June 23, 2016--Creme de la Phlegm

"I don't know how to put this," our friend Bob said the other day, "But every time we have morning coffee together both you and Rona are coughing and sneezing and constantly having to blow your noses."

"It's true," I said. "Sometimes it's allergy season and though neither one of us really has allergies when there's so much pollen in the air . . . Well, you know."

"You never hear me coughing and wheezing."

"Good for you," Rona said, with a tincture of annoyance. She was having a rough respiratory morning.

"By midday, generally, we're both fine," I said, "It's mainly true in the morning. You should hear what we sound like at home. Before we head for the diner."

"Well, at least you have each other," Bob said. This time sounding slightly compassionate. "To tell you the truth," he continued, looking out the window, "I was wondering if something else is going on."

"Like what?" I asked.

"As I said, it's a little delicate."

"I've never known you to be delicate," Rona said, "That's not your forte. You're more the tell-it-like-you-think-it-is type."

"Go on, Bob, we can handle it. What's on your mind?"

"You won't take offense? Promise?"

"It depends," I said, "But give it a try."

"It's no secret that you're Jewish, right. Both of you." Now he was leaning on the window sill with his back half to us.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Rona asked, not sounding happy.

"You know."

"I don't know," I said, now also a little agitated. "Spit it out. Forgive the figure of speech."

"That you're Jewish."

"We established that already."

Now turning to face us, he said, "Is it true what they say about Jews being phlegmy?"

"Phlegmy? And who's the they?" I said, increasingly annoyed with him.

"You know me well enough to know I'm not one of those anti . . . anti . . ."

"Anti-Semites," Against my better judgement I helped him.

"That's not me. You know me how many years? Have you ever heard me say . . ."

"I know, some of your best friends are Jews." Now it was Rona's turn to turn her back to the table.

Defending himself, Bob said, "All I was wondering about was your mucous. Not your religion."

"So why did you link it to our being Jewish? You may not have intended it to be anti-Semitic," I said, "But it sure turned out to sound that way."

"If so, I apologize and promise to be more careful in the future."

"That's all I could ask," Rona said, sounding forgiving. Bob really is quite a good guy and isn't really prejudiced. Not about anything. In fact, he's very tolerant of people's differences and a genuine Libertarian.

"So if I'm a little forgiven, what about what I was asking you about? But please don't get mad again."

"About the phlegm business?" Rona said.

"At the risk of sounding anti-Semitic myself," I said, "I think there's some truth to what you were saying. There are physical, even genetic conditions that are more common among certain racial and ethnic groups. Like Sickle Cell among black people and yes, in addition to Tay-Sachs disease and my favorite, Maple Syrup Urine disease, there are, I'm not making this up, about 100 conditions  that are prevalent primarily among Jews. So I think it may be fair to say that by nature we're phlegmier than some other groups."

"And maybe that's why there are so many Jewish doctors." Rona was now smiling.

"You said it; I didn't," Bob said. Then added, "OK, having established that," Bob was feeling totally off the hook, "What about the Jewish language?"

"Yiddish?"

"Yes, Yiddish. Isn't it true that it helps to be phlegmy to pronounce certain words?"

"That's a new one to me," I said. "Can you give me an example or two?"

"Maybe one since I'm not too up on my Jewish, I mean my Yiddish." For the first time he beamed one of his characteristic smiles. "How about 'hot-spur?'"

"Hot-spur? Never heard of it."

"You've used it a number of times. It's one of my favorites. Means being assertive or, trickier in ethic stereotyping terms, pushy." He maintained his smile.

"I get it," Rona said, "Chutzpah. Not 'hot-spur,' though I like you're version. It's right out of Shakespeare and a wonderful malaprop."

Bob then said, "Look at the difference in the way each of us pronounced it--chutzpah. With all your phlegm you made it sound so authentic, so rich. It's a word made for people who produce lots of mucous."

Getting into it, I said, "Here are some others for you. Yiddishisms that sound better with phlegm flowing--Mishpocha (family), yenta (a gossip), kvech (to complain), gonef (a thief), boychik (a young boy) . . ."

"That one, boy-chick, I could have figured out. I love these!" Bob gushed.

"There are more," I said, on a roll, "Kishkes (intestines, like punch him in the kishkes), bubkes (meaning nothing, as in he has bubkes), nachos (a pleasure), and even kosher. With these it does help to be phlegmy"

Bob was having a wonderful time. And by then so were we.

"And let's no forget all the Jewish foods," I said. "Mainly what I call the K-foods because they start with the letter K--kugel (or noodle pudding), kasha varnishkas (buckwheat with bow-tie noodles), kreplach (the Jewish version of wantons), of course knishes (potato or kasha filled), kichel cookies, and even kishke (cooked beef intestines)--not my favorite."

