Monday, August 27, 2007
The Anatomy of Humor 3: Jewish Humor
HUMOR
What can one say about Jewish humor that hasn't been said before? That it is overtly Jewish in its concerns, characters, language and values? One definition of a Jewish joke is that it is one non-Jews cannot understand, and Jews say they have already heard. Jewish religious scholars have said that it's easier to describe God in terms of what God is not. This same approach may be helpful in defining Jewish humor.
For example, it has been said that Jewish humor is not slapstick. It is not physical. It is usually not crude and cruel and avoids attacking the weak or infirm. It is not polite or gentle. Yet individual Jewish humorists spring to mind who negate each of these qualities. The Marx Brothers were slapstick performers, Jerry Lewis and Sid Caesar were physical, Don Rickles was crude and cruel, Sam Levenson was gentle, Danny Kaye was polite and playful. Jewish standup comediennes, a recent phenomenon, also exhibit some of these same qualities: Elayne Boosler is gentle, Judy Gold stands 6 feet 3 inches tall and is rowdy, and Sarah Silverman is crude and cruel.
Well, if Jewish humor is not what it is not, what is it? Jewish humor is substantive--it is always about something. Often that something is food and the effects of overeating, health or wealth, marriage and family, business, and anti-Semitism and survival. As social or religious commentary, Jewish humor can run the gamut from sarcastic to complaining, from resigned to descriptive. Often the point of the humor is more powerful than the laughter it evokes.
Jewish humor tends to be anti-authoritarian, ridiculing pomposity, hypocrisy, self-indulgence and delusions of grandeur. It is often politically derived, directed at authority figures, intellectuals, teachers, doctors, business tycoons and similar types who cannot otherwise be criticized directly. In Jewish humor, the interaction between ordinary people and the power structure--often the Gentile power structure--usually results in powerless victims emerging victorious. Nothing is sacred. Religious authorities and institutions, rituals and dogma are satirized without compunction. Jewish humor mocks anyone and everyone.
Problems with language and meaning are a common thread in Jewish humor. The following three jokes are old standbys, best told with an approximation of an accent for greatest effect:
Mrs. Sam Lapidus from the Bronx is delighted to find that her sunbathing companion at Miami Beach each day is a bejeweled Mrs. Irving Goldstein from Great Neck on Long Island. Fascinated with Mrs. Goldstein, Mrs. Lapidus has studied her carefully for clues to her age. She cannot detect signs of a facelift or a tummy tuck. There is no evidence of graying roots in her carefully coiffed blonde tresses. Finally, unable to stand her inability to find age-revealing clues, she decides to resort to a frontal attack to satisfy her curiosity. She will muster up the courage to ask Mrs. Goldstein a direct question, and that will settle the matter once and for all.
In the middle of an innocuous discussion, Mrs. Lapidus blurts out, "Mrs. Goldstein, I was wondering, have you been through the menopause?" "Goodness, no," Mrs. Goldstein beams benignly at her. "We haven't seen everything at the Fontainebleau yet." For younger readers, the giant Fontainebleau Hotel, an architectural standout, was once the premier showplace and celebrity resort at Miami Beach.
And another: On her first visit to Paris, Mrs. Lapidus sees Mrs. Cohen, a friend from the Upper West Side, walking on the Champs Elysées. She rushes up to her, exclaiming effusively and without pausing, "Sadie, Sadie, I didn't know you were going to be in Paris! Is Irving with you? Oh, isn't this city marvelous? We've seen almost everything, but one thing bothers me. Would you believe that we've been here three days, and I haven't been by the Louvre?" Mrs. Cohen nods and says, "By me the same. It must be the water."
And still another: When Mr. Ginsberg, a widower, retired he decided to treat himself to a trip to Paris and booked passage on the French liner Liberté, famous for its opulence and its cuisine. On the first night, he was seated by the Maitre d' at a table facing another passenger traveling alone--a Frenchman who spoke no English. The Frenchman, already seated at the table, smiles at Mr. Ginsberg and says, "Bon appetit." Mr. Ginsberg, who spoke no French, bowed stiffly before sitting down and says, "Ginsberg." This exchange goes on for several meals at each of which the Frenchman is already seated at the table when Mr. Ginsberg arrives.
The waiter eventually notices the ceremonious exchange taking place at the beginning of each meal. He discreetly approaches Mr. Ginsberg after the dinner meal and explains: "Monsieur Ginsberg, when your tablemate, the French gentleman, says, 'Bon appetit' at the start of each meal, he isn't introducing himself to you. 'Bon appetit' is a French expression. It's his way of wishing that you enjoy your meal." Mr. Ginsberg is thunderstruck. "What a dumbkopf I am," he mutters to himself, vowing to rectify his error. The next morning he races to the dining room and is relieved to find he has reached the table first. When the Frenchman reaches the table, Mr. Ginsberg smiles up at him and says proudly, "Bon appetit." The Frenchman immediately bows graciously and says, "Ginsberg."
