Stop asking if my kids are happy, there's more to life than that - Opinion

I can’t tell you how many times I have been asked that question over the course of my life as a parent. And I also cannot tell you how much I detest the question, how aggravating it is. 

 

First, it usually follows a heated debate over something one or both of my now-grown kids has done that I disapprove of or that has disappointed me (which rarely happens, darling children who I know are reading this, RIGHT?). Which then calls into question my personal biases, long-standing beliefs and role as a father. 

 

Second, it has led me down a decades-long rabbit hole of existential angst, trying to get a handle on what happiness really is.

I have devoted countless hours to the study of happiness. And, as with most things in my life, I view my thoughts and findings through Jew-covered glasses. Just like the Inuit have dozens of ways to refer to snow in Inuktitut, our people have myriad words in Hebrew that denote happiness. Simha is the most common, but it is also quite general and generic. Terms like osher, gila, ditza and hedva have deeper and more significant meanings, relating to both the reasons for happiness and the context in which it occurs.

 

Whereas acts of sadness, grief and mourning tend to be more specific and delineated, Judaism really has no concrete guidelines on how to be happy – it seems to depend on the nature of each individual. Technically speaking, there is no obligation in the Torah to be happy. Psalms tells us to “Serve God with joy,” and the biblical commandment to “rejoice” during Jewish holidays seems to center around eating and drinking (no great surprise there). But a slightly deeper dive into this shows that “rejoicing” occurs through a series of actions involving other people – coming together with family, friends, colleagues and community, making sure that even those on the margins of society are included. Not just being in the world, but being connected to the world – physically and spiritually.

 

Covid-19 has added a new dimension to my reflections on happiness. Thinking back to when those spring-breakers “just wanted to be happy” and partied with reckless abandon on the beaches of Florida, or the ultra-Orthodox who “just wanted to be happy” and danced mask-less, shoulder-to-shoulder in the streets of Brooklyn. Thinking about the simple (yet somewhat selfish) happiness that comes with sitting alone in a room, reading a good book, binge-watching Netflix, eating a tub of ice cream. Contemplating the “upgrade” to that happiness by wearing a mask, keeping my distance, and slowly getting back into the world to enjoy life with others.

 

And realizing that the happiest I have truly been during this crisis is when I was able to help others make it through: going on grocery runs for neighbors in need, organizing Zoom calls to help friends and relatives celebrate and mourn together, spending countless hours attempting – successfully, finally! – to get my mother and her elderly friend vaccinated.

 

This “Hierarchy of Happiness” that I discovered seemed to be directly correlated to the degree of selflessness involved. And this was brought home to me recently as I was watching TV and reading, engaged in two of those “selfish” activities just mentioned. 

In an episode of After Life, the Ricky Gervais series on Netflix, his friend tells him, “Happiness is amazing. It’s so amazing, it doesn’t matter if it’s yours or not.... Good people do things for other people... society grows great when old men plant trees the shade of which they know they will never sit in.” (In sharp contrast to this statement I heard that same night on the sitcom Blackish, which made me want to scream, “It’s not healthy to do something you don’t want to do because it makes someone else happy.” Seriously?!)

 

And then there was this quote from Barack Obama during his eulogy to Beau Biden (which I read in Joe’s heartbreaking book, Promise Me, Dad): “We do not know how long we’ve got here. We don’t know when fate will intervene. We cannot discern God’s plan. What we do know is that every minute that we’ve got, we can live our lives in a way that takes nothing for granted. We can love deeply. We can help people who need help. We can teach our children what matters, and pass on empathy and compassion and selflessness.”

 

So do I want my children to be happy? Of course. But do I just want them to be happy? No way. I want them to be positive and excited about life. I want them to be satisfied with – and appreciative of – everything they have. I want them to face challenges and grow with their mistakes. I want them to feel the glow and warmth that comes from doing mitzvot, helping others and serving their community.

 

If that makes me a bad father, I can happily live with that.