Category: Jewish Jokes

Come and get it

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november 18th, 2012 Permalink

Een kwestie van prioriteiten

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november 7th, 2011 Permalink

Is this the Levi residence?

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oktober 12th, 2009 Permalink

“Hello, is this the Levy residence?”

– “Ahah, Mit whom you vish to speak”

“Is Mr. Levy there?”

– “Dis time of the day? Mr. Levy is voiking.”

“Is Thelma at home”

– “In school is Thelma.”

“Then how about Harry? Can I speak to him?”

– “Harry? In colletch is Harry He should be a docketor I see”

“Is this Mrs. Levy”

– “Mrs. Levy, she shoppink in de supermakkit.”

Well, who is this?”

– “Dis? Dis is Daisy, de schwartze.”

Year 5758

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oktober 11th, 2009 Permalink

“The Jewish people have observed their 5758th year as a people.” the Hebrew teacher informed his class. “Consider that the Chinese have observed only their 4695th. What does this mean to you?”

After a reflective pause, one student volunteered, “Well for one thing, the Jews had to do without Chinese food for 1063 years.”

A frightening rumor was spreading like wildfire through a small Ukrainian village, at the turn of the century. Apparently, a young Christian girl had been found murdered. Knowing how anti-Semitic many of the local peasants were — even with no evidence of who’d actually killed the girl — the Jews logically feared horrible repercussions, perhaps even a pogrom. A huge crowd congregated in their small, simple synagogue. Ideas were flying around the room about the best way to ward off the inevitable revenge they both feared and had come to expect.

People were shouting, ideas were flying back and forth, when suddenly Abramowitz runs into the synagogue and makes a momentous announcement:

“I have great news! The murdered girl was Jewish!”

Russian Immigrant in Israel

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oktober 9th, 2009 Permalink

After many years of red tape, Mikhail was finally give an exit visa by the Russian government to emigrate to Israel, where he already had some family. Rules allowed that émigrés were allowed to take with them only what they could pack into a standard-size suitcase.

At the airport in Moscow, he was stopped by a spiteful customs official who was determined to give this Jew a hard time.

“Open your luggage!” he commanded.

So Mikhail opened the case. The officer tore through all his pathetic belongings – tattered clothing, an old Bible, some family photos. Underneath it all, he found a heavy object wrapped in newspaper. Ahah! I’m going to get him now, he thought. He unwrapped the paper and found nothing more than a bust of Stalin.

“And what is this we have here?” he snarled.

“What is this, you ask me?” said Mikhail. “Don’t ask ‘What is this?’ Instead you should ask ‘Who is this?’ This, comrade, is our magnificent leader, Joseph Stalin. I am leaving behind more important things, so I may take this with me, so that in my new home, I will have it to remind me of all the wonderful things this great men did and the splendid Soviet life I am leaving behind.”

“You Jews are crazy!” said the customs man, carelessly throwing the statue into the bag. “Go on. Get out of here! We should be happy to see you go!”

Several hours later, Mikhail arrived in Israel, and there he was met by an Israeli customs official.

“Shalom, Welcome to Israel. Please, open the case!”

Once again Mikhail’s luggage is thoroughly examined, and again, the customs official finds the bust of Stalin.

“What is this?” asks the customs officer.

“What is this?” asks Mikhail indignantly. “Don’t ask ‘What is this?’. Better you should ask ‘Who is this?’ This, my friend, is that bastard, Stalin. I shlepped it all the way from Moscow to Israel, and I’m going to put it right next to my bed, so when I wake up in the morning, I will be reminded of all the suffering and misery this momzer* caused me my whole life. And every night before I go to sleep, I’m going to spit on him! Khha-ptooie!”

“You Russian Jews are all crazy!” the official laughs, and tosses the bust back into the luggage. “Go ahead! Welcome to Israel.”

Mikhail’s sister and her family meet him at the airport and bring him back to her home. Later that evening, his young nephew is sitting on the bed, watching him unpack. Carefully, Mikhail takes out the bust of Stalin and places it gently on the nightstand.”

“Who’s that?” the boy asks.

“Who is that?” Mikhail says with a sly smile. “Never mind ‘Who is that?’ Better you should ask ‘What is that?’ That, boychik, is five kilos of gold”

The Tattoo

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oktober 8th, 2009 Permalink

Miriam goes into a tattoo parlour in Tel Aviv and says to the artist on duty, “I’d like the words ‘Happy Purim’ tattooed on my right thigh please, just below my bikini line.”
“Of course, madam,” he says, “anything else?”
“Yes,” replies Miriam, “put a picture of a hamentash underneath the words.”
“No problem,” he says, “will that be all?”
“No,” replies Miriam. “On my other thigh, also just below my bikini line, I’d like the words, ‘Happy Pesach’ with a picture of a matzo underneath the words.”
So the artist gets going and some time later completes his work of art. The tattoos look great. As Miriam is getting dressed, he says to her, “I don’t mean to pry, but why did you want such unusual tattoos on your thighs?”
“Because I’m fed up with my husband always complaining that there’s nothing good to eat between Purim and Pesach,” she replies.

The Divorce

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oktober 7th, 2009 Permalink

An elderly man in Miami calls his son in New York and says, “I hate to ruin your day, but I have to tell you that your mother and I are divorcing. Forty-five years of misery is enough.”
“Pop, what are you talking about?” the son screams.

“We can’t stand the sight of each other any longer,” the old man says. “We’re sick of each other, and I’m sick of talking about this, so you call your sister in Chicago and tell her,” and he hangs up.

Frantic, the son calls his sister, who explodes on the phone, “Like heck they’re getting divorced,” she shouts, “I’ll take care of this.” She calls her father immediately and screams at the old man, “You are NOT getting divorced! Don’t do a single thing until I get there. I’m calling my brother back! , and we’ll both be there tomorrow. Until then, don’t do a thing, DO YOU HEAR ME?” and hangs up.

The old man hangs up his phone and turns to his wife. “Okay,” he says, “They’re coming for Passover and paying their own airfares.”