Betting on Yom Kippur, the highest holy day of the year and a day linked to seeking God’s forgiveness, would be extremely transgressive. (In an episode of Larry David’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, a character scalps tickets to a Yom Kippur service.) But what stands out in the joke is a classic Jewish stereotype, the moneymaking shrewdness and cunning of the Jew in the form of a talking, davening parrot.
Nothing to do with money but I can’t resist the temptation here to add another talking animal joke to the already significant number. It’s the one about the Jewish man Larry Karp, who has a talking dog. He asks the dog to “Go fetch!” Instead of fetching, the dog berates the man with a barrage of complaints about how it doesn’t get enough walks, Milk Bones, petting, or sniffing and running time with other dogs in the park. “What is this?” the owner asks his talking dog. “I simply asked you to go fetch.” The talking Jewish dog says, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you said ‘kvetch.’”
A Jew in a Texas bar wears a large Jewish star on a chain around his neck. A big, angry-looking Texan walks into the bar and spies the Jew and bellows, “I hate fucking Jews. Let’s have a round for everyone in the bar except for the goddamned Jew.” The Jew smiles. The Texan continues to order more rounds, one after another, for everyone, and he continues to exclude the Jew. Finally, with the Jew still smiling, and smiling broadly, the Texan says to the bartender, “What the hell is that damn Jew grinning about? I refuse to buy him a drink. Doesn’t he realize how much I hate his Jew guts?” The bartender replies: “Yes, sir. But Mr. Bernstein is the owner.”
In this and other Jewish jokes, including the other Texas one featuring Lenny, the owner of downtown Dallas, Jewish money wins out. Only in America, as the Jewish newspaper writer and publisher Harry Golden used to say, could Jew hating become major grist for the Jewish humor mill. Despite what for many might be the discomfort of such jokes, the freedom that has given birth to them surely is worth celebrating. As is Bernstein’s ownership of the bar . . . which makes a sap of the big Texan Jew hater.
A wealthy Jew lives next door to the famed banker and extraordinarily wealthy philanthropist J. P. Morgan. Both have enormous estates and the Jewish neighbor has the same cars as Morgan, the same landscaping, and a replica of Morgan’s gigantic pool. This copycat behavior annoys Morgan, and one day he bluntly and angrily says to his Jewish neighbor, “Are you trying to be my equal? Do you actually believe you can be my equal by copying me?” The Jew responds, “I am not your equal. I am better than you!” Morgan acidly asks, “And why is that?” “Because,” says Morgan’s Jewish neighbor, “I don’t have a Jew living next to me.”
This joke always fascinated me. J. P. Morgan, the banker and financier of Croesus-like wealth in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, actually had a real rivalry with Jewish bankers of his time. Morgan made many anti-Semitic comments in his correspondence to the effect that Jews were not white, this at a time when nonwhite immigrants could not become citizens. (It’s all in Susie Pak’s book Gentleman Banker: The World of J. P. Morgan.) The joke is striking in that, once again, we have a Jew of great wealth managing to get in the last word against a rival whom he is, nonetheless, emulating. The joke celebrates a quick-witted, highly successful Jew who succeeds in putting down a legendary tycoon, a so-called captain of industry, by using his own Jewishness and Morgan’s anti-Semitism. Though the Jew in the joke is a copycat, he is one with chutzpah as well as capital.
A young Jewish boy goes off to college and is told by his father to date only Jewish girls lest he fall in love with and marry a shiksa, a girl who is not Jewish. The boy meets a Gentile girl and falls in love. To his father’s chagrin, he marries the girl, who converts to Judaism and becomes a devout, practicing Jew. They have children. The father calls his son one day, informs him he has purchased a new boat, and invites the son and the son’s family for what promises to be a wonderful day of sailing. The son reminds his father that it is Shabbos and his wife, being highly observant, will not be able to join them. The father says, “I told you to marry a Jewish girl!”
