RABBI SOL SOLOMON’S RABBINICAL REFLECTION #167 (2/26/21): Purim Jokes 2021
(Rabbi Sol’s Rabbinical Reflections appear on the long-running radio show/podcast, Dave’s Gone By. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAnTjN0qWOE&t=3s)
Shalom, Dammit! This is Rabbi Sol Solomon with a Rabbinical Reflection for February 26th — Purim 2021!
As I often do on Purim, one of the rare jolly holidays on the Jewish calendar, I’m going to forego my usual bitching and kvetching and, instead, tell a couple of hilarious jokes that you damn well better laugh at.
We begin on Delancey Street, where a guy walks into a deli and asks the old man at the counter, “Do you sell pickles?”
“Funny you should ask,” says the counterman. “I have sour pickles, half-sour, butter pickles, thin slice, jagged slice, pickles in brine, extra large, extra small, extra dill. And these are just the domestic.”
“Wow,” says the customer. “You must sell a lot of pickles.”
“Not really,” sighs the counterman. “But the guy I buy from? Boy can he sell pickles!”
What can we learn from this joke? We learn that sometimes it’s not what you’re selling but how you’re selling it. Nancy Reagan could tell teenagers, “don’t do drugs”; she might as well have told them “do drugs!” for all the good it did. But if Beyonce or Lady Gaga say it their way, the message might stick. Or if you’re trying to teach Talmud, or derech eretz to your children, and it’s not getting through, don’t give up; adjust. I suggest smacking them around and making them recite the sh’ma standing barefoot on ice cubes, but that’s just me.
On to the next joke. Many years ago, a great Rabbi and his favorite student were traveling together through Poland to get to Warsaw. One evening, after a long trek, they decide to stop and pitch their tent in an open field. After prayers and some talmudic discourse, they both retire for the night.
A couple of hours later, the Rabbi wakes up, nudges the student, and says, “Chaim. Chaim. Look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”
Chaim yawns and says, “I see a black sky with many millions of stars.”
“Yes, and what may we deduce from this?”
“Well, Rabbi, astronomically, the view conveys the vastness of the universe. Scientifically, we can tell from the sky’s color that it’s three o’clock in the morning. And theologically, we see the power and majesty of God and our own insignificance by comparison. What does it tell you, Rabbi?”
“Well, first of all, Chaim, it tells me someone has stolen our tent.”
What a delightful joke! Not least because, admit it, you were expecting something disgusting between the Rabbi and the kid sharing a tent. Shame on you! If it was a priest, okay, but not a Rabbi! Still, this is a gentle joke that balances mankind’s longing for the sacred and splendiferous with his earthbound ties to the earth and its more mundane attributes. It also makes fun of Polacks.
And it reminds us not to miss the forest for the trees—or the tent for the stars. We get bogged down in the mechanics of life and get ground up in the gears of detail. Sometimes it behooves us to stop, take stock of our surroundings, and maybe put an alarm system around our tents.
Our final bit of humorosity, also goes back in time—this one to Soviet Russia in the 1970s. A Red Army officer is visiting a school and questioning all the students in the classroom. He goes to a Russian girl and says, “Who is your father?”
“The Soviet Union,” she replies.
“And who is your mother?”
“The Communist party,” she says.
“And what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I want to work with my comrades for the state.”
The officer goes to a little Russian boy sitting behind her.
“Who is your father?”
“The Soviet Union,” says the boy.
“Who is your mother?”
“The Communist party.”
“And when you grow up, you want to be . . . ?”
“A worker for the glorious party.”
The officer smiles and moves on to a scrawny child in the back of the room.
“What’s your name?”
“Mordecai Groizman.”
“Ah,” sneers the Officer. “Who is your father?”
“The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”
“Mm hmm. And who is your mother?”
“The Communist Party of the Russian Federation.”
“Very nice. And do you know what you want to be when you grow up?”
“Oh yes,” says the boy. “An orphan.”
Ah, the beauty of mordant Jewish wit. Even at the expense of angering an enemy who could send his parents to Siberia, the child tells the truth and embeds a curse inside it. You can always hope your adversary is too stupid to get that the jokes on him. But, let’s face it, it’s a little stupid of you to take that chance. At a time when we scrutinize—and sometimes over-scrutinize—things goyim say about the Jews, it’s nice to have a joke where the Yidl lobs a grenade the other way.
And isn’t that what happened on Purim? Haman planned to kill all the Jews, but Queen Esther convinced the Persian king that was a bad idea. Not only was Haman hung from the noose he’d built to murder Esther’s cousin, but Haman’s ten sons were killed in battle by Jewish commandos. The only thing left of Haman was his three-cornered hat and his name, which we drown out with noise in the synagogue. Very often Jews taste the first misery but get the last laugh.
Happy Purim! This has been a Rabbinical Reflection from Rabbi Sol Solomon, Temple Sons of Bitches in Great Neck, New York.