Generally speaking, sex does not figure in Jewish humor; when it does, it is usually introduced obliquely: Mrs. Lapidus achieved the nearly impossible feat of getting the landlord to paint the Lapidus's apartment. Unfortunately, she neglected to tell her husband that the painters would be coming before he left the apartment that morning. That evening, when he went into the bedroom to take off his shoes and put on his slippers, he put a grimy hand on the wall to steady himself and left an ugly handprint. Mrs. Lapidus berated him for his thoughtlessness and resolved to try to get one of the painters to touch up the wall without the landlord knowing about it.
The next morning she hears the painters working in an apartment on the floor above hers. She keeps her apartment door open slightly. When she hears the painters leaving for lunch, she waits until the last one, a little old Jewish man, comes down the stairs. When he reaches her floor, she throws open her door, smiles and beckons to him. "Mister painter, mister painter," she calls. Taking off his cap, he approaches her. "Yes?" he says, curious about what she wants. Unsure how to ask him to touch up the damaged wall with fresh paint, she takes his hand, leads the puzzled painter into the kitchen and sits him down at the table.
Mrs. Lapidus attempts to make preliminary small talk before explaining the situation. Hungry for his lunch, the painter finally asks, "Lady, just what is it that you want?" She decides on a strategy of directness. Motioning toward the rear of the apartment, she says to him, "Come with me to the bedroom. I want to show you where my husband put his hand last night." The painter does not budge. "Look, lady," he says tiredly, "I'm an old man. If you don't mind, I'll just have a glass of hot tea."
Jewish humor can be extremely insular: Robert Briscoe, a Jew, was elected Lord Mayor of Dublin in the Irish Republic in recognition of his service in the cause of Irish independence. Before that he had served in the Irish parliament for 38 years, having been re-elected many times. Early in his term as Dublin’s first Jewish Lord Mayor, he was invited to lead the St. Patrick's Day parade in New York City. He accepted the honor graciously and came to New York.
Standing on the Fifth Avenue sidewalk, two elderly Jewish women watch admiringly as the leading marchers in the parade approach. Wearing a broad green sash, the top-hatted Lord Mayor of Dublin is out in front as Grand Marshal, smiling and waving to the crowd. "Isn't it wonderful? Imagine! The St. Patrick's Day parade," the first woman exclaims, "and a Jewish boy is leading it." Her companion nods in agreement. "Yes, it could only happen in New York!"
What can one say about Jewish humor that hasn't been said before? That it is overtly Jewish in its concerns, characters, language and values? One definition of a Jewish joke is that it is one non-Jews cannot understand, and Jews say they have already heard. Jewish religious scholars have said that it's easier to describe God in terms of what God is not. This same approach may be helpful in defining Jewish humor.
For example, it has been said that Jewish humor is not slapstick. It is not physical. It is usually not crude and cruel and avoids attacking the weak or infirm. It is not polite or gentle. Yet individual Jewish humorists spring to mind who negate each of these qualities. The Marx Brothers were slapstick performers, Jerry Lewis and Sid Caesar were physical, Don Rickles was crude and cruel, Sam Levenson was gentle, Danny Kaye was polite and playful. Jewish standup comediennes, a recent phenomenon, also exhibit some of these same qualities: Elayne Boosler is gentle, Judy Gold stands 6 feet 3 inches tall and is rowdy, and Sarah Silverman is crude and cruel.
Well, if Jewish humor is not what it is not, what is it? Jewish humor is substantive--it is always about something. Often that something is food and the effects of overeating, health or wealth, marriage and family, business, and anti-Semitism and survival. As social or religious commentary, Jewish humor can run the gamut from sarcastic to complaining, from resigned to descriptive. Often the point of the humor is more powerful than the laughter it evokes.
Jewish humor tends to be anti-authoritarian, ridiculing pomposity, hypocrisy, self-indulgence and delusions of grandeur. It is often politically derived, directed at authority figures, intellectuals, teachers, doctors, business tycoons and similar types who cannot otherwise be criticized directly. In Jewish humor, the interaction between ordinary people and the power structure--often the Gentile power structure--usually results in powerless victims emerging victorious. Nothing is sacred. Religious authorities and institutions, rituals and dogma are satirized without compunction. Jewish humor mocks anyone and everyone.
Problems with language and meaning are a common thread in Jewish humor. The following three jokes are old standbys, best told with an approximation of an accent for greatest effect:
Mrs. Sam Lapidus from the Bronx is delighted to find that her sunbathing companion at Miami Beach each day is a bejeweled Mrs. Irving Goldstein from Great Neck on Long Island. Fascinated with Mrs. Goldstein, Mrs. Lapidus has studied her carefully for clues to her age. She cannot detect signs of a facelift or a tummy tuck. There is no evidence of graying roots in her carefully coiffed blonde tresses. Finally, unable to stand her inability to find age-revealing clues, she decides to resort to a frontal attack to satisfy her curiosity. She will muster up the courage to ask Mrs. Goldstein a direct question, and that will settle the matter once and for all.
