The bacon tree

Back in the Wild West, a westbound wagon train was lost and very low on food. No other people had been seen for days.

Unexpectedly, the travelers saw an old Jewish man sitting beneath a tree.

The leader rushed up to him and said, “We’re lost. Is there someplace ahead where we can get food?”

“Vell,” the old Jewish man said, “I vud definitely NOT go over that hill.

“Somevun told me you’ll run into a big bacon tree.”

“A bacon tree?” asked the wagon train leader.

“Yah, yah ah bacon tree. Trust me. For nutting vud I lie.”

The leader goes back and tells his people what the Jewish man had told him.

“So why did he say not to go there?” some pioneers asked.

“Oh, you know the Jewish folks — they don’t eat bacon.”

So the wagon train goes up the hill and down the other side.

About an hour later the leader of the wagon train returns to where the old Jewish man is sitting and enjoying his drink.

He was disheveled and wounded.

The near-dead man starts shouting, “You fool! You sent us to our deaths! We followed your instructions, but there was no bacon tree. Just hundreds of Native Americans.

“They killed everyone but me.”

The Jewish man holds up his hand and says, “Oy, vait a minute, vait a minute.”

He gets out an English-Yiddish dictionary and begins thumbing through bit.

“Oh mine Gott, I made myself ah big mistake.

“It vuz not a bacon tree.

“I meant to say it vuz a ham bush!”

Army of God

Jay Kleinberger was coming out of the synagogue one day, and as always the rabbi was standing at the door shaking hands as the congregation departed. He grabbed my friend by the hand and pulled him aside.

The rabbi said to him, “You need to join the Army of God!”

Jay replied, “I’m already in the Army of God, Rabbi.”

The rabbi questioned, “How come I don’t see you except for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur?”

Jay whispered back, “I’m in the secret service.”

Canine with a kippah

A man walks into shul with a dog. The president of the synagogue comes up to him and says, “Pardon me, this is a house of worship; you can’t bring your dog in here.”

“What do you mean?” says the man, “This is a Jewish dog. Look.”

And the president looks carefully and sees that in the same way that a St. Bernard carries a brandy barrel round its neck, this dog has a tallit around its neck.

“Rover,” says the man, “daven!”

“Woof!” says the dog, who stands on his hind legs, puts on a yarmulke, takes out a prayerbook and starts to daven.

“That’s fantastic,” says the synagogue president, “absolutely amazing, incredible! You should take him to Hollywood, get him on television, get him in the movies, he could make a million dollars!”

“You speak to him,” says the man. “He wants to be a doctor.”