This Passover, Let’s Liberate Laughter

The toughest thing in the world is to make people laugh. It’s easy to share meaningful things, discuss current events, complain about the state of the world, etc., but to purposefully make someone laugh? That don’t come easy.

And right now, who even feels like laughing? When we’re inundated with so much serious stuff, laughter is hardly a priority. Making it a priority would mean feeling guilty about ignoring the things that demand our attention. And who wants to feel guilty?  

My problem is that I have a laughter addiction.

It comes from my childhood. With my buddies growing up in Montreal, laughing wasn’t just a happy accident; it was our favorite pastime. We made fun of everything and anything, including each other, just to get a laugh. It was our drug of choice. And boy did it help us get through those icy Canadian winters.

It’s true, of course, that as one gets older and takes on more responsibilities and worries about things like antisemitism and your kid’s college essay, laughing goes way down the priority ladder.

For some reason, though, that hasn’t happened with me. Through all the worrying and the responsibilities, laughter has stubbornly remained my drug of choice.

Maybe that’s why I love hanging out with comics. Getting people to laugh is their responsibility. For them, laughter is an attitude, a full-time attitude. It’s the aphrodisiac they’re always ready to serve up.

When I hang out with comics like Elon Gold or Mark Schiff or Danny Lobell, there’s a kind of ticking clock in my brain. I know something funny will erupt at any moment, and it usually does. Laughter, one of our greatest pleasures, is how these comics bring value into the world.

Now we come to the biggest and most serious Jewish night of the year—the Passover Seder. Everything about the Seder reeks of serious. Serious symbols, serious meaning, serious lessons. Where is there room for laughter in this sacred place of meaning?

Even for Jews who get creative and tailor their Seders, the themes are usually pretty serious, like freedom, social justice, the environment, and so on. Good luck finding a rabbi who will discuss laughter as a component of a Seder.

Though I’m an addicted laugher, I’ve also ridden the serious train. My Passover essays over the years have focused on spiritual and historical themes, which feels much more appropriate. Our Passover issue this week continues in that serious tradition.

So why am I going off script this year and interrupting this tradition with laughter? What can something silly like laughter have to do with a seriously meaningful holiday like Passover?

I got an answer recently from a great-grandmother that I spend a lot of time with. I noticed one day that the conversation around her always revolved around serious stuff like health, the kids, food choices, Israel, and so on.  Then, one afternoon, an accident happened. Out of nowhere, something incredibly funny interrupted us. I had never seen her face crack up like that. It felt so satisfying and liberating that I asked myself: Can I give her more of that? 

So what does laughter have to do with Passover? Here’s my best shot at an answer: Laughter is the epitome of liberation. It’s what happens when we feel totally free to let go, when we feel no fear, when we surrender to a spontaneous burst of joy.

“In every generation they rise up to destroy us”? Sure they do. And we should never let our guards down. But guess what? Laughter is also a helluva strong response to those who think they have us on the run. We’re so not afraid of you that we’re cracking up and living it up.

I’m not suggesting we should engage in a festival of laughs when we sit down Saturday night with the symbols of tears and bitter herbs on our tables. Recounting our ancient story is too important. Honoring the pain around us is too important.

But maybe this year, faced with the serious lessons from the greatest of all Jewish stories, we can squeeze in some time at our Seders for a few good laughs.

If the annual Passover tradition that has prevailed for millennia is a reminder to never forget our past, it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve come from those days of bondage. For American Jews, there’s no better sign of our progress than the freedom we’ve had to make America laugh, a freedom that has created deep bonds with our adopted country.

We tend to think of freedom in serious ways, and for good reason — the freedom to practice our religion, to speak up, to make a living, to fight for our rights.

But this Passover, on behalf of all those funny Jews who have been doing the toughest job in the world for so long —like making great-grandmothers laugh — let’s also remember the freedom to crack up.

Happy Passover.