Old Jews Telling Jokes (3 page)

In the Vatican in the sixteenth century, one of the cardinals has borrowed an enormous amount of money from the Jewish banker. And he can’t pay it back. So he goes to the pope and he says, “I think, Holy Father, we should get rid of all the Jews.”

The pope says, “I can’t throw all the Jews out. I just can’t do that.”

“Well,” he says, “why don’t you find an excuse. You challenge the rabbi to a duel over who has the truer faith.”

The pope agrees, so the cardinals go to the community and talk to them. The Jews don’t like the idea but they can’t say no.

But one of the Jews says, “You know, our rabbi is very learned, his Hebrew is excellent, but his Italian is limited and his Latin is nonexistent. And with all due respect to the pope, I can’t believe that his Hebrew is so good that he would be able to debate.”

So the cardinal says, “You know what? Instead of having a debate vocally, they can debate with symbols, with signs.”

So they agree. The day comes and the cardinals are assembled. The pope comes in, sits on his throne. The rabbi comes in wearing a long black robe. He sits down below. They nod to each other.

And then the pope begins. He holds up three fingers. The rabbi looks at him for a second and holds up one finger. The pope swings his finger in a circle over his head. The rabbi looks at him and points down to the ground. The pope pulls out a glass of sacramental wine and a holy wafer and holds them up. The rabbi looks at him a moment, sticks his hand in his pocket, and pulls out an apple and holds it up.

The pope slaps his hands together and says, “That’s it. These Jews are too smart for me. They don’t have to leave; they can stay.”

The Jews exit, very happy, and the cardinals run around the pope and say, “What happened?”

“Well, I held up the sign of the Trinity—the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost—and the rabbi held up a sign that there’s only one God. I spun my finger to say God is everywhere and he pointed down to indicate God is right here.

“I held up the sacrament, the wine, and the wafer, to show that in our faith you can, through confession and communion, relieve yourself of all sins. And he held up an apple, which indicates that you can’t get rid of original sin. It’s always there.

“They’re just too smart.”

Back in the synagogue, the Jews are dancing and celebrating and they go to the rabbi and say, “What happened?”

The rabbi says, “Can you imagine the chutzpah? This guy holds up three fingers to say, ‘You’ve got three days to leave,’ and so I give him the finger. He spins his finger over his head to say, ‘You’re going to leave not only from Rome but from all of Italy,’ so I point down to say we’re staying right here.

“And then for some reason he takes out his lunch, so I take out mine.”

Lou Charloff was born in Romania and moved to New York (specifically, the Bronx) when he was two years old. He speaks five languages and served as an interpreter for the military government of occupied Germany after World War II. Four years ago he decided to try his hand at stand-up comedy in Los Angeles, making him, simultaneously, one of the oldest and one of the newest comics in the business.

A long time ago, I was in basic training in the army. I had the day off, and I went into Kansas City. I saw a sign, and the sign said, “Tonight, 8
P.M
. at the Parkway Theatre, come see Herschel the Magnificent Jew.”

So, of course, I was curious. I went, and there was a good-sized crowd in the theater. At eight o’clock, they introduced him: “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Herschel.”

He came out wearing a bathrobe. He removed his bathrobe, and he was perfectly naked. Completely naked.

Now, imagine, if you will, the largest, most masculine equipment you can think of. Herschel was four times bigger. He had a bench in front of him, and he put three walnuts on the bench. He took his masculinity in his hand, and he went whap, whap, whap! And he smashed them to smithereens. The audience applauded. When they were leaving the theater, they were still applauding.

Twenty years later—twenty years later!—I was again in Kansas City and I saw the same sign: “Tonight, 8
P.M
. at the Parkway Theatre, come see Herschel the Magnificent Jew.”

Well, of course I went, and it was the same thing: They introduced him, he came out, he took off his bathrobe. He looked exactly the same; hadn’t changed one iota!

He put on the bench three coconuts. One, two, three. He took his masculinity in his hands and went whap, whap, whap! Smashed them to smithereens!

Well, naturally, I went backstage—I was curious. I said, “Mr. Herschel, why did you switch from walnuts to coconuts?”

