Avi Finegold on how America’s hottest Jewish comic played it just for
I once had a college professor say there’s no such thing as a joke that isn’t making fun of someone in some way. I’m not sure that was ever true—but there’s definitely some truth to the fact that humour often seeks to undercut others. History is lousy with controversial comed- ians telling jokes that run a 5K across the line of decency. The best ones, however, recognize that their line-crossing serves some kind of greater purpose. George Carlin and Richard Pryor are two of the greats who called out hypocrisy by talking about what they saw around them. And then there’s Sarah Sliverman cutting down the good in- tentions of a generation with a button-push- ing joke, “I was raped by a doctor… which is kind of a mixed feeling for a Jewish girl.” And so we get to Modi Rosenfeld, a veteran stand-up comedian billed only by his first name, in increasingly brighter lights and bigger rooms thanks to videos he made during the pandemic lockdowns. When he returned to live shows, demand for his stand-up act expanded from Orthodox Jewish events—where some jokes featured a fictional wife named “Stacy”—to feeling free to tell his audiences that he’s actually married to a man. Modi, to be clear, is not one of the comedy pantheon. He’s not legendary enough—yet. But he has what to say about the community he comes from (a community that uses the phrase “what to say”), which I found to have a serious truth that lies just below a pretty funny surface. We need a comic who’s willing to say that community dinner honourees are just the schmucks who got their friends to donate. It just takes Modi to say it out loud, in a moment of nudging the emperor and letting him know there’s a sale on suits. I was among the online followers who bought a ticket to Modi’s show at Montreal’s Rialto Theatre in March, which was followed by a couple nights at the Royal Theatre in Toronto. The appeal of this 53-year-old owes much to his backstory: born in Tel Aviv and raised in the Five Towns of Long Island, New York, he went from public school and a psychology degree to a deeper Torah education, which included cantorial studies at Yeshiva University. While working as a banker for Merrill Lynch on Wall Street, he began moonlighting in comedy clubs, without changing the clothes he wore at his day job.
Nowadays, the riffing on topics like how Sephardim love their rabbis while Ashken- azim are blasé about them—if not disdain- ful—draws big laughs from a crowd that can relate to what he’s talking about. Knowing his audience is how he makes it work, although part of the act is spotting a person in the room who isn’t Jewish, then focusing on them to deliver explanatory asides that help to make the material more accessible for everyone. The formula isn’t complicated: find Jews who spend all day thinking about being Jewish, deliver observational humour, and get them all howling with laughter. Laughter is also at the core of what he refers to as “Moshiach Energy.” It’s a term which he’s started promoting at his live shows, on social media, and the weekly podcast And Here’s Modi—on which husband/manager Lou Veiga, who was raised Catholic, shows off his Jewish literacy, unless Modi is teasing him about a mispronunciation. Buy someone a coffee today? Moshiach Energy. Call your mother? Moshiach Energy. Get a million bucks donated to your shul’s annual dinner? He’ll make fun of you at the gala, but that’s still Moshiach Energy. Live performances by Modi are therefore peak Moshiach Energy, because they unite audi- ences based on joy. And this positive energy is what will bring the redeemer of the world in a fashion that praying won’t do alone. Well, if this seems a little facile, that’s because it is. Doing good is easy—and so is laughing at someone else’s expense. But the real work of ushering in a messianic age for the Jews is the beginning of a deeper unity, one that accepts that we are all flawed, and works-in-progress. Reaching that level through stand-up comedy takes real work. Modi might know what his audience wants. What he doesn’t seem as keen about is try- ing to figure out what they need. The irony is that there’s not much difference between the two. But the distinction is also what separ- ates the entertainers from the legends. The greatest comics, similar to their court-jester predecessors, knew how to speak truth to power with great wit, and with their heads still attached to their bodies. Modi Rosenfeld has been speaking some great truths, too. He just needs to realize he’s no George Carlin. At least not yet. n
laughs in Montreal
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