Dave's Gone By

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #182 (3/23/2024): Jokes for Purim 2024

airs March 23, 2024 on Dave’s Gone By. Youtube clip:  https://youtu.be/A3rIw1W5OFs

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for the joyous holiday of Purim.  

Purim is one of those times when the Jews faced brutal annihilation and yet were somehow spared and got revenge — kinda like… last year. When reading the Purim story, the megillah, we use noisemakers to drown out the name of our bitterest antagonist, Haman, which is Persian for “Sarandon.” We also dress in costumes so the IRS won’t recognize us, and we’re supposed to get so drunk we’re unable to distinguish our friends from our enemies. In that way we’re like left-wing Democrats. 

My manner of celebrating the Purim simcha is to laugh. Ha ha ha. But so I don’t seem psychotic, I attach my laughter to jokes. Freud said that comedy is an expression of the subconscious battling to be heard in a society that drowns out anything non-conformist. (I think that’s what he said; I don’t speak German.) So let’s examine the psyche of a couple of classic Jewish jokes:  

Yankel has found this girl on J-Date, and he’s meeting in person for the first time. They’ve got an 8 o’clock reservation to meet at the swankiest Kosher restaurant in town, but it’s 7:50, and Yankel is circling the block unable to find a parking space. He drives around again and still no spot. Finally, he prays to God, he says, “God, this girl might be my bashert. Please let me find parking.”

But nothing opens up, and Yankel keeps driving. It’s now 7:55, and Yankel’s beside himself. “God,” he says, “If you find me a parking spot, I’ll never miss Friday services again.” 

Still, no spaces, and he circles `round the block. Now it’s 7:59, and he’s frantic. He calls out to HaShem, “God, I swear, if you find me a spot, I’ll donate $500 to the United Jewish Appeal.” Suddenly, right in front of the restaurant, a car pulls out leaving a space. Yankel says, “Never mind, God. I found one.”

What does this joke tell us about taking the Lord’s name in vain? That we do it. That under duress, we are apt to say anything, make any promise. it’s what every person does going into surgery hoping they’ll come out of surgery. It’s every horny putz who tells a girl he’ll still respect her in the morning, and it’s every girl who believes him. It’s anyone who eats half a pizza pie and says, “Oy God, I’m  never eating again.” Two hours later: “What, there’s one slice left over? Lemme just finish it.” 

Humans show an uncanny talent for pivoting from need to satiation and right back to need. The little stops they make along the way to fulfill those needs — well, they’re often forgotten the way a pregnant woman can’t recall the pain of labor. After all, if mama did, she’d shoot the father, punch her OB, and strangle the infant with its umbilical cord. Instead, she’s moved forward, hugging the father, cradling her newborn, and wondering when her vagina will stop looking like the mouth of a camel.

Anyway, let’s have another joke—this one highly appropriate for our fraught and frightful times. When God was creating the world, he called his builders—the angels—together and told them His plan for a Jewish homeland called Israel. “It will be a magical place,” God said, “beautiful, with hills, gardens, and so many natural wonders. And the Jews will be smart and resourceful. They’ll build great cities and farms, make fantastic art, excel in science and engineering. Truly, Israel will be a beacon to all nations.”

“Sounds amazing, God,” said the angels. “But won’t the rest of the world see all this perfect stuff and be jealous of the Jews?”

“Nope,” the Lord replied. “Wait till they see who they have as neighbors.” 

Of course, this joke has an especially jagged edge these days—even though, technically, Israel was attacked not by neighbors but by its own squatters:  Muslims we were nice enough to give land to—inside the Jewish state—rather than forcing them to move to Africa or Arabia or, God forbid, Amityville. And the upshot is that for 75 years, while trying just to survive in our minuscule homeland, we have been confronted with non-stop terrorism and war. And now, the Arabs’ misinformation campaign has been swallowed up by the kinds of teary-eyed liberals who think shoplifting is the store’s fault, turnstile jumping is a human right, and blocking traffic is an act of courage rather than anarchy. 

But I’m sorry — it’s Purim. I meant to keep things light. So here’s one more joke: It’s late night and a policeman sees a car speeding down the highway. He pulls the car over and is surprised to see the driver: a rumpled, middle-aged Jewish man. 

The officer runs his information and says, “Mr. Schwartz, we both know you were speeding. But it’s 2AM. Where were you racing?”

“To a lecture,” says the driver. 

“A lecture?,” says the cop. “Who gives a lecture at this hour?” 

“My wife.” 

This isn’t technically a Jewish joke; it could work for anybody. But the joke tastes Jewish because it teaches us that you always answer for your deeds. If it isn’t to a policeman’s blotter or a judge, it’s to your spouse, or your boss, or your children, or maybe just that reflection in the mirror. So whenever possible, we try to be our better selves. Rather than dread the consequences of our actions, we want to anticipate the delight our efforts will bring to others. Needless to say, this is an ideal, and as flawed human beings we’re more likely to do the right thing for the wrong reason, or the wrong thing for any reasons, than be perfect people. But on Purim, when right and wrong are intentionally confuzzled, we can simply enjoy the mishegoss inherent in being human and Jewish. 

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. (spins grogger) Roger Waters. Jonathan Glazer. Susan Fucking Sarandon!

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