He said, “Well … my eyesight ain’t what it used to be.”

Michael King grew up in Las Vegas, the son of a violinist. He moved to Los Angeles to study at UCLA and attended law school at Loyola University. He has been selected as a Southern California “Super Lawyer” by
Los Angeles
magazine for each of the past three years. He has four children and six grandchildren.

Moishe, the tailor, is in London. He’s been in London his whole life, and he has made all of the clothes for all of the royalty for all of England.

One day he comes home and tells his children, “You’re not going to believe this, but our queen is going to make me a knight.”

“Oh, Papa, that’s wonderful! Our queen is going to make you a—but wait, Papa, the queen can’t make you a knight.”

Moishe says, “Why is that?”

“Because you have to speak Latin to the queen, and you don’t know any Latin!”

“Oh, my children,” he says. “We’ll figure it out.”

So he goes to the church, takes out a book, and reads and memorizes the Latin in the book.

The night comes when all of the knights-to-be will be made knights by the queen. Moishe goes to Prince Albert Hall and the queen is sitting on her throne at the end of a long red-carpeted aisle.

Each knight puts one knee down, and then the other knee. The queen takes the sword and puts it on one shoulder, and then the other shoulder.

“Arise, Sir John! Arise, Sir Charles!” The knights look at the queen and say this beautiful phrase in Latin.

Now it’s Moishe’s turn. He’s walking down the aisle—all the way down the red carpet—and he puts one knee down, and the sword goes on his shoulder. He puts the other knee down, and the sword goes on his other shoulder. He stands up, and he completely forgets what he’s supposed to say. The only thing he can think of—in the only foreign language he knows—is “Mah nishtana ha’leilah hazeh, mikol ha’leilot.”

The queen looks at him, looks around, then says, “Why is this knight different from all the other knights?”

Fred Rubin was born and raised in Chicago. For twenty-three years he wrote and produced network television sitcoms, working on such classics as
Diff’rent Strokes, Night Court
, and
Archie Bunker’s Place
. He is currently an assistant professor at UCLA in the department of theater, film, and television.

Bernie, an old Jew who has spent many years in the clothing business, is retiring. His friends ask him, “What’re you gonna do after you retire?”

He says, “I think I’ll go down and join the New York Athletic Club.”

They say, “Bernie, what are you, crazy? They’ll never let a Jew in there!”

And he says, “Well, I have my ways. I think I can get in.”

Sure enough, after Bernie retires, he puts on a blue blazer with gold buttons, a pin-striped shirt, red silk tie, khaki Dockers, and boat shoes, and goes down to the New York Athletic Club to interview. He gets taken into a sumptuous room and a well-dressed elegant man comes out to interview him. The man sits down opposite Bernie and says, “Your name, sir?”

He says, “Ah, yes. It’s Bernard Throckmorten, the Third.”

The interviewer writes it down. “And what line of work are you in, sir?”

Bernie says, “Well, yes, I’m retired now, but for many years I had a small boutique advertising agency on Park Avenue.”

The interviewer writes that down. “Are you married, sir? Do you have children?”

“Yes, my wife Mary does quite a bit of work for the Junior League. I have two children: Buffy and Chip. They will be matriculating this year at Harvard and Yale, respectively.”

He says, “I see, sir. And your religion?”

“Ah, yes, we’re goyim.”

Larry Greenfield is a native of Trenton and a graduate of Princeton University. He has three children and one grandchild. He lives in New York, with the love of his life, Robin, and manages computer systems for the Metropolitan Transportation Authority. Greenfield was once a civil engineer, and he holds two patents, one of which is on a wheel. (And they said it couldn’t be reinvented!)

Sidney, who’s almost ninety years old, weighs maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, walks up behind the head lumberjack, taps him on the shoulder, and says, “Excuse me, I’d like a job chopping down trees.”

The lumberjack, six foot four, 275 pounds of muscle, turns around and looks at skinny, little old Sidney, and says, “You’ve got to be kidding. This is a tough job. Not for little old men like you. Besides, where did you ever work before chopping down trees?”