There was a rabbi in Los Angeles in the 1950s named Marvin Shinderman and he had such a laugh. Let me tell you the miracle story about the Shinderman laugh.

Shinderman was always delighted, and nothing delighted him so much as Talmud. He would read the words of the rabbis, and he would see their wisdom, and he would see their joy, and he would laugh.

Shinderman rode the trolley to and from shul every day, and all who ride with him knew him, because he would listen as people joked with each other and he would laugh and laugh.

And all who heard his laugh also laughed. A child would sing their haftara and Shinderman would laugh and the child would laugh and his parents would laugh.

Shinderman would give a sermon on Friday and no matter how dour the news of the week, Shinderman would find something that caused joy, and he would laugh, and the cantor would laugh, and the congregation would laugh.

And Shinderman considered it his most sacred duty to visit the sick and the dying.

After an hour of Shinderman, nurses would stand outside hospital doors, puzzling at the roars of laughter from inside, from patients who could scarcely open eyes.

Shinderman’s laugh was so powerful that it caught the attention of a television producer. He told Shinderman that he would pay to have him in the live studio audience for sitcoms.

Shinderman’s congregation was a poor one, so Shinderman agreed, stipulating that his payment should come in the form of donations to the shul.

Over the years, Shinderman’s laugh bought the shul a new education wing, rescued holy Torah scrolls found near-destroyed in Eastern Europe, paid for several congregants to go to rabbinic school.

And the story told of Shinderman’s laugh was that it could heal. Patients who had been at death’s door suddenly experienced miraculous recoveries when Shinderman laughed.

There was even a story of Shinderman visiting a bereaved family, the dead man still in his deathbed, and when they all laughed together the dead man stood up, put on his clothes, and went back to work, suddenly as vibrant as a 20-year-old.

They say Shinderman lived to be 112 and his last words were a laugh so delighted that caused Hashem to split the sky, saying Shinderman, it is time to bring that laugh to Olam Haba.

They say Shinderman was one of the 36 secret saints, whose acts of goodness keep the world from spinning into darkness, and that Shinderman’s laugh was his saintly power.

Anyway, here’s the secret of Shinderman’s laugh: years ago, when sitcoms stopped using live audiences, they created laugh tracks out of old live recordings.

Some of those have his laugh.

So sometimes, when you’re watching an old television show, and you hear a laugh that suddenly fills you with joy, that suddenly lifts you and makes you feel that you can beat a cold, or your headache goes away, that’s Shinderman.

It’s not as strong as it was in life. But there is still power in Shinderman’s laugh.