The obvious humor is in the fact that the son’s wife, a convert, is now more of a Jew than the Jewish father or his son. Implicit in the joke, too, is the hope, a wish really, that Jewish practice will endure despite legitimate Jewish fears about loss through intermarriage. The joke also tells us implicitly that if Jewish practice and observance are lost, it may be because Jews by birth, not converts, abandon religious laws and rituals. Built into the joke is the image of success and prosperity evoked by the father’s boat.
Jackie Mason, in one of his early routines, had shtick about Jews buying boats only to show off to their friends how many passengers the boat could accommodate, not for actual use—because boating, like skiing and a number of other sports, is often joked about as not being for Jews. Lenny Bruce, however, said in one of his many lists of what is Jewish versus what is goyish, that skiing is Jewish while snowmobiling is goyish. All of this, once again, is a form of insistence on Jewish difference. Lenny Bruce on food: Chocolate is Jewish and fudge is goyish. Fruit salad is Jewish. Lime Jell-O is goyish. Pumpernickel is Jewish. White bread is very goyish. Instant potatoes, goyish. Black cherry soda and macaroons, very Jewish.
The joke reminds me of the time New York Times columnist and PBS talking head David Brooks explained to me how he had tried to move away from his Jewish background by becoming increasingly secular and marrying an Episcopalian, only to have his wife not only convert to Judaism but ultimately become a rabbi. He thought, when he told me this, of the line in Godfather III, when Al Pacino’s Michael Corleone says: “Just when I thought I was out, they keep pulling me back in.”
A private Boeing 747 full of Jews lands in Katmandu. The passengers are all friends or relations of the Weinberger family and the special limousines that pick them up are headed some one hundred kilometers away to the foot of the Himalayas. They are all in India for the bar mitzvah of little Stevie Weinberger, what many are calling the über bar mitzvah, or the bar mitzvah to outdo all other bar mitzvahs, a bar mitzvah so exotic, costly, and lavish that it will upend and outspend any previous bar mitzvah—which is really saying something! The rental of the 747 and the fleet of limos—who can even estimate the cost of it all? When the guests exit the limos, there are long lines of elephants, each led by a young Indian elephant trainer, to take them, even the few who are elderly and infirm, one by one, to the base of the mountains. The elephants and their attendants are accompanied by teams of bejeweled dancing women, a group of Sufi whirling dervishes, and a long line of Sherpas flown in from Tibet. A separate jet has brought in an incalculable amount of specially catered food—including Stevie’s favorite, lean-cut corned beef sandwiches, in state-of-the-art wheeled-in refrigerators. The women dance, a bevy of musicians from yet another rented jet and limo play Stevie’s favorite songs, and the elephants march forward to the Himalayas.
The team of elephants is about to begin their ascent. All the guests, each on top of an elephant, are being led toward an area on the side of the mountains where a miniature Taj Mahal is visible. The Weinberger family are at the front of the procession.
Suddenly a group of Indian men in uniforms are wildly waving batons and holding up the procession as the elephants are about to move toward the miniature Taj Mahal.
Stevie’s father, Mr. Weinberger, is distressed. He asks the Indian officers what is going on and why everyone has been commanded to stop. “We have a bar mitzvah celebration,” Stevie’s dad says forcefully to them. “Everyone has been paid. What’s the holdup?”
The Indian officer closest to him, who is clearly in charge, shrugs his shoulders and says: “I’m terribly sorry, sir. We’ll all just have to wait a little while until the Goldstein bar mitzvah party ends.”
Another joke about ostentatious spending by rich Jews, and in the joke, too, is a reference to the competition among Jews to outdo each other. Some bar mitzvahs clearly have been way over-the-top, doubtless a source of pride for some Jews, especi
ally those throwing the party.
Love of money has become the root of much present-day Jewish humor. Jokes about Jews having or spending a lot or Jews being tightwads have nearly become a staple for a lot of young Jewish comics looking for a laugh at the expense (so to speak) of the stereotypes. Anti-Semitic stereotypes show Jews as huge and lavish spenders but also as tightfisted misers. Jews are cast both as Communists and capitalists. I’ve always wondered how both stereotypes, mutually exclusive, continue to thrive.
