Old Jews Telling Jokes Read online

  A Villard Books Trade Paperback Original

  Copyright © 2010 by Sam Hoffman

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Villard Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  VILLARD BOOKS and Villard & “V” CIRCLED Design are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

  Most of the material in this work has previously appeared on www.oldjewstellingjokes.com.

  eISBN: 978-0-345-52245-0

  www.villard.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  A Note of Introduction

  Chapter 1 : The Jewish Mother

  What? All of the Sudden You Don’t Like My Brisket?

  Chapter 2 : Who Are the Jews?

  The Chosen

  Chapter 3 : Coming to America

  Fighting for Elbow Room on the Lower East Side

  Chapter 4 : Moving to the Suburbs

  Success!

  Chapter 5 : The Rabbi

  And You Shouldn’t Forget the Mohel

  Chapter 6 : Food

  What’s in Our Mouths While We’re Talking

  Chapter 7 : Husbands and Wives

  It’s a Thin Line.…

  Chapter 8 : Sex

  What Is This I Hear About a Revolution?

  Chapter 9 : Oral Sex

  And Other Stuff That Probably Isn’t Kosher

  Chapter 10 : Illness and Doctors

  I’m Not Sure Which Are Worse

  Chapter 11 : Getting Old

  Florida, as in Southeast, and Surgery, as in Plastic

  Chapter 12 : Death: The Last Laugh

  What, You Want I Should Cry?

  Special Added Bonus Chapter

  A Joke About Jokes

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  A Note of Introduction

  Old Jews Telling Jokes.

  It’s a simple concept, one of those ideas where the name tells you everything you need to know. Like “peanut butter” or “Dungeons & Dragons.” Or “autoerotic asphyxiation.”

  Old Jews Telling Jokes. No-brainer, right? Let’s face it—jokes are funny. Jews are funny. Old Jews—funnier still.

  But, like every success story, it was an uphill climb.

  Eric Spiegelman and his business partner, Tim Williams, were starting an Internet content company and they asked me if I had any ideas for a site. I said yes. I have a great one. How about a site for social networking where you could reconnect with all the people that you had spent the last twenty years trying to avoid?

  They said it would never catch on.

  So I pitched them my second idea. Porn. As in: pornography. We could just use the Internet to distribute naked videos of all sorts of people having sex with each other in novel and interesting ways.

  They told me to stop being ridiculous.

  Why would anyone want to watch porn at home when you could go to a dirty, crappy theater in a horrible part of town and watch it with a bunch of unwashed strangers?

  I said fine. You guys want to be like that? Here’s an idea for you. Why don’t we just go videotape my dad and his friends telling the same old jokes they’ve been telling for forty years?

  And Old Jews Telling Jokes was born.

  All kidding aside, Old Jews Telling Jokes did begin in an abandoned storefront in my hometown of Highland Park, New Jersey, with a group of twenty of my father’s friends and relatives. He cast people who he thought could “tell a good story,” and indeed that’s what it’s all about. We lit the set carefully and shot against a plain white background, to indicate that these were more than jokes; they were portraits. We also decided that no joke teller could be younger than sixty years old. We wanted a lifetime of experience to infuse these jokes.

  Old jokes, fairly or not, tend to be stigmatized. I think this has something to do with the way we naturally respond to humor. Things are much funnier when they surprise us; therefore the first time we hear a particular joke is probably the best time we will ever hear it. To some immeasurable extent, it lessens in value with each hearing.

  Despite this, jokes, because of their ability to entertain, tend to last longer than other forms of oral communication. They get passed around and around, sometimes for decades. The jokes themselves become time capsules, revealing the fears and anxieties and celebrating the joys of all aspects of life, including its end.

  Needless to say, our site became a hit. It only took me three or four days to explain to the older joke tellers that “going viral” was a good thing. As of this writing the jokes have been seen six million times. We have shot rounds of jokes in New York City and in Los Angeles, and we have plans to shoot soon in Florida and London. The beauty of shooting in Los Angeles was that Eric, a native of that city, tasked his father with putting together the cast of old Jews. I found great satisfaction in the symmetry of our two fathers, on opposite coasts, pooling friends to come preserve and celebrate these stories and jokes with us.

  This book endeavors to take the process a step further. We have categorized the jokes into chapters, roughly tracing the trajectory of the Jewish experience in America. Make no mistake: We do not attempt scholarly analysis—we’ll gladly leave that work in the competent hands of academics. Rather our goal is a portrait, both in photos and jokes, of an evolving culture.

  1

  The Jewish Mother

  What? All of the Sudden You Don’t Like My Brisket?

  She was so deeply embedded in my consciousness that for the first year of school I seem to have believed that each of my teachers was my mother in disguise. As soon as the last bell had sounded, I would rush off for home, wondering as I ran if I could possibly make it to our apartment before she had succeeded in transforming herself. Invariably she was already in the kitchen by the time I arrived, and setting out my milk and cookies. Instead of causing me to give up my delusions, however, the feat merely intensified my respect for her powers.

