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Home , Robin Williams, Steve Martin

Jesters and Heaven Rabbi David L. Abramson Tikvat Congregation August 23, 2014

The Talmud1 tells us that Rabbi Beroka used to frequent the market at Bei-Lapat. There, he would often meet Eliyahu Ha-navi, Elijah the Prophet. One day, Rabbi Beroka and Elijah were standing in the market, discussing who would ךנה ימנ נב י “ :and who wouldn’t merit a place in heaven, when two men walked by. Elijah said ”.[These two have a share in the World to Come] אמלע יתאד והנינ ”?[What is your occupation] אמ י ידבוע וכי “ :Rabbi Baroka went over to them and asked We cheer up people] חדבמ י נ ן צע י ב י [.We are jesters] יא ישנ דב יחו נא ן “ :They said to him Likewise, when we see two people] יא ימנ , יכ זח י נ ן יב רת י אד תי הל ו ית ארג דהב י י ה ו [.who are sad ”[.we strive hard to make peace between them] חרט י נ ן ידבעו נ ן הל ו אמלש [,who are fighting And I hope that Eliyahu Ha-navi is right: that jesters, clowns, have a place in Olam Ha-ba—since they bring happiness to this world, and sometimes they make peace among people—because certainly deserves his place in Olam Ha-ba. Robin Williams was more than one of the greatest comic geniuses of our generation, really of all time, although he certainly was that. I urge you, after Shabbat, to go to YouTube and find his interview on Inside the Studio. Maybe you’ve never seen ; maybe you haven’t seen it since it first aired more than 13 years ago. I might have suggested that you skip to around 40 minutes into the show—and there you’ll see Robin’s comedic riff using that pink scarf that he borrowed from an audience member, four minutes of the greatest comedic you could imagine—but instead I urge you to watch the entire interview, because you will see countless moments of comic brilliance. But you’ll also see a thoughtful, sensitive artist, reflecting not only on the joy that his brought to so many people, but also his own enjoyment of his creativity, the happiness that he derived from doing comedy. Many of us have our favorite Robin Williams movies. For me, Robin Williams was most hilarious in and, even more, in Mrs. Doubtfire. But I’m more fond of his movies that showcased his depth and subtlety as an , such as and especially . There are certain scenes in Dead Poets Society that I’ve watched over and over during the past week or two: certainly the climactic final scene (“Oh Captain, My Captain”), and of course the wonderful “sweaty-toothed madman” scene with . But there’s one scene that particularly caught my attention this week, in which Williams, playing an English teacher in a 1950s prep school, explains to his students why we read and write poetry: That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. The words are Walt Whitman’s.2 The passion in that wonderful scene is Robin Williams’s.

