A Legacy of Laughter

ESSAY: A Legacy of Laughter
Peace and tranquillity is the stuff of our dreams; but in the final analysis, we want more from life than the absence of strife

INSIGHTS: Father and Son
What did the first two generations of Jews think of each other?

THE WRITTEN WORD: The Rebbe on the Kibbutz
Can a person’s sense of individuality be suppressed? Should it be suppressed?

Abraham named the son ... whom Sarah bore to him, Isaac (“laughter”).

And Sarah said: “G-d has made laughter for me; all who hear shall laugh for me”

Genesis 21:3, 6

Then our mouths shall be filled with laughter, and our tongues with song

Psalms 126:2

The Torah is divided into 54 parashiyot (“sections” or “portions”), each of which is studied and publicly read in the synagogue on another week of the  year. Each parashah has a name, derived from its opening verses; yet no single rule determines which word or words are chosen to identify it. For example, the sections that begin with the words “And Korach took” and “And Balak saw” are named Korach and Balak respectively; but the section beginning “And Jacob went out” is called Vayeitzei (“and he went out”), and the section beginning “And Judah approached him” is called Vayigash (“and he approached”), rather than “Jacob” and “Judah.”

The Chassidic masters explain that each parshah name embodies a lesson that is connected to the primary theme of the section as a whole, and which is of eternal significance to every generation. Thus, each section receives the name that is most appropriate to it and which maximizes its relevance to our lives.[1]

A case in point is this week’s Torah reading, which is called Toledot (“chronicles” or “progeny”) after its opening words, “And these are the chronicles of Isaac.” But five weeks ago we read a Torah section that began “And these are the chronicles of Noah”—and that section is named Noach (“Noah”). Of course, the same name could not be given to two sections. But if the choice of the name Toledot were simply a factor of it being the first suitable word in a section’s opening verse, than the section of Noach should have been called Toledot, and our section, to distinguish it from that one, might have been called Yitzchak (“Isaac”). Obviously, then, there is something about the chronicles of Isaac that makes them a more fitting source for the parashah name “Toledot” than those of Noah.

For Toledot is no mere word: it is a word that embraces the cosmos, spans the whole of history, and describes our purpose in life. After recounting G-d’s creation of the world in six days and His designation of a seventh as a day of rest, the Torah begins the story of man with the words: “These are the toledot of the heaven and the earth upon their creation...”[2]

Eighteen books and three thousand years later, the Torah concludes the Book of Ruth with the following verses:
And these are the toledot of Peretz: Peretz begot Chetzron, Chetzron begot Ram, Ram begot Aminadav, Aminadav begot Nachshon, Nachshon begot Salmah, Salmah begot Boaz, Boaz begot Oved, Oved begot Yishai, and Yishai begot David.

Says the Midrash:
The word toledot appears everywhere in the Torah with a deficient spelling (i.e., lacking the letter vav), except for two instances: “These are the chronicles of Peretz,” and [“These are the chronicles of the heaven and the earth upon their creation”]. Why are all the others lacking the letter vav? ... Because of the six (vav)[3] things taken from Adam: his radiance, his life, his stature, the fruit of the earth, the fruit of the trees, and the luminaries.... For though the world was created perfect, these were ruined by Adam’s sin, and shall be restored only with the coming of [Moshiach,] the descendent of Peretz.[4]

The story of man is the journey from toledot to toledot, from the perfect world that G-d created to the restored perfection of the age of Moshiach.[5] In the simply stated words of Rashi, “The toledot of the righteous are their good deeds.”[6]

The achievements of man come in two guises: the “chronicles of Noah” and the “chronicles of Isaac.”

The name “Noah” means “tranquillity”; “Isaac” means “laughter.” Many dream of tranquillity, and devote their lives to the goal of forging a tranquil world out of the chaos and strife that define its present existence. Indeed, “the Torah was given to make peace in the world”[7]—to knit its diverse forces and strivings into a harmonious mirror of the perfect harmony of its Creator.

But it can also be argued that the most tranquil existence is no existence; that if the goal of creation were tranquillity, than this goal would have been equally (or better) served by not creating a world in the first place. Little wonder, then, that few of us derive any lasting satisfaction from tranquillity. We want more from life than the absence of discord. We want joy; we want laughter in our lives.

Therein lies the ultimate purpose of creation: to make our world a source of joy to G-d and man.

So if there is to be a section in Torah named “Toledot,” it is Isaac’s toledot rather than Noah’s. If there is a “chronicle” that charts the saga of man and a “progeny” that sums up the fruit of his labors, it is a chronicle of joy and a progeny of laughter.

Based on an address by the Rebbe, Shabbat Toledot 5744 (1983)

And these are the chronicles of Isaac the son of Abraham; Abraham fathered Isaac

Genesis 25:19

Many of the Torah commentaries dwell on the repetitious phrasing of this verse: if the Torah identifies Isaac as “the son of Abraham,” what is added by informing us that “Abraham fathered Isaac”?

One of the Chassidic masters offered the following insight:
Often, we encounter what has come to be called the “generation gap”—parents and children in conflict with each other because they hold different world views and measure their lives against different value systems. At times, the enmity and disdain is reciprocal. In its less severe forms, it might be one-sided: the parents might be proud of their children’s achievements, while the children scorn the “primitiveness” and “backwardness” of their parents. Alternatively, the children might revere their parents and what they stand for, while their parents are deeply disappointed in their children and shamed by their behavior.

