When Rebecca Handler’s father died from Alzheimer’s in 2013, there were, “unsurprisingly given our family, moments of hilarity,” the San Francisco writer recalls. She was in the room with her mother and her brother, Daniel, waiting to witness their loved one’s last breath and the stillness that followed. But instead, what came were false starts, as each last breath became another last breath. And then another.
Comic relief had entered that sacred space. And it wasn’t all that strange. For the Handlers, like many Jewish families, humor is an organizing principle of family life. There’s nothing quite as life-affirming as laughing together when you could be crying.