Gourmet food -Joke

Harry was walking down Regent Street and stepped into a posh gourmet food shop. 
An impressive salesperson in a smart morning coat with tails approached him and politely asked, "Can I help you, Sir?" 
"Yes," replied Harry, "I would like to buy a pound of lox." 
"No. No," responded the dignified salesperson, "You mean smoked salmon." 
"OK, a pound of smoked salmon, then." 
"Anything else?" 
"Yes, a dozen blintzes." 
"No. No. You mean crepes." 
"Okay, a dozen crepes." 
"Anything else?" 
"Yes. A pound of chopped liver." 
"No. No. You mean pate." 
"Okay," said Harry, "A pound of pate then and I'd like you to deliver all of this to my house on Saturday." 
"Look," retorted the indignant salesperson, "we don't schlep on Shabbos!" 

G-d called to Samuel, and Samuel responded, "Here I am."

And he ran to Eli, and said, "Here I am, for you have called me." And Eli said, "I did not call. Go back to sleep." 

In essence, we are given here a blueprint for one of the great challenges and callings in the field of education. Our children hear voices, but we often send them back to sleep, making them believe that the voices were mere imaginary.

To Die as a Jew

At the D Day Museum in New Orleans there was a traveling exhibit about
Jewish soldiers who fought in WWII.


At the exhibit there was a video with Jewish soldiers discussing their
experiences as they were getting ready to go over to the European theater.
One of the people interviewed was a Mr. Bentley Kassal and he said something
amazing that I include at the end of this email. I found this was very
moving.


By the way if you go to Wikipedia you will see that Bentley was a NY state
judge and a so called 'secular' Jew who was very progressive and left
leaning. I think this makes it even more special.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bentley_Kassal


Paraphrasing from the video:

"THE DAY BEFORE WE WERE TO HEAD OVER TO EUROPE OUR COMMANDER TOLD US THAT WE
SHOULD NOT CARRY THE H (HEBREW) DOG TAGS, AS SOMETIMES WHEN THE GERMANS
CAPTURE SOLDIERS IF SOMEONE HAS AN H DOG TAG THEY ARE SEPARATED AND KILLED
ON THE SPOT. WE SHOULD CARRY EITHER A P (PROTESTANT) OR C (CATHOLIC) OR NO
DOG TAG AT ALL. THAT NIGHT BENTLEY SAID "I COULD NOT SLEEP I IMAGINED MYSELF
DYING IN BATTLE AND LAYING FOREVER UNDER A CROSS SOMEWHERE IN EUROPE." THE
NEXT DAY I TOLD MY COMMANDER I AM KEEPING MY DOG TAG WITH AN H AND I AM
TAKING IT WITH ME WHEREVER I GO!"

Faithful Friends

One sunny Sabbath afternoon Shlomo and Moishe, two old friends, meet for the
first time in a few years. After exchanging the usual pleasantries Shlomo
says, "Moishe, people are telling me you don't go to synagogue anymore. Can
it be true? You no longer believe in God?"
Moishe looks uncomfortable and quickly changes the subject.
The next afternoon, they meet on the bench again and Shlomo persists. "You
must tell me Moishe. You don't believe in God anymore?
Moishe replies, "Here's a straight answer to your straight question: no I
don't."
Shlomo asks, "So why didn't you tell me yesterday?"
Moishe shocked to the point of disgust, exclaims, "On Shabbos?! God forbid!"

What's in a name?

Sam is a nice young man who has fallen in love with a girl he has just met.
When Sam tells his father about her, the father just wants to know her
family name. When Sam tells him that the girl's name is Ford, his father
says that Ford is not a good Jewish name and he must forget her and go find
a Jewish girl.
Time passes and Sam finds another girl. Her name is Smith so his father
tells him to find a nice Jewish girl with a nice Jewish name.
More time passes and Sam finds another girl, but this time he is sure that
he has solved the problem because the girl's name is Goldberg. "Goldberg,"
exclaims his father, "this makes me very happy because it's a real good
Jewish name, and from a good established family."
Then his father asks, "Is her first name one of my favourite names, like
Rachael, or Rebecca?"
"No Father," replies Sam, "It's Whoopi."