1Ta‘anit 22a 2“Oh Me! Oh Life!,” Leaves of Grass, 1892 2

Robin Williams sometimes described himself as an “honorary Jew.” His comic riffs were often peppered with Yiddish words and Jewish references (including his “gribbines from a mohel” line, in Mrs. Doubtfire, which somehow made it past the studio censors), and much of his humor reflected a certain Jewish sensibility. Beyond entertainment, though, much of his life appears to have been filled with acts of tz’dakah, sometimes on a large scale (e.g., “”), and countless—and mostly untold— acts of g’millut ḥassadim. Last week, described his colleague and friend simply as a mensch. Of course, we cannot ignore the circumstances of Robin Williams’s death. The Internet is full of cruel observations about his , some remarking judgmentally about why a man who brought the healing power of laughter to so many lives couldn’t—or wouldn’t—heal himself. That smug observation reminds me of a series of brief stories in the Talmud.3 The stories are short vignettes of bikkur ḥolim—of talmudic rabbis who become ill and are visited by their colleagues. Interestingly, one rabbinic colleague of mine recently wrote that these stories, rather than being about physical illness, are about rabbis who “are struck by serious bouts of .”4 In a number of these episodes, Rabbi Yoḥanan visits his colleagues and, knowing just what to say or just what to do, he heals his afflicted . But when Rabbi Yoḥanan himself becomes ill, he can’t heal himself; Rabbi Ḥanina comes and heals Rabbi Yoḥanan. Rabbi Yoḥanan should have] םיקול בר י ןנחוי הישפנל [?Why] אמא י “ :So the Talmud asks healed himself!]” the prisoner cannot free] יא ן בח שו תמ י ר מצע ו במ י ת סאה ו ר י ם “ :And the Talmud’s answer himself from jail].” It is not for us to make judgmental statements about suicide, blaming people who commit suicide for their weakness or cowardice. Rather, it is for us to recognize that depressive illness is real and to respond with compassion to those who succumb to its ravages. But sometimes, even in our attempts to be compassionate—especially in the case of a celebrity committing suicide—we might be inclined to espouse the wrong ideas. The night that Robin Williams died, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, with all good intentions, tweeted a still from the animated movie Aladdin, captioned with a poignant line from the same movie. In the still, Aladdin is embracing the —the wonderful character voiced by Robin Williams, whom the animators made to look very much like Robin Williams—and the caption is: “Genie, you’re free.” At first glance, it’s a beautiful, touching statement in the face of the tragic death of a beloved actor who, we hope, is now free from the pain that dogged him for so long. But think about it: The tweet evokes a value that we ought not to embrace. In an article in last week,5 Christine Moutier, chief medical officer of the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, was quoted expressing concern about the

3B’rakhot 5b 4Rabbi Michael Bernstein, http://www.gltorah.org/rabbimsg_15aug14 5Caitlin Dewey, “Suicide Contagion an : The Dangers of Sharing ‘Genie, You’re Free’ ” (8/12/14) 3 implication of this well-intentioned tweet. “Suicide should never be presented as an option,” she said. “That’s a formula for potential contagion.” Dr. Moutier was referring to what the Post describes as a well-documented phenomenon, suicide contagion, also known as “copy-cat suicide,” and something for which adolescents are particularly at risk. Suicide is the third-leading cause of deaths among young people aged 15 to 24, and what our culture says about suicide can have a dangerous impact on vulnerable people. Therefore, Dr. Moutier observed in the Post article, “The starry sky from Disney’s Aladdin, and the written implication that suicide is somehow a liberating option, presents suicide in too celebratory a light.” And that, I think, is a line that we ought not to cross. I remember, quite a few years ago, giving a sermon in which I decried the legitimization—almost the glorification, in some circles—of Kurt Cobain’s suicide, and of the suicide of Sylvia Plath a generation earlier. I thought of that sermon during this past week and a half, when I sensed a bit of well-intentioned legitimization of suicide in Robin Williams’s case. When Rabbi Ḥanina ben Teradyon was being tortured to death by the Romans— remember, they wrapped him in the parchment of a Torah scroll, surrounded him with branches, and set them on fire—his students urged him to open his mouth, to let the flames enter and kill him more quickly. better for the One who gave a man] טוּמ ַ ב ֶשׁ י ְטִּ ל ֶ נ הָ ִמ י ֶשׁ נּ ַתְ נּ הָּ “ :But Rabbi Ḥanina told them than for a man to wound himself].”6] לַאְו לֹבְּחִי אוּה וֹמְצַעְבּ [his soul to take it way Suicide should never be seen as a legitimate option; it should be rejected in our culture today as forcefully as Rabbi Ḥanina rejected it in the midst of his own suffering. But wait a minute: If we shouldn’t be judgmental—and I believe we shouldn’t—and if we shouldn’t legitimize suicide—and I believe we shouldn’t—then what should our response be? I think that Jewish tradition gives us amazing guidance in this area. In certain areas, halakhah makes a distinction between l’khatḥila and b’di‘avad, between “before-the-fact” and “after-the-fact.” And when it comes to suicide, the position of Jewish law is astounding. L’khatḥila, before-the-fact, suicide is condemned in no uncertain terms—and there are serious halakhic implications for ha-m’abeid et atzmo l’da‘at, for one who willingly, knowingly kills himself or herself. But b’di‘avad, after-the-fact, Jewish law goes out of its way not to enforce itself in this area. Our classical halakhic sources—and this is what amazes me, because these sources predate modern psychiatry—reflect tremendous wisdom and compassion regarding suicide, and they understand that most cases of suicide are the result of serious depression or other psychological illnesses. Halakhically speaking, Robin Williams didn’t choose to commit suicide. He died from clinical depression. From what I’ve read (and with my credentials as an “armchair psychiatrist”), it appears to me that he struggled with depression for a long time. External factors, such as a gradual decline in his “star power,” the recent cancellation of his TV show, and financial worries, might have exacerbated his depression. I read recently that Parkinson’s disease, with which he had recently been diagnosed, can also increase the severity of depression—as, too, it has also been suggested, some medications used to treat Parkinsonian symptoms might have made his depression more severe. Maybe.

