Two Martians who had landed in America happened to run into each other. “What’s your name?” asked the first. “4286. And yours?” “3359.” “That’s funny… - Leo Rosten

For twenty years Mr. Sokoloff had been eating at the same restaurant on Second Avenue. On this night, as on every other, Mr. Sokoloff ordered chicken soup. The waiter set it down and started off. Mr. Sokoloff called, “Waiter!” “Yeah?” “Please taste this soup.” The waiter said, “Hanh? Twenty years you’ve been eating the chicken soup here, no? Have you ever had a bad plate — ” “Waiter,” Sokoloff said firmly, “taste the soup.” “Sokoloff, what’s the matter with you?” “Taste the soup!” “All right, all right,” the waiter said, grimacing. “I’ll taste — where’s the spoon?” “Aha!” cried Sokoloff.

Sholem Aleichem defined a shadkhn as “a dealer in livestock.

The twelfth-century poet Abraham ibn Ezra, whom you encountered in high school as Browning’s Rabbi ben Ezra (may his tribe increase), limpidly described the shlimazl’s lot when he wrote: If I sold lamps, The sun, In spite, Would shine at night.