The book of Ecclesiastes, or Kohelet as it's known in Hebrew, wrestles with this very idea. "Of laughter, I said it is confounded; and of joy, what does it accomplish?" (Ecclesiastes 2:2). This verse, as explored in Kohelet Rabbah, a collection of rabbinic interpretations on Ecclesiastes, isn't just about a general disapproval of mirth. It digs deeper. It questions the source and the purpose of our joy.
Rabbi Abba bar Kahana, in Kohelet Rabbah, offers one interpretation: "How confounded is the laughter of the nations of the world in their circuses and theaters." Is he simply being a killjoy? Perhaps. But consider the context. Is the joy derived from genuine connection, from shared meaning, or is it a fleeting, superficial distraction? Why, he asks, would a Torah scholar even enter such places?
But the Rabbah doesn't stop there. It takes the question of inappropriate laughter into much darker territory: divine judgment. "How confounded is the laughter that the attribute of justice laughed at the generation of the flood." Wait, the attribute of justice laughed? What's that about?
The passage goes on to paint a picture of the pre-flood generation, seemingly blessed beyond measure. As the book of Job describes (21:9-13), "Their houses are peaceful, without fear… Their descendants are well placed before them… His bull breeds and does not fail… They send out their young like a flock… They sing to the timbrel and harp… They spend their days in prosperity." Sounds idyllic, right? A true golden age.
But there's a sinister undercurrent. "They said to God: Depart from us" (Job 21:14). They revelled in their prosperity while rejecting the source of it. As the verse continues, "What is the Almighty that we should serve Him?" (Job 21:15). In their arrogance, they believed they were the architects of their own success, that they had no need for God. And that, according to the Midrash, is where the "attribute of justice" laughed – a chilling, mocking laugh at their hubris. The Holy One, blessed be He, responded, "By your lives, I will obliterate you from the world." And that's precisely what happened: "He obliterated all existence" (Genesis 7:23).
The Kohelet Rabbah draws a parallel with the people of Sodom. Again, they were blessed with abundance, "A land from which bread emerges… a place whose stones are sapphires… a path that birds of prey do not know…" (Job 28:5-7). Yet, their hearts were twisted. They enacted cruel laws against hospitality, seeking to isolate themselves from outsiders, as it is written: “He breached a shaft from the residents, forgotten from all passersby” (Job 28:4). They sought to ensure that outsiders would not pass through their territory. And so, the Holy One, blessed be He, declared, "By your life, I will eliminate your memory from the world," and rained fire and brimstone upon them (Genesis 19:24).
So, what are we to make of all this? Is laughter inherently bad? Of course not! But the Kohelet Rabbah challenges us to examine the context of our joy. Is it rooted in genuine connection, in gratitude, in humility? Or is it a fleeting distraction, a superficial mask for a deeper emptiness or, worse, a dangerous arrogance? True joy, the kind that endures, must be grounded in something more profound than mere fleeting pleasure. It must be connected to a sense of purpose, of meaning, and of responsibility to something greater than ourselves. Otherwise, we risk echoing the tragic laughter of those who ultimately lost everything.