Tikkun Olam and Comedy

But is that all Jewish comedy really is? A way of complaining? A subtler form of throwing a punch? A cry for acceptance? For some, sure, but those guys never seem to make it past a couple of Letterman appearances. There's more to it than that because the truth is, we're not sore losers. We haven't even lost. Look it up. There's never been a race between Judaism and Christianity to see who could amass the greatest numbers of souls. Judaism has always been an invitation-only affair, a reward that's unsettlingly similar to a punishment. Like when the schoolteacher picks the good kid to help clean the erasers after class, Judaism is something of a burden. And that accounts for a need for humor as much as anything else.

Jews go by many names: "Children of Israel," "Members of the Tribe," "Executive Producer." But perhaps the most descriptive is "Chosen People." Chosen. Set apart by God. That means we don't go looking for converts. Indeed, if a gentile comes to a rabbi seeking conversion, the rabbi is to refuse the candidate three times before even discussing the possibility of converting. Three times. Don't hate us for that. It's not like we're bogarting the one true path to salvation. We don't have a heaven, and if we did, we wouldn't believe that only Jews go there. It's not like Miami Beach.

The three refusals are to make sure the potential Jew is serious and tenacious. Because there's work to be done. The world is incomplete, and God chose the Jews to complete it. Not chosen to reach heaven before others, but chosen to help with the heavy lifting during the final phases of construction. This concept is embodied in the Hebrew phrase "tikkun olam," which roughly translates to "putting the world in order," and conveys an obligation on Jews to pursue social justice. And even though countless Jews have never heard this phrase, we all carry it in our hearts, somehow.

But how does a Jew -- even a religiously ignorant Jew -- achieve these ends? How does a Jew complete the world? Charitable donation? Labor organization? New York Times op-ed? We don't know. Somewhere there is a nagging voice telling us that everything is not all right. That action can't be left to someone else at some other time. It's hard to say if it's the voice of God or the voice of history. Philip Roth would make a joke about it being the voice of our mothers, but apparently he was raised by a cartoon. And still, we hear that voice and, without knowing what to do with it, sometimes we make a joke. Can making a joke mend the world? It couldn't hurt.

Continue Reading Below Advertisement

Probably everything you need to know about this kind of Jewish humor and the Jews as a people can be summed up in an old joke popularized by Jack Benny and, more recently, Eddie Murphy in Coming to America:

An old Jewish man sits down in a fancy restaurant and orders a bowl of soup. Within 30 seconds of being brought his order, the man calls the waiter over and asks that he taste the soup. The waiter inquires as to the problem. The Jew doesn't answer, but again asks the waiter to taste the soup. The waiter advises that he's not in the habit of tasting patrons' food, but the Jew persists. The waiter asks if the soup's too cold, too hot or contains -- heaven forbid -- a fly. Each time the Jew merely repeats his request for the waiter to taste the soup. Ultimately, the waiter relents, if only to bring some closure to what has become quite an episode. He looks all around the table, and then asks, "Where's the spoon?" To which the Jew replies with a smile, "A-ha."





My favorite Jew joke. Told flawlessly by a black man. Somehow, that makes perfect sense to me.

This is my favorite Jewish joke, even though I'm sure the only thing most take away from it is that Jews are insufferable pains in the ass. But that's only the obvious punch line. This old man wanted to teach a lesson and not in a haughty, degrading manner, but through humor. Without putting the waiter down, he said, "Understand what it's like to be a hungry man with a bowl of soup and no spoon." Yes, he wanted a spoon, but he also wanted to make the waiter remember. This old Jew wants to make sure that someone else gets their spoon tomorrow.

Perhaps more important, though, is that by taking the time and energy to do things the hard way, he confirms his faith in humanity. He rejects cynicism. Who would waste that kind of energy unless they believed they were addressing someone who wanted to be taught? That kind of humor, mixed with energy and faith, is a tiny part of tikkun olam. And even though it's not in the joke (because it's not funny) I like to believe the old Jew left the waiter a good tip. Of course, he did. The Jew likes the waiter. Don't you know that?

This joke is only possible with a Jewish patron. Change the customer to a WASP and this is what you get:

An old WASP sits down in a fancy restaurant and orders a bowl of soup. After receiving his order, he notices that the waiter has failed to bring a spoon. Accordingly, he simmers, quietly, for five minutes until he can catch the waiter's attention with a polite gesture. Upon doing so, he requests a spoon while mentally calculating a small, but distinct, reduction in tip.