A Jewish son tells his father he has seen the bicycle of his dreams in a local bike shop on sale for $200. Can his father please please please buy it for him? His father first says, “Whoever heard of a bike costing $170? I would need to borrow to buy a $150 bike. What can you possibly hope to get in a bike for $120?” I’ve heard that joke, in varying versions, from younger Jews, who tell it with enthusiasm for the idea it embodies of Jews being cheap and, as the joke suggests, teaching cheapness diligently to their children. Here’s another one like it, but less funny: What is the absolute favorite thing for Jewish football fans to see? Answer: they like most seeing the defensive players on their team get the quarterback. Or the one about Jews liking to watch porn movies backward because they like the part where the hooker gives the money back.
Silly, right? Yes. But also revealing of a tectonic shift. It is as if pride in those traits that once caused discomfort to Jews have somehow become worth celebrating. My sister-in-law told the story of being in an apartment in Manhattan. She is saying good-bye to her father-in-law, a hardworking businessman, a rough-around-the-edges type who no one, least of all my sister-in-law, would ever associate with any glimmering of knowledge of the world of the arts or culture. When he asks her where she is going, she tells him she is going to MoMA, the Museum of Modern Art.
Him: Why are you going there?
Her: There is a special exhibit I want to see.
Him: Exhibit of what?
Her: Of Monet.
Him: Oh. I know all about Monet.
Her (in mild disbelief): You do? You know all about Monet?
Him (extracting a fat wad of bills from his pants pocket and flipping through them). Yeah. Monet! Monet!
I would never subscribe to the notion that there is any basis to what some might call Jews’ love of money. As a young man, I was appalled to hear a couple of Gentile acquaintances talk about “Jewing someone down,” or of someone “being Jewed down.” I called one guy I was friendly with out on his use of those phrases and he told me he never even realized and it never dawned on him they were in any way connected to the Jewish people or the religion. Of course this was in southern Ohio in the sixties, where a fellow in my dorm named Zeke honestly believed Jews had horns. But a joke like the one about the father continuing to reduce the cost of the bike, and even the joke about getting the “quarter back” or the one about wanting to see a hooker give money back—all are anchored in a stereotype of Jewish cheapness and love of money that stubbornly persists and that some Jews now like to joke about while others still condemn.
I also recall from my college days buying a round or two of beers for Gentiles, taking the role of an unpaid PR agent, working on behalf of my brethren, just to show that Jews weren’t cheap, and doing so nearly religiously (so to speak) even though I had little if any money and did not particularly like beer.
However much Jews spend or don’t spend, earn or don’t earn, they will doubtless always be connected to stereotypes of being rich and/or cheap with money. Or, worse, shifty and deceitful with it, the all-Jews-are-Bernie-Madoff equation. The fear, of course, is that even joking about such stereotypes can reinforce them or cause pain. But what should be said of the freedom that comes with expressing, perhaps even owning and celebrating them, with humor?
Money was associated by most immigrants with the American dream. The Chinese emigrated with the myth of America being a gold mountain, and many Jews who came from Europe and other parts of the world believed American streets were lined with gold. I recall an Afghan immigrant store owner telling some young kids who couldn’t pay for the items they’d brought to the counter: “No money, no honey, in America.” When my high school friend Susan Venig’s grandfather escaped to America from Germany and was asked his name, he thought he was being asked how much money he had since everything he had heard about America was tied to money. His last name was Howard. Not knowing a word of English, he told the immigration officer he had twelve pfennig. Which is how the family name became Venig.
America enabled many Jews to become rich or simply prosperous; it was, of course, for many a dream come true. A Yiddish word, alevai, which means “I hope” or “I wish” or “if only” appears in many contexts. Leo Rosten uses the example of the Jew who says if God would only give him $10,000 (maybe $20,000 by today’s standards), he would promise to give a thousand of it to the poor, alevei! But if God didn’t trust him, God could deduct a thousand in advance and simply give him the balance.