Our Grandchild Comes Home

Our Grandchild Comes Home                                                                                                                         

There was a very secular Jews living in Tel Aviv, who had absolutely no interest in anything related to Judaism. He was a self-proclaimed leftist anti-religious type of fellow. One day he was walking passed a shul in Tel Aviv and there was a Jew standing outside the shul yelling "Mincha! Mincha!" We need one man. The fellow continued walking. The Jew ran after him and explained that they needed a tenth man for the minyan. He replied, "I'm not interested." But the Jew was persistent (perhaps he had Yahrtzeit...). He kept begging and begging, until finally against his better judgment, the secular Jew fellow allowed himself to be pulled into the synagogue for the afternoon prayer service.

As hard as it is to believe, unfortunately, there are many Jews in Eretz Yisrael who have never witnessed, let alone, participated, in a minyan, in a prayer service, they never even witnessed other people praying. This Jew was one of them. He grew up in a very secular home. His grandfather was observant, but his parents have become completely secular and they never ever took him to a shul.

The fellow sat in shul watching people say Ashrei, say Kaddish, and then everyone stood up to daven Shmoneh Esrei, the Amidah. Shul goers  have seen this all our lives, and think that it is no big deal to see people standing, "shuckling" (rocking back and forth), quietly reciting the standing prayer. But the first time a person sees this, it can be an amazing sight when suddenly Jews who don’t stop yapping, stand in silence, sway back and forth, and talk to G-d.

This secular Israeli was taken aback by what he saw during those 15 minutes of praying Mincha in the Tel Aviv shul. He left the synagogue immediately after Mincha, but he decided that he would have to look into the matter further. He began studying Judaism seriously and ultimately got very involved in Jewish life and observance.

The story began circulating in town. One friend was scoffing about this to this man’s father. “What happened to your son? He is a clever and educated man. How did he get brainwashed in 15 minutes?”

The father, himself a very secular Jew, responded that there was much more to the story than what meets the eye.

You see, he said, “my own father, the boy's grandfather, was a deeply religious European Jew. He came to Tel Aviv many years ago, and lived his life as an observant Jew in Tel Aviv. I, like many of my generation of young sabras, abandoned Jewish observance completely. We were determined to form a new generations of Jews, good Zionists, but completely secular. Nationalism replaced spirituality.

“But you see, my father davened every single day in a specific shul in Tel Aviv. He davened with devotion and concentration, while we mocked his sincerity and faith which was inconsistent with the modern age. Do you know in which shul he davened? It was the very shul that was lacking one man for a minyan for Mincha the day my son passed by and was pulled in.

“I know that it was the intense prayers of my father which called his grandson back to this very same synagogue… it was not only 15 minutes that he spent in a shul; it was 15 minutes in a shul soaked with my father’s tears, blood, sweat, faith, and self-sacrifice for Judaism. That is what did my son in…”

    

Big Sitting Shiva - Joke

A Jewish boy comes home to his mother and tells her he has met a wonderful girl, and they are to be married.




"Oh, that's nice" says Momma. "And what is this girls name?"



The son tells her that his fiancee is a Native American and is called Little Running Deer.



"That's nice, honey" says Momma, trying to keep a straight face.



The son then tells his momma that he wants to be called by his "new" Native American name too, and that from now on she should call him "Swift Flying Arrow".



"OK, honey, whatever you wish" says Momma.



Then the son says, "You should get a Native American name too, Momma".



