Yom haShoah, y'all.
It's Holocaust rememberance day. Read you some Maus, Light you some candles, watch some producers, laugh till you cry, obey your yetzer ha-tov, shun the yetzer ha-ra, don't be forgettin' now, y'hear?
This is a little of what we do here. No, it is what we do here. Under all the tanks and the lulz and Darling Adolphe's dancing Stormtrooper Review and Krystallnacht Cabaret, we are telling and retelling the tale of some funny little men who were nevver quite laughed at enough, not in the right way. Should we laugh at the holocaust? I think so, because it helps us cry better. Many times, laughing allows us to cry when we can't do anything else. It allows life to continue. You bury what hurts you under layers of thick and unspeakable black, and you cringe and crawl away from things that bring it up again, you lost that. I wish the Germans laughed more. I wish the Germans had laughed more back then. A proper sense of the rediculous might have awoken the people in Germany, in Austria, and in Poland particularly to the farce in which they were taking part before it became the tragedy that it ultimately became. But anyway. You forget, you try to forget, you just want to forget.
But laughter, you don't forget. Even the painful laughter. So laugh, darlings, laugh and never forget. It doesn't make it okay, but it does allow us to go on and remember both at the same time.
Until tikkun olam,