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DER YIDDISH-VINKL July 25, 2003

Once again, Der Vinkl is pleased to offer our readers still another tasty dish of family humor drawn from the Yiddish Forverts under the title of khendelekh. The editor of the feature is Rukhl Shaechter, who seems to have an inexhaustible reservoir of such amusing tiny tales. The transliteration is by Goldie Gold, the English version by Gus Tyler.

Moyshele iz arayngekumen in shtub nokh a gantsn tog zikh shpiln in droysn. Di hor tseshoybert, dos ponem un hent farshmirt, geyt er tsu tsu der mamen un fregt: “Anu, tref, ver bin ikh?”

Di mame hot geshmeykhlt un geentfert: “Kh’veys nisht! Ver bistu?”

Moyshele iz geblibn gepleft. “Mrs. Grinberg iz geven gerekht,” hot er oysgeshrign. “Zi hot take gezogt, az ikh bin azoy shmutsik az mayn eygene mame volt mikh nisht derkent!”

Little Moyshe came into his home after a long day of playing outdoors. His hair disheveled, his face and hands smeared, he turned to his mother and asked her: “Anu, guess who I am?”

His mother smiled and answered, “I don’t know, who are you?”

Little Moyshe looked baffled. “Mrs. Greenberg was right!” he yelled. “She said that I am so dirty that my very own mother would not recognize me!”

* * *|

Pinkhes hot gebetn Miriam tsu vern zayn kale, un mit a tog shpeter hot zayn tsukunftiker shver im farbetn oyf a tepl kave.

“Nu, zogt mir” — hot der foter gefregt zayn tokhters khosn — “ir halt, as ir fardint genug oyf oystsuhaltn a mishpokhe?”

“Yo, ikh hob nisht keyn sofek in dem,” hot Pinkhes ge’entfert.

“Ir zent zikher?” hot Miriams foter gefregt. “Gedenkt — mir zenen tsvelf mentshn!”

Pinkhes asked Miriam to be his bride. The next day, his father-in-law-to-be invited him to join him over a pot of coffee.

“Now tell me,” asked the father of the man who was to be his daughter’s groom, “do you believe that you earn enough to support a family?”

“Yes. I have absolutely no doubt about it,” replied Pinkhes.

“Are you sure?” asked Miriam’s father. “Just remember. We are 12 people!”

* * *|

A froy iz gezesn mit ir zun in an elegantn restoran. Nokhn esn is farblibn a hipsh bisl shpayz, hot zi tsugerufn dem sarver.

“Kh’bet aykh,” zogt di froy, “leygt dos fleysh arayn in a zekl far mayn hintl.”

Dos yingele shpringt unter far freyd. “Take, mame? Mir koyfn a hintl?”

A woman was sitting with her son in an elegant restaurant. After eating, there was quite a bit of food left over. She spoke to the server.

“I’d like to ask,” she said, “to have the leftover meat put in a bag for my little dog.”

The youngster jumped with joy. “Really, Mom? We’re going to buy a dog?”

* * *|

Dovid hot zikh geyogt baym firn zayn tokhter, Leyele, in shul arayn. “Oy,” hot er plutsem oysgerufn, “kh’bin ersht farbaygeforn a roytn signal!”

“S’makht nisht oys, tate,” hot Leyele im gepruft baruikn. “Der politsey-oyto hinter undz hot es oykh geton.”

David was in a hurry while driving his daughter, Leyele, to the synagogue. “Oy,” he suddenly shouted. “I just went through a red light!”

“It’s really nothing to worry about,” Leyele said to calm her father. “The police car in back of us did the same thing.”

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