"I've already got one," replies Momma. "It's Big Sitting Shiva"

Story: Mute Boy

Mute Boy


After the war a rescuer who was looking for hidden children survivors came

across a 11-12 year old boy who was raised in a non Jewish home and was

known as a mute. No one had ever heard him speak. The boy when he saw this

man was Jewish asked him"is the Gerer Rebbe still alive?" The rescuer

reassured the child that the gerer Rebbe was alive in Eretz Yisroel. The

boy lifted his shirt and showed him under his clothing wrapped around his

frail body was a pair of teffilin. These teffilin my father gave me the last

day I saw him when he gave me to this non Jewish family to be saved and he

told me that I should wear them when I have my bar mitzvah. I wrapped the

teffilin around my body in order that I should never lose them or be

separated from them. "Why have you acted mute all this time"? asked the man.

The boy replied "the non Jew who took me in as his own told me that if

anyone asked my religion I would have to say I was a non Jew. I decided that

I could not do that and from then on I would never talk in order that I

should never ever have to say that I was not Jewish. Since that day I have

never spoken to anyone you are the first person I have spoken to. Please

take me to see the eretz Yisrael I want to see the gerer Rebbe."



The vows the untruths we say in our actions and our deeds we act as maaranos

etc.hiding jewishness

Why Should I buy Tefillin?

Why Should I buy Tefillin?


In answer to a number of emails sent to me privately – in case anyone is wondering if the historical/holocaust emotional stuff really works let me tell you of something that happened to my son R’ Eli Gutnick here in Melbourne this past Elul.

Eli is our sofer here in Melbourne and he regularly speaks to Bar Mitzvah boys and their fathers about Tephilin – shows them how they’re made etc. After addressing one school group during this past Elul one very sceptical father talks to him and finishes with “Give me one good reason that will convince me, a totally non-practicing Jew, to fork out money to buy a pair of tephillin for my son.”

Without saying a word Eli takes out his iphone and brings up the famous picture of the barefooted yid standing next to a line of bodies (he was reportedly reciting Kaddish) He is wrapped in a Tallis and broken-open tephillin are prominently on his head and arm. A group of grinning and laughing Nazi soldiers are standing around him posing with the Jew they are about to murder.


The father looks at the picture for a good few minutes then looks up at Eli and says “How much is your most expensive pair....?”

It’s an appropriate thought for Yizkor – with the usual lesson that we who say Yizkor should reassure the neshomos of our parents and Kedoshim who join us for those special moments that we and our children are Thank G-d able to put on Tallis and Tephillin and pledge greater commitment to do so and to generally carry on the heritage we have received from them. We need to be able to tell them proudly that we are part of assuring that “Am Yisroel Chai....”.

'These Jews,they don't even keep their own holidays' - Joke

the story of the Ivan who knocks down theJew in the street. The Jew gives him a coin and says that today is a YomTovwhere we give money to people who hit us and directs him to the Gvir whowill give him big money. Ivan goes to the Gvir's house and when the Gvir comesto the door, Ivan gives him a solid Zetz. The Gvir calls his servants whobeat the living daylight out of Ivan who goes away muttering, 'These Jews,they don't even keep their own holidays'

A Jewish Name- Joke

What's in a name?
Sam is a nice young man who has fallen in love with a girl he has just met.
When Sam tells his father about her, the father just wants to know her
family name. When Sam tells him that the girl's name is Ford, his father
says that Ford is not a good Jewish name and he must forget her and go find
a Jewish girl.
Time passes and Sam finds another girl. Her name is Smith so his father
tells him to find a nice Jewish girl with a nice Jewish name.
More time passes and Sam finds another girl, but this time he is sure that
he has solved the problem because the girl's name is Goldberg. "Goldberg,"
exclaims his father, "this makes me very happy because it's a real good
Jewish name, and from a good established family."
Then his father asks, "Is her first name one of my favourite names, like
Rachael, or Rebecca?"
"No Father," replies Sam, "It's Whoopi."

nightmares

Why is it that most people who have nightmares never end up completely escaping the perpetrator during their dreams? In the nightmare you always think you found a good hiding place, but the gunman suddenly discovers you, he pulls the trigger and ---- right at that very moment you wake up in a frightening sweat.
Why don’t you ever actually have a dream in which you manage to escape from the horror and you are fully safe and secure, forever after?
The answer is of course simple and profound: The perpetrator in your dreams is none other than – you yourself! There is no REAL perpetrator in your dream; it is just a side of yourself which you have been repressing. And you can never run from yourself… because the self always comes with you. Therefore, you can never fully hide from the inner perpetrator exposed in the dream.