  So starts Portnoy’s Complaint, Philip Roth’s definitive kvetch novel of the American Jewish Mother. What’s interesting to me is that Roth’s portrait doesn’t start with any of the petty stereotypical claims—overprotective, anxious, neurotic. Instead Portnoy’s mother is defined by her power.

  Coincidentally, when I posted my own mother’s joke to our website, it was accompanied by the following description: “Diane Hoffman is my mom. She can do pretty much anything and, at any given time, is doing everything.” The phrasing may be less sublime, but the sentiment is related. If we, and by “we” I mean the Jewish boys, have an issue with our mothers, the issue is with their abundance of gifts, talents, and abilities, or at least with our perception of these things.

  But why are these Jewish mothers so exaggerated? Are there steroids in the flanken? What has created this über-race of shape-shifting moms?

  Some scholars suggest that it is intrinsically tied to the Jewish suburban flight during the middle of the last century. For generations the mother had occupied the central role in the Jewish family. In the shtetl, they ran the household, which could include domesticated animals and small farming, while the fathers often spent copious time studying Torah. Suddenly these ferociously intelligent, energetic women were stuck in a house in the middle of nowhere with little or nothing to do. By the 1950s, many could even afford a little help around the house with the laundry and the dusting.

  So what’s a ravenously curious, intellectually gifted, ambitious woman to do? Many joined associations and community groups such as Hadassah and synagogue sisterhoods. Many ran parent-teacher organizations and started book clubs and charity organizations. And starting in the 196
0s, many started to enter the labor market. But before having a job became a generally accepted option, many turned their laserlike focus to their children. This had a mixed effect, which we could address further if we had a chapter on psychoanalysis, but unfortunately the publishers didn’t find our collection of 378 Freudian knock-knock jokes to be worth printing.

  One might ask—why start the book with a chapter on Jewish mothers?

  The answer is simple. That’s where it all starts.

  A Freudian Knock-Knock Joke

  “Knock knock.”

  “Who’s there?”

  “Oedipus.”

  “Oedipus who?”

  “Oedipus shmedipus, as long as he loves his mother.”

  DENNIS SPIEGELMAN

  Dennis Spiegelman is Eric’s dad. He moved to Los Angeles in 1963, married a shiksa (Eric’s word choice), and had two children. He deals in antique and collectible objects.

  My Son, the President

  It’s the year 2016, and a Jew has been elected president. He calls his mother and says, “Ma, I’m the president of the United States! Are you coming to the inauguration?”

  She says, “Eh, well, I’ve got nothing to wear.”

  He says, “Ma, I’m gonna be the president. I can get you a dressmaker.”

  She says, “Eh, well, I only eat kosher.”

  “Ma, I’m gonna be president! I can get you a kosher meal.”

  She says, “Eh, well, how am I gonna get there?”

  “Ma, I can get you Air Force One. Come to the inaugural.”

  She ends up at the inaugural and they’re on the reviewing stand. On the left side of her are all of the Supreme Court justices; on the right side is the president’s cabinet.

  She nudges the guy to her right and says, “You see that guy with his hand up? His brother’s a doctor!”

  SYLVIE DRAKE

  Sylvie Drake has led a fascinating life, which began in Alexandria, Egypt, in 1930. After she immigrated to the United States in 1949, she spent three years acting and directing with the Pasadena Playhouse.

  Rottweiler

  What is the difference between a Jewish mother and a Rottweiler?

  Eventually, a Rottweiler will let go.

  A Bonus Joke from Sylvie Drake

  Staring at the Sea

  These four women are sitting on a bench in Santa Monica.

  It’s a gray day. They’re staring out at the gray sea, under a cloudy sky, looking miserable. They’re not talking.

  All of a sudden, one of them breaks the silence and says, “Oy.”

  Two seconds later, the one next to her says, “Oy, vey.”

  A few seconds later, the one next to her says, “Oy vey iz mir.”

  The fourth one turns toward the others and says, “Excuse me, I thought we had agreed that we weren’t going to talk about the children!”

  MIKE LEIDERMAN

  Mike Leiderman has spent more than thirty years as a Chicago TV sportscaster, producer, writer, and host. He was so excited to be a part of Old Jews Telling Jokes that he flew himself from Chicago to Los Angeles to tell his jokes.

  Meeting Mom

  This guy tells his mother that he’s finally going to get married. His mother is thrilled!

  She says, “Am I gonna meet her?”

  He says, “Well, Ma, I’d like to play a little game with you. You have such a good sense of what’s going on. I’d like to bring in three women and have you guess which one’s gonna be my wife.”

  His mother agrees.

  The next day, he brings in three beautiful ladies and he sits down on the couch next to his mom. His mom talks to them for two minutes and says, “The redhead in the middle.”

  He says, “Ma, that’s amazing! How’d you do that so quickly?”

  She says, “ ’Cause I don’t like her.”

  HAROLD ZAPOLSKY

  Harold (Harry) Zapolsky spent most of his career as a professor of physics at Rutgers University, where he served two terms as department chair and is now professor emeritus. He also served in Washington, D.C., for several years as program director for theoretical physics at the National Science Foundation.

  Bubele

  A lady is taking her young son to his first day in school. She’s walking him to school and she starts giving him a little lecture.

