Kavevudi

"What a beautiful mansion!" thought Berel as he admired the homes in this ritzy Paris suburb. "I wonder who lives here?" Assuming that everyone was conversant in Yiddish (the only language that Berel spoke, which even the non-Jews in his shtetl in Poland understood), Berel approached the nearest Parisian and asked, "Who is the occupant of this mansion?"

The poor Frenchman who couldn't understand a word, asked politely "Qu'avez-vous dit?" (What did you say?)

Berel was certain he had an answer to his query. "Oh the occupant's name is Kavevudi. He must be quite wealthy to live in such a mansion."

Throughout his tour of Paris, Berel noticed fields, factories, and warehouses, and whenever he inquired about the owner, the reply was always the same - Kavevudi! Wow, thought Berel, this Kavevudi must own half of Paris!

Finally he passed a funeral, and judging by the size of the procession, he reasoned that a very important person must have passed away. As he inquired about the identity of the deceased, the response was predictably, "Kavevudi"! Berel lifted his hands toward the hearse and called out in his heavy Yiddish accent, "Kavevudi, Kavevudi! What good is all your wealth? Of what value are all of your mansions, fields, factories, and warehouses when in the end you die just like any pauper?!"

Being a parent can be trying, but the rewards are great.

There's an old Yiddish saying: small children, small problems; big children, big problems. Small children, small opportunities; big children, big opportunities. It is the only job that by the time you're trained ... you're out of a job.