Rona made a face and said, "But there are hundreds more," Rona said. "And like most of these even if you don't understand them, they sort of sound like what they mean. Kvech is a perfect example. Complaining just sounds like kvetching."

"What about choch-key?" Bob asked.

"That's another new one to me," I said.

Rona said, "He means tchotchke--a knick-knack."

"I have a whole lot of those," Bob said, "A barn full of 'em. Sally's always after me about them. She says, 'Can't you get rid of those tchotchkes.'"

I said, "Think about how much better that would sound if you had a mouth full of phlegm."

Some of Bob's Tchotchkes

June 3, 2014--Take My Wife . . . Please.

I always thought the roots of Jewish humor were those described by Sigmund Freud in his book, Jokes and Their Relation to the Unconscious.

He argued that most Jewish jokes indicate Jewish people's ability to (a) engage in a thorough self-criticism of themselves, (b) advocate a democratic way of life, (c) emphasize the moral and social principles of the Jewish religion, (d) criticize the excessive requirement of it, and (e) reflect on the misery of many Jewish communities.

If you think of Woody Allen as the quintessential schlemiel and self-mocking jokester, only (a) and (e) pertain. Jewish humor is all based on self- and communal criticism and the resulting inner turmoil, misery, and self-pity. There's nothing in Woody's humor or any really funny Jewish humor about democracy or the moral principles of the Jewish religion.

It's hard to think of anything funny to say about any of these high-minded concepts. But Freud was a theorist without much of a sense of humor and so . . .

Recently, I have come to a very different conclusion--

Much of Jewish humor is derived from Jewish food.

Not the food itself, which when ingested can cause all sorts of inner misery and gas (both subjects of many jokes), but the names of our favorite traditional foods--from Bagels to Knishes to Tsimmis.

What other food traditions have so many foods with funny names? Veal Parmigianna? Cog au vin? Meatloaf? Corn beef and cabbage? Not even close to being as funny as Flanken, Ruglach, or Gedempte Fleisch.

A crepe is not funny, but a Blintz is. A porterhouse steak may bring you culinary pleasure, but not as many laughs as Brisket. It could be worth lingering over sweet and sour soup but Matzoh Balls, though tasteless, are funnier.

Neil Simon has a theory that words beginning with K's (or hard Cs) are funny. In the Sunshine Boys, one of the Boys, Willie, an old vaudevillian, gives his nephew a lecture about what's funny--

Fifty-seven years in this business, you learn a few things. You know words that are funny and which words are not funny. Alka Seltzer is funny. You say "Alka Seltzer" you get a laugh . . . Words with "K" in them are funny. And with Cs. Casey Stengel, that's a funny name. Robert Taylor is not funny. Cupcake is funny. Tomato is not funny. Cookie is funny. Cucumber is funny. Chicken is funny. Pickle is funny.

People who study what's funny agree. There are some sounds in English that are by their nature funny. Those that begin with P's, B's, T's, D's, hard-C's, and especially K's.

These sounds are called by linguists plosive consonants because they are plosive, they "start suddenly." And thus for some reason make us laugh.

Though not funny, this helps explain why Jewish foods, the plosive names of Jewish foods, are so funny. Also, since Jews spend a lot of time dealing with phlegm, often the result of eating the wrong thing, we thus specialize in sounds and words that make creative use of it. Think, for example, of Felix Unger's honking in Neil Simon's Odd Couple.

P-foods include pickled herring, pirogue (dumplings ), pletzel (flat bread), p'tcha (calves foot jelly) and of course pastrami.

B-foods are among the most familiar to non-Jews (and gentile New Yorkers)--babka (two b's plus one k), bialy, borscht, blintz, brisket, and the universal bagel.

T-foods include teiglach (small sweet pastries) and tzimmes (a stew of carrots, yams, and raisins). Both delicious and funny.

Foods beginning with G's are the well-known goulash and gefilte fish as well as chicken skin cracklings called gribbenes, perhaps my all time favorite Jewish food name.

And finally there are all the funny food names that begin with K's--kasha varnishkas (groats with farfalle pasta), kichel (egg-dough cookies), kneidlach (the Yiddish name for matzoh balls), knishes, kreplach (similar to pierogi), kugel (a sweet and savory casserole with lots of broad noodles), and kishke (beef intestines that also is used in expressions such as the alliterative, "Kick him in the kishkes").

When you grow up eating food with these kinds of names (and don't forget lox), a predisposition to humorous stories and jokes is inevitable. Couple this with self-mockery and gas and, Freud aside, there you have the real roots of Jewish humor.