  She says, “Now, bubele, this is a marvelous thing for you, bubele. Bubele, you’re never gonna forget it. Just remember, bubele, to behave in school. Remember, bubele, anytime you want to speak, you raise your hand.”

  They get to the school and she says, “Bubele, have a good day. I’ll be waiting for you when you get out of school.”

  Four hours later, she’s standing there, and the little kid runs down the steps. She runs toward him and says, “Bubele, bubele, it’s been such an exciting day. Tell me, bubele, what did you learn today?”

  He says, “I learned my name was Irving.”

  Steven M. Brown, M.D.

  Mothers and Sons

  Three older Jewish women, sitting on a bench in Miami.

  First one boasts, “I have such a wonnerful son. You know what he did for mine seventy-fifth birthday? Chartered an airplane. Got all my friends from Great Neck, flew them down here for a party at the Fontainebleau Hotel … in the grand ballroom! They made a chopped liver look like a svan! You could die from it! Seven-piece orchestra, we partied till two in the morning. Vhat a nize boy.”

  Second lady says, “Well, you have a nize son, but let me tell you about my boy. Took me around the vorld onna cruise … Princess Line, two whole veeks …Ve played shuffleboard on the deck … We sat at the captain’s table. Parties every night. Such a great kid.”

  Third lady: “Vell, you have a nize boy and you have a nize boy, but let me tell you about my zon Marvin. He lives in New York City. He zees a psee-kye-a-trist [psychiatrist] tree times a veek … two hun’red dollars an hour … and all he talks about is me!!”

  Sheldon Kimmelman

  Hanukkah Guilt

  A Jewish mother gives her son two ties on the first night of Hanukkah. The following morning, when he comes down for breakfast, he is wearing one of them.

  The mom says, “What’s the matter—you didn’t like the other one?”

  Dr. Josh Backon

  Native American Wife

  A guy from an Orthodox family goes out and marries a Native American girl and brings the bride home to his mother.

  The bride says, “My name is Honakanaloni but you can call me Falling Water.”

  The mother says, “My name is Sadie Bernstein and you can call me SITTING SHIVA.”

  2

  Who Are the Jews?

  The Chosen

  ANY ATTEMPT TO DESCRIBE THE JEWS BEGINS AND ENDS WITH one phrase: the Chosen.

  When a Jewish boy is eight days old, his parents volunteer him for ritual surgery—some describe it as barbaric—to remove the foreskin from his penis. Later in life, if he has the good fortune to encounter a penis in its foreskin-bedecked natural state, he might turn to his parents and ask, “Why? Why does Patrick’s penis have a nifty turtleneck, while mine is naked and shorn like a baby mouse?”

  “Because, son, you are Chosen. Circumcision is a sign of the covenant between God and the Jewish people.”

  “What’s a covenant?”

  “A covenant is sort of a contract. A deal. Between the Jews and God.”

  “A deal?”

  “Yes. God has chosen the Jews. In return, we get circumcised.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well the Jews are very lucky because there is only one god, and that god has chosen the Jews as his very favorite people. You know how you pledge allegiance to the flag in class?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, circumcision is sort of a pledge of allegiance to God.”

  “Why doesn’t Patrick have to pledge allegiance to God with his penis?”

  “Because Patrick is Catholic. God didn’t choose them.”

  “Then why does he get Chr
istmas?”

  You could call the whole “Chosen” thing a mixed blessing for the Jews. For one thing, it’s really kept our numbers down. Jews don’t go out, door to door, like Mormons, trying to sign up more Jews. Why? It wouldn’t be much of a “Chosen” club if anybody could just join. Becoming a Jew is a pain in the ass. If you don’t have the required matrilineal proof of membership, you have to pass all sorts of tests and learn to read backwards. But elitism requires a small footprint.

  A few generations after Abraham smashed his idols and got the Jews started, his descendants followed Joseph down into Egypt and pretty soon afterward were enslaved. (This is all covered in Genesis and Exodus, which are two parts of the Old Testament, which you can find in most motel rooms, if you want to check my facts.) They were enslaved because the Egyptians didn’t trust them and thought they might join up with an enemy if Egypt were to be attacked. Why didn’t the Egyptians trust them? Because they were different. They worshipped one god instead of the sun and those funny-looking cats, and they probably went around telling everyone they were Chosen.

  This is the beginning of a multimillennial pattern for the Jews. They ride into town. It turns out that they are handy at doing things that the local people aren’t so good at: accounting, kosher butchering, comedy. They become a useful part of the community. Then they tell the locals that they are “Chosen.” This, to the locals, sounds a lot like “you idiots are specifically not Chosen.” The locals get mad and kick their collective Jewish tucheses.

  Now let’s be fair. The Jews have been persecuted throughout the ages for a variety of sad and terrible reasons that have nothing to do with being “Chosen.” But, as a result of this persecution, the Jews have adopted the tenacious pugnacity of the perpetual underdog. It’s no surprise that David, slayer of the giant Goliath, is the second greatest of all Jewish mythic heroes (after Sammy Davis, Jr.).