I am Amish!"

Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twersky is a Chassidic psychiatrist from Pittsburgh, who dresses in "serious Chassidic garb": the long black cote, the long white beard, the round black hat; you know – the full garb! Once on an airplane, he was approached by a very irritated and angry Jew. The Jew began chastising him in Yiddish:
"A shandeh! A bushah! What’s the matter with you? Why do you insist on prancing around in that medieval get-up? Don’t you realize how ridiculous you look. You bring scorn and derision onto all Jews! If you could only dress and behave like everybody else…"
"I fail to understand your verbiage," Dr. Twersky responded in a perfect English accent. "Is there something that is bothering you? Perhaps you're mistaking me for somebody else, but – (say very slowly:) I am Amish!"
"Oy vey! I beg your forgiveness," pleaded the quickly back-pedaling Jew. "I didn’t realize that you were Amish. I thought you were Hassidic. You should know that I only have the utmost respect for you and your people — keeping your ways without bowing to society’s whims of the day."
Now it was Dr. Twersky's turn to respond in Yiddish:
"Aha! Oyb eich volt geven Amish…" If I would have been Amish, then you have nothing but the utmost respect for me; but since I am Jewish, you are ashamed with me. Hopefully one day you will respect in your own people that which you admire in other people."

My Grandfather alav hashalom, was not Jewish either.

The offices of the Jewish Federation called a certain guy for a donation and he answered the phone in a thick British accent and an imperious tone, and he said "Madam, there must be a mistake. My name is Oliver Andrew Hamilton the Third and I'm not Jewish." And with that he hung up.
The next day, his card got put in the wrong pile and he was called again, and he said the same thing. "Young lady, there must be some mistake. My name is Oliver Andrew Hamilton the Third and I am not Jewish." The next day, his card got put in the wrong pile again, and this time he really blew up.
"Madam, there must be some mistake," he said. "My name is Oliver Andrew Hamilton the Third, and I am not Jewish. And my father Oliver Andrew Hamilton the Second is also not Jewish, and my grandfather, Oliver Andrew Hamilton the First, alav hashalom, was not Jewish either."

Machmud the Jew

You know there is a story told…

On his way out from shul in Jerusalem, Dan approached a young man in
Dungarees, backpack, dark skin, curly black hair -- looked Sephardi, maybe
Moroccan.

"Good Shabbos. My name is Dan Eisenblatt. Would you like to eat at my
house tonight?"

The young man's face broke in an instant from a worried look to a
smile.

"Yeah, thanks. My name is Machi."

Together they walked out of the shul. A few minutes later they were all
standing around Dan's Shabbos table. Dan noticed his guest fidgeting and
leafing through his songbook, apparently looking for something. He asked
with a smile, "Is there a song you want to sing? I can help if you're not
sure about the tune."

The guest's face lit up. "There is a song I'd like to sing, but I
can't find it here. I really liked what we sang in the synagogue tonight. What
was it called? Something 'dodi.'"

Dan paused for a moment, on the verge of saying, "It's not usually
sung at the table," but then he caught himself. "If that's what the kid
wants," he thought, "what's the harm?" Aloud he said, "You mean Lecha
Dodi.Wait, let me get you a siddur."

Once they had sung Lecha Dodi, the young man resumed his silence
until after the soup, when Dan asked him, "Which song now?" The guest looked
embarrassed, but after a bit of encouragement said firmly, "I'd really like
to sing Lecha Dodi again."

Dan was not really all that surprised when, after the chicken, he
asked his guest what song now, and the young man said, "Lecha Dodi, please."
Dan almost blurted out, "Let's sing it a little softer this time, the
neighbors are going to think I'm nuts." He finally said, "Don't you want to
sing something else?"

