Category: ARCHIVES – Skits

RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #202 (2/28/2026): Purim Jokes Return!

airs Feb. 28, 2026 on Dave’s Gone By. Watch here: TBA

Shalom Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for Purim time 2026.

Yes, my friends, it’s Purim! Arguably the happiest holiday on the Jewish calendar – and I’ll argue about anything. Purim commemorates a story in the book of Esther wherein a Jewish woman, married to a Persian king, turns the tables on his highness’s anti-Semitic advisor. Instead of Esther’s people dying, evil Haman gets the noose, plus the Jews are granted permission to kill their oppressors. To put this in a modern context, imagine if, the day before October 7th, we hung Yahya Sinwar and were then given the go-ahead to annihilate Hamas, Al Qaeda, and Queers for Palestine. 

So on this festive holiday of Chag Purim, we’re supposed to drink like the Irish, dance like the schvartzes, and wear costumes so ridiculous, even Chappell Roan would go, “Nahhh, too much.” 

I celebrate Purim the best way I know how: telling jokes. Sharing humor and then commenting upon it, because nothing improves a joke like explaining it. 

Our first joke of the day – a classic – is set on a flight bound for Israel. Two Arabs board the plane, taking a window and a middle seat. Moments after they’ve settled, my cousin Chaim checks his ticket and, bad luck, he has the aisle seat next to them. But the Arabs read their Koran, Chaim reads his Tanakh, all is quiet. 

As the flight progresses, the Arab in the window seat calls to Chaim and says, “Excuse me, I’m so thirsty. I’d rather not get up, so would you mind getting me a glass of Coca Cola?”

“No problem,” says my cousin, who goes off to the beverage cart. While he’s gone, the Arab grabs Chaim’s bible, opens it to a random page, spits in it, then closes the book and puts it back.

Chaim returns with the beverage. The Arab in the middle seat says, “Wait, before you sit. I’m thirsty, too. Would you mind also getting me . . . ?”

“No problem,” says Chaim, who goes to get another Coca Cola. As soon as he’s down the aisle, the middle Arab grabs my cousin’s Tanakh, opens it, spits, replaces the book.

Chaim comes back with the second beverage and hands it to the other Arab. Both friends tip their cups to Chaim and drink, giggling to themselves over their practical joke.

My cousin sits quietly for a moment, then he sighs, “When will it end?”

“What do you mean?” the Arabs reply. 

“The animosity between our people,” says Chaim. “The fighting, the retribution. The spitting in prayer books. The pissing in Cokes.” 

Now, what do we learn from this joke? Well, we learn the reason why flight attendants serve everything in those little cans. But we also recognize the tragedy of neighbors who should be able to get along side by side and yet can’t. We also see — as Jews have seen repeatedly in history – people who do bad things to us get far worse done to them. Hitler may have killed six million Jews, but World War II took out eight million Germans. Hamas murdered twelve hundred Israelis on October 7th; the Gaza War? 70,000 Palestinians biting the sand. The lesson? If you expectorate in our Exodus, God will pee in your Pepsi. 

Next joke: I heard Paul Reiser tell this one in a podcast for YIVO. My uncle Shimon is walking down the street and sees a businessman in a tailored suit — the most gorgeous outfit Shim’s ever seen. He says, “Where did you get that suit?” 

The businessman says, “Isn’t it exquisite? It’s from my tailor in the Garment District. Here’s his card. But I warn you, it’s super expen – “

Before the man can even get the words out, my uncle is running with the card in his hand down 38th Street. “Are you Pinsky the tailor?”, he says when he gets in the shop. 

“I am,” says Pinsky.

“I need a suit like the guy I just saw. It’s double breasted, grey with – “

“I know the one,” says Pinsky. “You understand that suit will cost you $18,000?”

“Eighteen grand?” says my uncle. “You know what? I don’t care; I need it. Although I’d like to know why such a price?”

Pinsky says, “You get what you pay for. The cloth comes from a rare silkworm that takes six months to spin out a yard of fabric. The buttons come from the ivory of specially bred elephants, where it takes a year to grow and another year to get through customs. The zipper on the pants is sterling silver from a mine that’s so dangerous they only go into it once every three years. Then, when everything’s assembled, I stitch by stitch by stitch for weeks on end. So, please understand, for this suit you might wait four or five years.”

“Oy,” says Shimon. “I have a Bar Mitzvah Saturday.” 

Pinsky says, “It’ll be ready.”

The point of this joke is not that the tailor is telling deliberate, outlandish lies. It’s that when you have a bird in the hand, you don’t beat about the bush. If I am asked a theoretical question, I look at all the angles, the pitfalls, the risk-versus-reward analyses. But if you tell me, “This is happening!”, all the blackboard calculations in the world won’t accomplish anything. I just have to do it. And lo and behold, it gets done. I do feel bad for the silkworms, though, who must feel really rushed under those circumstances.

Okay, one more joke: Last night I asked my dear wife Miriam Libby, “Darling, why did you marry me?” 

She said, “Sol, because you’re so funny.” 

I said, “Oh. That’s nice I guess. It’s not because I’m handsome or great in bed?”

My wife said, “See? That’s hilarious!”

You never know what will bring people together. For Miriam Libby, it was my sense of humor. For me, it was Miriam’s personality and wide hips for bearing many, many, many children. It matters not why couples or friends become attached; what counts is the long-term connection, the sharing of joys and burdens. If we can bring that togetherness not just to our inner circle but to everyone around us, maybe there’ll be less spitting and pissing, more honest tailors, and wives even more fertile. As Mordecai and Esther would say, “I’ll drink to that!” 

This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York. A freilichen Purim tsu dir!

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