A yeshiva student takes an important oral exam based on the commentaries of Rashi, the illustrious 11th-century sage.

After he answers the last question, the Rosh Yeshiva (Head of School) claps his hands and exclaims, “What an incredible student! He could’ve been a member of the Sanhedrin in the times of the Holy Temple, like the great Akiva or Hillel!”

The other instructors look at the Rosh Yeshiva, surprised.

“Surely not so much, Rabbi? Perhaps you’re exaggerating a little bit?”

“Not at all. They hadn’t read Rashi either.”

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On the Shabbos before Passover, Rabbi Schwartzman is delivering his biggest sermon of the year. In the middle of his lesson, Yankel gets up and walks out of the synagogue.

The next day, Rabbi Schwartzman sees Yankel on the street and hustles over.

“Yankel, wait a second!”

“Hello, Rabbi.”

“Yankel, why did you walk out during my sermon yesterday?”

“I needed a haircut.”

“Why didn’t you get your haircut before my sermon?”

“I didn’t need one.”

🤣

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Back in the days when millions of Jews lived in the villages of Poland and Ukraine, a young Torah scholar was soon to be wed. He heard about an old couple that never had a fight in 60 years of marriage. Eager to learn their secret, he walked for days to visit them. Upon hearing why the young man had come, the elderly husband agreed to share his wisdom for a peaceful marriage.

The day after we married, I came to my in-laws’ house with a donkey-cart to move my wife’s possessions to our new home. We loaded up and departed.

After a couple hours of walking, the donkey took an unauthorized break. My wife looked the donkey in the eye and said, “That’s one.”

An hour later, the donkey took another unauthorized break. My wife looked the donkey in the eye and said, “That’s two.”

An hour after that, the donkey took a third unauthorized break. My wife looked the donkey in the eye and said, “That’s three.” Then she took out a gun and shot the donkey dead.

I said, “Don’t you think maybe that was a little excessive?”

She said, “That’s one.”

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When Abe, Sam and Moshe were 40, they discussed where to meet for lunch. Finally they decided to meet at the kosher deli uptown because it had the best-looking waitresses.

When Abe, Sam and Moshe were 50, they discussed where to meet for lunch. Finally they decided to meet at the kosher deli uptown because it had the best pastrami.

When Abe, Sam and Moshe were 60, they discussed where to meet for lunch. Finally they decided to meet at the kosher deli uptown because it had the best parking.

When Abe, Sam and Moshe were 70, they discussed where to meet for lunch. Finally they decided to meet at the kosher deli uptown because it had the most wheelchair accessible bathroom.

When Abe, Sam and Moshe were 80, they discussed where to meet for lunch. Finally they decided to meet at the kosher deli uptown because they’d never been there before.

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What’s the difference between a Jewish pessimist and a Jewish optimist?

The Jewish pessimist says, “Things can’t possibly get any worse.”

The Jewish optimist says, “Sure they can!”

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Shimmy asked Max, “How did you get so witty and wise? You always make the brilliant comment.”

“Don’t tell anyone, but the secret is the fish heads I sell in my store. I make a soup out of them, and it speeds up my brain.”

“Really? How much do you sell the fish heads for?”

“50 bucks a pound.”

“Pretty good deal if they make me as smart as you.”

“Pretty good.”

“OK, I’ll take five pounds.”

A week later, Shimmy walks into Max’s fish shop.

“You liar! You cheat! Nobody buys fish heads – that’s why they’re so cheap. And you unloaded them on me for 50 bucks a pound!”

“See? You’re getting smarter already.”

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Yankel sits at the bar, staring into his bourbon when a large biker with a swastika tattooed on his forehead grabs his drink and downs it.

“Thanks for the drink, Jew-boy! Got something to say about it?”

Yankel bursts into tears.

“Come on, Jew-boy, I didn’t think you’d cry about it. Man up!”

“This is the worst day of my life.”

“Yeah? You saw a dollar and someone else picked it up?”

“I was late to work and my boss fired me. I went back to my car and found someone keyed it. I pulled out of the parking lot and totaled it. I still owe the car loan, and my credit cards – I’ll never pay ’em off. I took the bus home and found my wife in bed with my best friend. So I came here to work up the courage to end it all. I bought a bourbon, dropped the capsule in, I was watching the poison dissolve when you showed up and drank the whole thing. Nu, enough about me. How’s your day going?”

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Image by Randall Hill

A man walks into a deli on the lower east side of New York City and asks the owner, “Do you have pickles?”

“Do I have pickles?! Right here I have sour, half-sour, and oversize. Step over here for the gherkins. This barrel is full of bread & butter pickles. That one’s got brine pickles. Those three barrels are all classic dill. That vat holds the sweet dill. And those shelves are for Hungarian, German and Polish pickles.”

“Wow! You must sell a lot of pickles!”

“Well, to be honest, not so many. But the guy I buy from? Boy can he sell pickles!”

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Rabbi Moshe Karelman, a brilliant Talmudist and his star pupil Yeshaya are traveling to Vilna when they have to stop for the night, and pitch their tent in an empty field.

After the evening prayers Rabbi Karelman and Yeshaya retire for the evening.

Some hours later, Rabbi Karelman wakes up and nudges his student.

“Yeshaya, look up at the sky and tell me what you see.”

“I see millions and millions of stars, Rabbi Karelman.”

“And from this, what do you deduce?”

Yeshaya ponders for a minute.

“Well, astronomically, this view conveys the vastness of the heavens. Chronometrically, I deduce that the time is approximately a quarter past three. Meteorologically, I suspect that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. Theologically, I can see that God is all powerful, and that we are a small and insignificant part of His universe. What does it tell you, Rabbi Karelman?”

“Yeshaya, someone has stolen our tent.”

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After months of negotiation with the authorities, a talmudist from Leningrad is finally granted permission to visit Moscow.

He boards his train. At the next stop, a young man gets on and sits next to him. The talmudist looks at the young man and thinks:

This fellow doesn’t look like a farm worker, so he probably comes from this district, and this being a Jewish district, he’s probably a Jew.

But if he is a Jew, where could he be going? I’m the only Jew in our district with permission to travel to Moscow.

Ah! Just outside Moscow there’s a village called Lesnaya, and Jews don’t need special permission to go to Lesnaya. But why would he travel to Lesnaya? Must be he’s going to visit one of the Jewish families there. But how many Jewish families are there in Lesnaya? Only two, Davidovich and Orovich. But since the Oroviches are a terrible family, this nice looking fellow must be visiting the Davidoviches.

The Davidoviches have two children – daughters – so maybe he’s their son-in-law. But if he is, then which daughter did he marry? They say Suri Davidovich married a nice lawyer from Budapest, and Esti married a tailor from Vinograd, so this must be Suri’s husband. Which means his name is Sasha Cohen, if I’m not mistaken.

But if he came from Budapest, with all the anti-Semitism they have there, he must have changed his name.

What’s the Hungarian equivalent of Cohen? Kovacs. But since they allowed him to change his name, he must have special status to change it. What could it be? Must be a doctorate from the university. Nothing less would suffice.

The talmudist turns to his neighbor and says, “Excuse me. Do you mind if I open the window, Dr. Kovacs?”

“Not at all. But how did you know my name?”

“Oh, it was obvious.”

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