When the Rebbe Laughed

Rebbe Elimelech had an infectious personality.  They say, to look at the master’s face was to understand everything.  Nothing was hidden when one looked in the old man’s visage. Even more, what Elimelech was feeling spread like fire. It caught and swelled wherever Elimelech traveled. When he was depressed, his Hasidim would be unable to raise themselves up out of a chair. It was a mighty effort just to move. Their shoulders slumped and food tasted like clay. On the other hand when Rebbe Elimelech laughed…

When the Rebbe laughed the universe danced. The heavens opened and the sun was more brilliant than anyone could ever remember. When the master laughed, all was well. The Hasidim could not restrain the feet from moving rhythmically. Table thundered under hands, which slapped and banged as they sang songs that had no words but surely made the Ultimate Master smile.

Our sages tell us that when the month of Adar arrives our joy becomes exponential (Taanit 29a). Adar contains Purim, the festival of deliverance. Unlike the rest of our spiritually laden holy days, Purim is all let-the-hair-down, willful utter joy. Adar is also the month of the fish.  The zodiacal sign for the Hebrew month is Pisces. Just as fish reproduce in great quantities, we find our communal joy significantly increasing as well.

Rebbe Elimelech came across a Psalm, which reads, “For singing to our God is good.” The sage pondered those words. What exactly did it mean? Does God want, or need, our singing? Does the song please the Holy One, blessed be He? Surely the Master of the Universe does not need our words, much less our song.  Then, in a moment of clarity, the Rebbe understood and explained to his disciples that, “If when we sing, we can hear the Voice singing within us, it is the most and greatest good.”

God is present in our laughter.  He sings with us when we rejoice. He laughs when we discover truth and find new meaning in our ancient practices and words. “He that sits in the Heavens laughs,” (Psalms 2:4) when we were recover a part of our spiritual self on the road of life.

Perhaps we take ourselves too seriously. Maybe more than a grain of salt as called for in order to be truly human, perhaps we need a bulk-sized container of Morton's. Perhaps the greatest cause for pain is the fact that we forget how to laugh.  Often our antics are hilarious. Life taken too seriously loses its taam, its flavor.

For example. There was the time when this newly ordained Rabbi was officiating at his first funeral. Not having a clear idea of what I was to do, I raced out and bought an appropriate funeral suit (real dark), rehearsed the words of the text to dozen times or so, shined my shoes, called colleagues in a panic to find out how to craft a good eulogy.  The entire procedure had my heart beating wildly.

When the hour finally arrived I quickly got dressed, put on my most solemn face and departed. With a very few mistakes I got through the service with minimal problems.

Until. At the cemetery the ground was moist from a recent rainfall. In the middle of the famous Memorial Prayer, the ground of my left foot begin to cave in and my entire left let went straight down to the hole on top of the coffin.  With as much dignity as I could muster I pulled my mud-caked “funeral suit” out of the hole and resumed, pretending nothing unusual or unexpected had happened.  Every now and again I looked up out of my book to make eye contact and saw I staring at my brown, stained leg. A few smirks too.

I am sure that God appreciated my bravery but also had a hefty laugh Himself. The Master of the Universe must have a good sense of humor. After all, look how entertaining we are!  Personally speaking, I have provided countless hours of entertainment for HaKadosh Baruch Hu.

As Ecclesiastes put it, “If you are granted many years, rejoice in them all.”