Over the years, a friendly rivalry had grown between the two
congregations. One weekend, the members of the synagogue gave their
long-time rabbi a brand new Cadillac. By sheer coincidence, the
parishioners gave their pastor a new Cadillac on the same day.
Everyone laughed at the coincidence, and the two clerics agreed to have
a race. A course was planned out, and the next day the two men took off.
The Catholic priest had a slight edge through the town, but when the
course led out into more rural areas, the rabbi took the lead.
Eventually the course took them to a narrow dirt road, wide enough for
only one car, and the rabbi was ahead while the priest was right on his
tail. They passed a sign that said, “Danger! Bridge Out Ahead!”, and
they came to a cliff where a bridge had recently been washed out.
The rabbi slammed on his brakes, his car’s wheels locked up, and
screeched to a stop just two feet in front of the cliff. The priest has
just a tick slower to react, and his car rammed the rabbi’s car, pushing
its front wheels over the embankment.
With the rabbi’s Cadillac balanced precariously on the cliff, the priest
scrambled to help the rabbi to safety. Once both men were safe, they
called the police and waited for their arrival.
A Boston cop came to the scene first. He looked at the two cars in the
road. He looked at the damage to the front end of the priest’s car.
Then he looked at the rabbi’s car, hanging on the cliff, with damage to
its back end.
The cop took off his hat and scratched his head, wondering what to make
of the situation. Finally, in a thick Irish brogue, he asked, “So,
father, at what speed was the rabbi going when he backed into you?”