His guest blushed and looked down. "I just really like that one," he
mumbled. "Just something about it - I really like it."

In all, they must have sung "The Song" eight or nine times. Dan
wasn't sure -- he lost count. Later Dan asked, "Where are you from?" The boy
looked pained, then stared down at the floor and said softly, "Ramallah."

Dan's was sure he'd heard the boy say "Ramallah," a large Arab city
on the West Bank. Quickly he caught himself, and then realized that he must
have said Ramleh, an Israeli city. Dan said, "Oh, I have a cousin there. Do
you know Ephraim Warner? He lives on Herzl Street."

The young man shook his head sadly. "There are no Jews in Ramallah."

Dan gasped. He really had said "Ramallah"! His thoughts were racing.
Did he just spend Shabbos with an Arab? He told the boy, "I'm sorry, I'm a
bit confused. And now that I think of it, I haven't even asked your full
name. What is it, please?"

The boy looked nervous for a moment, then squared his shoulders and
said quietly, "Machmud Ibn-esh-Sharif."

Dan stood there speechless. What could he say? Machmud broke the
silence hesitantly: "I was born and grew up in Ramallah. I was taught to
hate my Jewish oppressors, and to think that killing them was heroism. But I
always had my doubts. I mean, we were taught that the Sunna, the tradition,
says, 'No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother that
which he desires for himself.' I used to sit and wonder, Weren't the Yahud
(Jews) people, too? Didn't they have the right to live the same as us? If
we're supposed to be good to everyone, how come nobody includes Jews in
that? "I put these questions to my father, and he threw me out of the house.
By now my mind was made up: I was going to run away and live with the Yahud,
until I could find out what they were really like. I snuck back into the
house that night, to get my things and my backpack.

My mother caught me in the middle of packing. I told her that I wanted
to go live with the Jews for a while and find out what they're really like
and maybe I would even want to convert.

She was turning more and more pale while I said all this, and I
thought she was angry, but that wasn't it. Something else was hurting her
and she whispered gently, 'You don't have to convert. You already are a
Jew.'

"I was shocked. My head started spinning, and for a moment I couldn't
speak. Then I stammered, 'What do you mean?'

'In Judaism,' she told me, 'the religion goes according to the mother. I'm
Jewish, so that means you're Jewish.'

"I never had any idea my mother was Jewish. I guess she didn't want
anyone to know. She whispered suddenly, 'I made a mistake by marrying an
Arab man. In you, my mistake will be redeemed.'

"My mother always talked that way, poetic-like. She went and dug out
some old documents, and handed them to me: things like my birth certificate
and her old Israeli ID card, so I could prove I was a Jew. I've got them
here, but I don't know what to do with them.

"My mother hesitated about one piece of paper. Then she said, 'You may
as well take this. It is an old photograph of my grand-parents which was
taken when they went visiting the grave of some great ancestor of ours.'
"Now I have traveled here to Israel. I'm just trying to find out where I
belong."

Dan gently put his hand on Machmud's shoulder. Machmud looked up,
scared and hopeful at the same time. Dan asked, "Do you have the photo
here?"

The boy's face lit up. ""Sure! I always carry it with me." He reached
in his backpack and pulled out an old, tattered envelope.

When Dan read the gravestone inscription, he nearly dropped the photo.
He rubbed his eyes to make sure. There was no doubt. This was a grave in the
old cemetery in Tzfat, and the inscription identified it as the grave of the
great Kabbalist and tzaddik Rabbi Shlomo Alkabetz.

Dan's voice quivered with excitement as he explained to Machmud who
his ancestor was. "He was a friend of the Arizal, a great Torah scholar, a
tzaddik, a mystic. And, Machmud, your ancestor wrote that song we were
singing all Shabbos: Lecha Dodi!"

This time it was Machmud's turn to be struck speechless. Dan extended
his trembling hand and said, "Welcome home, Machmud."