6Avodah Zarah 18a 4

But the bottom line is that Robin Williams died from depression, and his death is a sad, sad event—a tragedy compounded by the suffering that he endured for so long. If there is a practical implication of this tragedy, if there is a lesson for us to learn, it is for us to be more diligent regarding depressive illness. In my Torah E-mail last week, I suggested that we all put the phone number of the Montgomery County Crisis Center in our address books. Let me strongly urge you, if you or a loved one is struggling with depression, to make use of its services or of other mental-health resources. Depression is a serious and sometimes life- threatening illness, but it is treatable and its struggles are usually surmountable. (Last week, a local rabbinic colleague posted two numbers on Facebook: the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline’s 800 number and the Montgomery County Crisis Center’s local number. I wanted to include both numbers in my Torah e-mail, so I decided to call both numbers, to get some information about the services they provide. (First, I called the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. A recorded voice said, “You have reached the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline, also serving the Veterans Crisis Line. Para el español, oprima número dos. If you are in emotional distress, or suicidal crisis, or concerned about someone who might be, we are here to help. If you are a U.S. military veteran or current service member, or are calling about one, please press ‘one’ now. Otherwise, please hold on while we route your call to the nearest crisis center in our network.” Then, there was a short pause. Then: “We’re sorry, but that mailbox is full. Please call back another time.” (I swear to you, I thought I was in the middle of a Robin Williams routine! And who knows, maybe on a cosmic level, Robin was chuckling at my predicament.) Perhaps an equally compelling lesson is offered by the statement made on the night of his death by Susan Schneider, Robin Williams’s widow, in which she expressed her hope “that the focus will not be on Robin’s death but on the countless moments of joy and laughter he gave to millions.” To paraphrase a line that I think I’ve used in three eulogies over the years, we cannot ignore the circumstances of Robin Williams’s death, but they must not become the defining moments of his life. Toward the end of each interview, James Lipton would ask his guests to answer ten questions—which, he would remind the audience, were adapted from the questionnaire created by Bernard Pivot, for his French television shows, Apostrophe and Bouillon de culture. (You can imagine how Robin reacted to Lipton’s pretentious, French introduction!) The tenth question in the questionnaire is: “If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?” In other words: What’s your idea of heaven? Robin Williams responded that it would be nice, if heaven existed, “to know that there’s laughter—that would be a great thing—just to hear God go, ‘These two Jews walk into a bar…’ ” jesters, clowns, comedians—have a place in— יא ישנ דב יחו So the Talmud tells us that Olam Ha-ba. I hope so. Maybe Robin and God are making each other laugh right now. And I hope that the memory of Robin Williams will continue to bring smiles to our faces and peace to our lives. That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. The verses that Robin Williams contributed were magnificent, and for that we should all be grateful.