The Torah is telling us that, in the case of the first two generations of Jews, there was no “gap”: Isaac had no reservations about being “the son of Abraham,” while Abraham no less readily identified himself as the father of Isaac. Despite the fact that they embodied two very different approaches to life,[8] Isaac sensed that everything he is and has derives from Abraham, while Abraham saw in Isaac the fulfillment and realization of his deepest self.

The Rebbe on the Kibbutz

The following are freely translated excerpts from a letter written by the Rebbe in September of 1964[9] to Israeli author Kaddish Luz:

When receiving a book from its author, it is my custom to presume that he did not send it to me for no particular reason, but rather that his intention was that I read it, and that if I have anything to remark, to accept my remarks in good cheer, even if I do not identify with his views. So, too, in the case of your book, I will allow myself to express a number of remarks, particularly regarding the primary focus of your book—to describe the commune (kibbutz) and the communal life there...

I trust that you will agree with me that the creation of a community is not an end in itself, and certainly not an ultimate end; rather, it is a means to the achievement, through a collective effort, of a desirable way of life.

In and of itself, the most apparent function of the commune is to equalize individuals of greater and lesser stature—something that runs contrary to human nature. For human beings, “Just as their faces are different from one another, so, too, are their minds and characters different from one another.”[10] A person thus finds satisfaction and fulfillment when he is given the opportunity to actualize his potentials not so much in those areas which he shares in common with his fellows, but rather in those areas in which he, as an individual, is superior to his compatriots and his society—for in these areas lie his uniqueness.

At the same time, man is not, by nature, a recluse, and “it is not good for man to be alone.”[11] The human being seeks a social life as the context and means by which to attain his personal fulfillment.

Indeed, a communal life enables a group of individuals to achieve far more than they could on their own—more, even, than the sum of their individual potentials. For as it is known, the output of two people working together is more than double the output of one person working on his own.[12] Another positive function of the commune is that it eliminates the jealousy and competitiveness that often brings a deterioration of the relations between a person and his fellows, while a communal effort usually draws people closer to each other.

On the other hand, the purpose of the commune must not be to eliminate all competitiveness, since challenge and competition are among the chief stimulants toward greater effort and advancement on a person’s part and an optimal and alacritous utilization of his talents and potentials. Rather, the commune should channel the competition to a higher plane. In other words, instead of the competition being for man’s most basic, material needs—which is where the competition begins in an individualistic society—to the extent that, in the words of our sages, “Were it not for the fear of the government (i.e., society’s enforcement of its laws) a man would swallow his fellow alive”[13]—in a communal society, the competition can be transferred to higher aims, whether to the procurement of supplements beyond one’s basic needs, or, on a higher level—to achievements in the life of the spirit.

What may be derived from all of the above is that the concept of community and communal life is not a goal and achievement in its own right, but a step, facilitator and path to the development of the individuality and uniqueness of its members and the realization of their individuality and uniqueness in the best and fullest way.

Such a basic appreciation of the function and goals of the commune is important not only after the commune has been established and a full communal life is set and running, and it now must be decided how to utilize its surplus resources and how to emphasize each member’s characteristics and talents to their fullest extent; rather, this appreciation is of utmost importance at the very beginning of the commune’s establishment. For often, and perhaps in most cases, the very establishing of a communally structured life will, by necessity, provoke an internal resistance on the part of its members to a regimen that attempts to suppress their individuality and turn them into parts of a mass. However, when the individual member appreciates that this is but a stage in his self-development and a path toward the expansion of his opportunities for greater achievement as an individual, by freeing him from lesser concerns (i.e., those regarding his basic material needs, which will be procured more easily and efficiently thanks to the collective communal effort)—this appreciation will not only eliminate his natural resistance, but will increase his enthusiasm and commitment in the fulfillment of his duties towards the commune.

Furthermore, such understanding and appreciation is important not only for the success of the commune, but also for the quality of life within it—an issue which you also touch upon in your book. For example, the quality of the relationship between parents and their children in the commune—an area in which the damage can far exceed the gains. For these relationships belong to the “spiritual” area of life, where a person’s individuality and independence is of paramount importance.

Another point, which I think important, is the difference in feeling and regard toward the commune on the part of its founders and on the part of those born into it. The founders of the commune, or those who joined it in its early stages, can derive a deep satisfaction from the fact that they have come to this (as you describe in your book) from a very different way of life and from a society with very different views, and have achieved this communal life through great toil, sacrifice and suffering—all of which serve to make one’s achievements that much more precious and admirable in one’s eyes. On the other hand, those born into the commune or raised in it regard it as a most natural way of life; to them, the limitations of communal life, such as discussed above, tend to be more pronounced than its positive aspects. This cannot fail to awaken in them a dissatisfaction, or even rebelliousness; it is inevitable that there will be dissent between them and those who enforce the communal regimen on them. Regarding them, it is even more important to emphasize the communal life as a stage and facilitator towards a higher goal.

Which brings me to the crux of the matter, to the burning question which, incidentally, I did not see addressed in your book: What goal or ideal is presented to the next generation as the objective to be achieved via the structure of a communal life, so that they should desire to achieve it even if this requires effort, toil and sacrifice on their part?

Adapted from the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe by Yanki Tauber