is the Author of Life, we see it differently than this old man. To be alive is to be remembered by God. To be in peril or pain is to wonder, as did the Psalmist, “How long, O God? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me?” (Psalm 13:1)
This is why we say to each other: “May you be remembered for a good year.”

The power of remembering is so great that it can even conquer death. When we speak of a loved one we have lost, we say zichrono/a liv'racha, may his/her memory be for a blessing. When we remember, something of that person -- their presence -- lives on in our lives.

On this Rosh Hashanah day, also known as Zichron Teruah (the Remembrance of the Shofar Blast) and Yom HaZikaron (The Day of Rememberance), we pray for many kinds of memory:
  • We pray that God remembers us for a year of blessing.
  • We pray that we may remember those no longer with us so that the light of their lives continues to shine onto our own, illuminating our path to blessing.
  • And, looking ahead through the Days of Awe to Yom Kippur, also known as Yom HaDin (The Day of Judgment), we bring memory and judgment together and ask ourselves: how do we want to be remembered after we’re gone?
As we meditate during these highest of holy days on teshuvah -- returning to God and our best selves -- let us remember to remember... so that our past may teach our present how to turn the future into a blessing.