Jewish American humorist
Leo Calvin Rosten (11 April 1908 – 19 February 1997) was an American teacher, academic and humorist best remembered for his stories about the night-school "prodigy" Hyman Kaplan and for The Joys of Yiddish (1968).
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He sat there, sighing and moaning and ruminating thusly: “Oh, if only the Holy One, blessed be His name, would give me ten thousand dollars, I promise I would give a thousand to the poor. Halevay! … And if the Holy One doesn’t trust me, He can deduct the thousand in advance and just give me the balance.
I own a little book written by Jacques-Albin-Simon Collin de Plancy (1793–1887), A Dictionary of Demonology, that has long beguiled me. It catalogs all sorts of spooky spirits, from a Neopolitan pig with the head of a man to Adram-melech, “grand chancellor of hell,” whom the Assyrians worshiped with infant sacrifices and who, learned rabbis said, took the shape of either a mule or a peacock, which runs a gamut of pretty versatile disguises. Amduscias, a grand duke of hell, is shaped like a unicorn — and gives concerts.
The shnorrer was no fool, please note, no simpleton. He often had read a good deal, could quote from the Talmud, and was quick on the verbal draw. Shnorrers were “regulars” in the synagogue and, between prayers, took part in long discussions of theology with their benefactors. The status points involved here are too delicate for Newtonian physics, or Parsonian sociology,* to handle. (Certain Hindu and Oriental groups recognize the beggar in the same way.)
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The shadkhn was impressing the young woman with the boundless virtues of a female and ended: “And to look at, she’s a regular picture!” The young man could not wait for his blind date. But when he accosted the shadkhn the next day, his voice was frosty: “Her eyes are crossed, her nose is crooked, and when she smiles one side of her mouth goes down — ” “Just a minute,” interrupted the shadkhn. “Is it my fault you don’t like Picasso?
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Boychik or boychikel is used with affection, even admiration, the way some people say, “That’s my boy,” or the way an earlier generation said, “Oh, you kid!” “Hello, boychik” or “How are you, boychikel?” may be uttered to males long past their boyhood; generally, when used to or about an aging man, boychik carries a tinge of sarcasm — but it can be used fondly: Affectionate: “That Sam” — sigh — ”he has the spirit of a boychik.” Sarcastic: “At his age to go after young girls … ! Some boychik!” 2. Critically: A sharp operator; one who cuts corners. “He’s some boychik” can mean anything from “He’s a tricky fellow” to “Watch