A black woman tries on mink coat after mink coat, each coat being more expensive than the one before it. Finally, she is told by the saleslady waiting on her that she will be shown the most expensive and sought-after mink in the store. A full-length coat, complete with a variety of jewels, is brought to her by one of the store’s floor people and she tries it on and examines herself in a large mirror. She poses, repeatedly, walking back and forth in front of the mirror, studying her reflection. The saleslady comes up, compliments her, and reminds her that this particular coat is the most expensive one they have and, she adds, likely one of the most costly minks in all of the United States, possibly in the world. The black woman looks again at her image in the mirror, pauses, then asks: “I don’t know. Do you think it makes me look too Jewish?”
Even in jokes involving other ethnic groups Jews are the gold-standard stereotype of wealth.
Yes, many Jews in America and other developed nations have succeeded and are prosperous beyond the wildest dreams of their forefathers and foremothers. Many are also no longer mortally afraid of upsetting Gentiles (“What will the goyim think?”) or stirring up anti-Semitism, bringing undue attention to the wealth of any in their tribe.
As for the spending habits of Jews. . . . A Jew suddenly finds himself by the entrance to a time machine, thrown back to Roman antiquity and placed inside a Roman galley, rowing with other slaves under a Roman soldier’s whip. The Jew turns to the slave next to him and asks, “How much are we supposed to tip the whipper?”
A rabbi, on the occasion of his synagogue’s fortieth anniversary, announces to his congregation that, despite his leadership role and all of the success he and the synagogue have had, he feels he is a nothing. Whereupon a high-profile attorney stands up and says that he, too, one of the synagogue’s original founders, has achieved far more success than he ever would have imagined but feels he, too, is a nothing. Then a doctor, another of the original founders and a much-respected and successful physician, stands up and says, “I, too, despite all my achievements and successes, feel I am a nothing.” Finally, the synagogue’s shammash, its lowly janitor, rises from among the seated congregants and says he has been with the synagogue since its founding and also feels he is a nothing. The rabbi points at him with disdain and says, “Look who thinks he’s a nothing!”
Well you might ask, Why is that joke funny? Even with success and abundant wealth, all for sure worth celebrating, there is still competition with Jews of lower stature as well as the ever-present anxiety about really being nothing. But the joke reveals that even in feeling as though one is a nothing, one can still in reality be a somebody, with accomplishments well worth celebrating.
A Jew is sitting on a park bench eating matzo. He sees a blind man on a bench across from him. Out of kindness and concern, he goes over to the blind man and, assuming the man is hungry, hands him a piece of his matzo. The blind man slowly touches the matzo, feeling it all along its surface, even its ridges, and then exclaims, “You read this shit?”
The joke remi
nds me of a true story. I was once having lunch in a deli in Marin County with my friend Dr. Dean Edell, long a popular radio and television medical adviser. Dean ordered matzo brie and the waitress brought him Brie cheese on matzo.
At the time, I thought that would have been a great anecdote for Herb Caen, the veteran three-star San Francisco columnist. He loved stories like it, with its humor referencing a place like Marin County, where you could well imagine such a misunderstanding taking place.
But back to the joke!
On the surface, it celebrates tzedakah and makes us aware of what matzo feels like and its obvious connection to Passover. But matzo has been given other, far more baleful interpretations throughout history. The joke has a deeper undercurrent, beyond the allusions to braille and tzedakah, for Jews were persecuted for centuries in the false belief that matzo was made from the blood of Christian infants. The blunt “You read this shit?” evokes a fecal association with matzo that challenges the real purpose of the man’s generosity in giving the blind man food—an action that, on its own, Jews celebrate as a true mitzvah.
On the other hand, to borrow from Freud, who said sometimes a cigar is just a cigar: sometimes a piece of matzo is just a piece of matzo. Sometimes a joke is just a joke.
Jackie Mason had many jokes about Jews eating and celebrating special occasions with enormous amounts of food while Gentiles were, he claimed, principally interested in consuming liquor. That kind of material goes back to the idea that Jews, unlike Gentiles, are supposedly not shickers (drunkards). The idea connects all the way back to the shtetl and pogroms, often led by drunken Cossacks or other drunken non-Jews. “Oy yoi yoi, the shicker is the goy,” the old adage right out of the shtetl, literally means the non-Jew is the drunk.
Let There Be Laughter Page 12