In the middle of an innocuous discussion, Mrs. Lapidus blurts out, "Mrs. Goldstein, I was wondering, have you been through the menopause?" "Goodness, no," Mrs. Goldstein beams benignly at her. "We haven't seen everything at the Fontainebleau yet." For younger readers, the giant Fontainebleau Hotel, an architectural standout, was once the premier showplace and celebrity resort at Miami Beach.
And another: On her first visit to Paris, Mrs. Lapidus sees Mrs. Cohen, a friend from the Upper West Side, walking on the Champs Elysées. She rushes up to her, exclaiming effusively and without pausing, "Sadie, Sadie, I didn't know you were going to be in Paris! Is Irving with you? Oh, isn't this city marvelous? We've seen almost everything, but one thing bothers me. Would you believe that we've been here three days, and I haven't been by the Louvre?" Mrs. Cohen nods and says, "By me the same. It must be the water."
And still another: When Mr. Ginsberg, a widower, retired he decided to treat himself to a trip to Paris and booked passage on the French liner Liberté, famous for its opulence and its cuisine. On the first night, he was seated by the Maitre d' at a table facing another passenger traveling alone--a Frenchman who spoke no English. The Frenchman, already seated at the table, smiles at Mr. Ginsberg and says, "Bon appetit." Mr. Ginsberg, who spoke no French, bowed stiffly before sitting down and says, "Ginsberg." This exchange goes on for several meals at each of which the Frenchman is already seated at the table when Mr. Ginsberg arrives.
The waiter eventually notices the ceremonious exchange taking place at the beginning of each meal. He discreetly approaches Mr. Ginsberg after the dinner meal and explains: "Monsieur Ginsberg, when your tablemate, the French gentleman, says, 'Bon appetit' at the start of each meal, he isn't introducing himself to you. 'Bon appetit' is a French expression. It's his way of wishing that you enjoy your meal." Mr. Ginsberg is thunderstruck. "What a dumbkopf I am," he mutters to himself, vowing to rectify his error. The next morning he races to the dining room and is relieved to find he has reached the table first. When the Frenchman reaches the table, Mr. Ginsberg smiles up at him and says proudly, "Bon appetit." The Frenchman immediately bows graciously and says, "Ginsberg."
Generally speaking, sex does not figure in Jewish humor; when it does, it is usually introduced obliquely: Mrs. Lapidus achieved the nearly impossible feat of getting the landlord to paint the Lapidus's apartment. Unfortunately, she neglected to tell her husband that the painters would be coming before he left the apartment that morning. That evening, when he went into the bedroom to take off his shoes and put on his slippers, he put a grimy hand on the wall to steady himself and left an ugly handprint. Mrs. Lapidus berated him for his thoughtlessness and resolved to try to get one of the painters to touch up the wall without the landlord knowing about it.
The next morning she hears the painters working in an apartment on the floor above hers. She keeps her apartment door open slightly. When she hears the painters leaving for lunch, she waits until the last one, a little old Jewish man, comes down the stairs. When he reaches her floor, she throws open her door, smiles and beckons to him. "Mister painter, mister painter," she calls. Taking off his cap, he approaches her. "Yes?" he says, curious about what she wants. Unsure how to ask him to touch up the damaged wall with fresh paint, she takes his hand, leads the puzzled painter into the kitchen and sits him down at the table.
Mrs. Lapidus attempts to make preliminary small talk before explaining the situation. Hungry for his lunch, the painter finally asks, "Lady, just what is it that you want?" She decides on a strategy of directness. Motioning toward the rear of the apartment, she says to him, "Come with me to the bedroom. I want to show you where my husband put his hand last night." The painter does not budge. "Look, lady," he says tiredly, "I'm an old man. If you don't mind, I'll just have a glass of hot tea."
Jewish humor can be extremely insular: Robert Briscoe, a Jew, was elected Lord Mayor of Dublin in the Irish Republic in recognition of his service in the cause of Irish independence. Before that he had served in the Irish parliament for 38 years, having been re-elected many times. Early in his term as Dublin’s first Jewish Lord Mayor, he was invited to lead the St. Patrick's Day parade in New York City. He accepted the honor graciously and came to New York.
Standing on the Fifth Avenue sidewalk, two elderly Jewish women watch admiringly as the leading marchers in the parade approach. Wearing a broad green sash, the top-hatted Lord Mayor of Dublin is out in front as Grand Marshal, smiling and waving to the crowd. "Isn't it wonderful? Imagine! The St. Patrick's Day parade," the first woman exclaims, "and a Jewish boy is leading it." Her companion nods in agreement. "Yes, it could only happen in New York!"
Labels: Humor, Jewish Humor
