Rabbi Leo Abrami once wrote that “in Jewish humor, comedy and tragedy are intertwined and it is often what you might call “laughter through tears,” or as we say in Yiddish, “a bitterer gelekhter!” I felt like that was a perfect phrase to remember a man who filled the world with laughter.
Over the course of the last four days, every story shared about Grampye has been funny and joyous. From practical jokes to magic tricks to his challenges with technology, every memory we shared, both with the rabbi and among the family, were so full of laughter and life. Whether it was an elaborate prank or a spot-on oneliner, he was always happy to be the brunt of a joke if it made people laugh. There was nothing like seeing his coy, often surprised smile, underneath that damn impressive moustache. It was that same moustache that experienced half of his mushroom soup at Sweet Tomatoes or coleslaw at Ben’s Deli, though I am grateful that he was great about wiping it clean between bites!
And even when he wasn’t intentionally making us laugh, being with Grampye made life more joyful because of how fully he experienced it. On a recent trip to Pei Wei just about two weeks ago, he was so excited about the edamame we ordered that when I told him the last two were his, he refused to finished them, putting one in his pocket for later. Don’t get me started on the wonder we witnessed when Abe and I took him to Wawa or Target! When we finally got him to go in, he experienced swimming laps or playing catch in a pool like it was the very first time. He loved facetiming with family, remarking each time that he loved being able to see us, and usually making a comment about how attractive we were to look at. But he hated smartphones, and even sometimes dumb phones. On our last visit, Abe was trying to show him how to access his contacts on his phone. He scrolled and scrolled, closing the phone and starting over every time he missed the right choice, until finally he closed the phone and said to Abe, “This is too complicated. What’s your number? I’ll write it down here.” He was always interested in what we were doing, the places we were seeing through our travels, the work we were doing, and even came to a session I presented a few weeks ago on a topic that he found both fascinating and terrifying.
The Talmud, or Jewish rabbinic teachings, tells the story of Rabbi Broka, who was such a holy man that Elijah the prophet would often come down from heaven to visit him. One time Elijah accompanied Rabbi Broka on a walk through the bustling market place of his city. Seeing all of the bustle of the city market place, Broka turned to Elijah the prophet and asked him if any of the people were destined to enter heaven. Elijah scanned the large market place and then shook his head, telling him that no one here was destined for the next world. But as they continued on, Elijah suddenly spotted two men and pointed them out. "These two men are destined for the next world," he told Rabbi Broka. Excitedly, Rabbi Broka ran towards them. Stopping them in the middle of the market place, he pointedly asked them what they do. They replied that they were "badkanim,” or jesters. They continued explaining that when they ever they see someone who is sad or depressed, they go and cheer him up. When they see two people who are angry with each other, they go to they and joke around with them and make them friends again.
I’m not sure what I believe about the afterlife, but I think Grampye more than earned his place in the World to Come! All he ever wanted was to make people laugh, to cheer them up when they were down and to make their smile even wider when they weren’t. Grampye greeted every experience as potential for immeasurable joy, until he didn’t. When Pearl, or Bubbe, died in June 2018, his zest for life disappeared. Spending time with Grampye still brought us joy, but the wonder with which he experienced in the world was gone.
In February of last year, I facilitated a Life Review program at Grampye’s assisted living facility, during which I asked several questions and offered the residents a chance to share their life experiences and wisdom with me. I asked who had been the most influential person in their lives, and the activities coordinator requested that Grampye share. He seemed like he wasn’t paying attention, but after a few seconds, he said, “I’ve actually been thinking about the question before this,” which was what they wished for in the coming year.
Grampye said, “I’d like to become a little happier than I am now. I think this is pretty much the lowest part of my life that I ever remember. I don’t mean being in this room, I mean the last couple weeks [months] or so. And I know what’s doing it to me, and I am sure that almost everybody here in this room probably has the same problem and feelings that I have. But I’m finding it pretty tough to conquer; I can’t seem to live with it. That’s my feeling. I’m not feeling or acting the way I used to be, and it may be normal to feel this way, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.”
I responded that it sounded to me like his wish for the coming year was to feel a little bit like he used to, more like his normal had been. But he wasn’t ready to accept that.
“I don’t know if I like that either,” he said, “because I can’t imagine anything making me feel better and I think it would be wrong for somebody to come up with something that’s going to make me feel happy. So that also doesn’t make me think that I’d like to be sad, so I don’t know where I am, I don’t know whether I want to be made happy…”
Grampye was able to experience intermittent moments of joy with his family and friends, reminiscing about old memories and creating new ones, but every single moment of joy became a one of sadness when he realized he couldn’t share it with the only person who truly filled his life with cheer.
Grampye often asked Abe and me if we thought he would ever feel less sad that he couldn’t tell Bubbe about these experiences; if it would ever get easier. But as he said a year ago, I don’t think Grampye wanted to be made happy; I think he wanted to be made whole. Without Bubbe at his side, his life was incomplete, no matter how much love or joy was in it.
So now that Grampye has been made whole once again, we will have a little less laughter and joy in our lives. But I know that we will continue to share stories of him and live in ways that embody who Grampye was, even to the very end: a bitterer gelekhter, with laughter through tears.
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