-Alef

The Marx Brothers

Allan Sherman

Woody Allen

Jerry Seinfeld

Larry David

Seth Rogan

Image provided by Fluzo, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

“Jewish Humor,” if you ask me, is mainly a product of the environments that many Jewish people grow up in – domineering/fatalistic mothers, passive/nerdy fathers, overbearing/outspoken grandmothers, too much food, and zero sense of privacy. The lack of privacy factor may be the most important. Jewish mothers think that it is their birthright to know every single detail about their children, examine such details, and give their opinion on each detail. Nothing is taboo. I remember once my mother had a conversation with me (at the breakfast table) about the loudness of the noises that I apparently made when I had a bowel movement in the house. Her tone was concerned more than anything, and she wanted to discuss my diet and possibly make a doctor’s appointment. I had to assure her that my bowel movements were fine – and that I would try to keep it down in there.

Another story that jumps to mind involves my mother overhearing a conversation I was having with a female friend. I had been doing errands earlier that day, and I had randomly seen her at the gas station and then again at the grocery store. We were joking about it, and I said something like “Hey – sorry for stalking you today.” After I got off the phone, my mother burst into the room, all flustered, and began explaining to me how “stalking is prohibited by Maryland law and punishable with Jail time.”

These stories were once traumatic, but now they are funny; especially to non-Jewish people. But more than that, as a result of this upbringing, I am extremely comfortable in areas of conversation that most people find uncomfortable, and I think that helps me be funny more than anything else. I have no filters, no lines I won’t cross in order to make a joke, no forbidden topics of conversation. I will make a Holocaust joke on the first date (which has had surprisingly positive results), I can tell an Asian girl at a bar that I forgive her for Pearl Harbor (she turned out to be Korean), and I will openly explain to a coworker what Icebergs are in the online dating world (Icebergs are girls that don’t look fat from the neck up, but are huge from the neck down).

But is any of this Jewish humor? Granted, few non-Jews can get away with a Holocaust joke, but still. I don’t really consider my sense of humor to be “Jewish.” None of it involves jokes about Judaism. None of it involves jokes that can only be appreciated by Jewish people. Hell, I don’t even consider myself to be all that Jewish. I do not keep kosher, I go to work on Yom Kippur, I refuse to date Jewish girls on principle, I do not care what happens to Israel, and I will gladly spend hours discussing the problems with the Jewish religion and why intermarriage and assimilation should be encouraged. But the funny thing is that considering the way I look (super duper Jewwy – think Zach Braff meets the kid from that movie “Waiting” and maybe a little Chris Kattan) and my last name (I have one of the most obviously Jewish names imaginable (it has both a Roth and a Berg in it; I used to joke that I wanted to marry a girl named Goldstein and have our names hyphenated) people consider these views to be part of some sort of humorous schtick; and then they try to set me up with some super Jewwy looking girl that they describe as “really nice.”

It all makes me go a little crazy. I want to scream: “Are you not f’ing listening to me!?! I’m being serious, I refuse to go into a Synagogue unless it’s a wedding or a funeral, I may actually be a little bit anti-Semitic, and I really only want to date blonde girls. Find me someone completely waspy, who belongs to a country club, where I can sit around and drink scotch with her dad on their family boat and talk about the markets! I subscribe to Kiplinger Personal Finance and can drink Johnny Walker Black like it’s going out of style. No really! The older money the better. This is actually the type of girl and life that I’m looking for.

And so I do tell them this.  To which they respond, “Mitch, you’re hilarious. Okay, now you’ve got to meet Rachel. Come over Friday night?”

And somehow, this is all classic Jewish humor.

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

My father’s name was Lewis Lander. He sometimes went by “Big Lew the Jew from Avenue U.” This nickname was self-applied, even though he was not from Avenue U, and was admittedly only “a majestic five foot seven on a good day.” He was, however, a Jew. He rarely attended synagogue, and was comparatively unfamiliar with religious practices. I think his Judaism came out in his sense of humor. He used it as a way to view the world and deal with the absurdity of life that he recognized all too well.

One Jewish tradition that he did observe was leading Passover Seder in our home. When it came time to do hand washing, he would say, “Now please join me in washing,” and then spit air into each hand and clap, rubbing them together. That’s how we knew it was time to eat.

When my mother told him she was pregnant with their first child (me), he looked at her with wide-eyed excitement and said, “You mean I’m going to have a brother?” Once he had children, they of course had to have nicknames. I was lovingly named “Thornbush,” undoubtedly a nod to my warm and cuddly demeanor.

My dad had a way of remaining funny while dishing out biting criticism or complaint. I remember going with him to a diner where he thought we had waited too long to order. He stopped a waitress to ask her if there was some sort of secret password that he didn’t know to get service. All I could do was sink down in my chair and be glad that it wasn’t directed at me.

He recognized comedic genius in others too, even if it was unintentional. There was his never published book, “Mangled Idioms,” a collection of mis-sayings by his sister-in-law. “You can’t kick a dead horse in the mouth” remains a favorite of mine. A chicken scratched rough draft remains in the bottom drawer of my mother’s dresser.

God, did he have fun with my mother. There was a period where he was calling her “New York,” paying homage to his beloved TV show “Flavor of Love.” He could always spin it when my mom got mad, saying that New York was Flav’s favorite woman, as she was his.

Big Lew was also willing, once in a while, to make himself the butt of the joke. One day I came home to find him out in the street playing catch with my brother and wearing a humongous “R.I.P. Tupac Shakur” T-shirt.

He would say things like, “Don’t you know I’m challenged?” when he’d spill food on himself or forget to do something important. He called himself “Homer.” In this way, he used humor to cope with his own shortcomings and problems, some of which were quite serious.

I have a lot of my father in me, for which I must laugh to keep from crying. When we buried him two years ago, there was a long silence after the earth was filled in. Eventually uncomfortable, I broke it by shouting, “All right, who’s hungry?” Those who knew us well enough laughed with me, and we started back home.

I miss Big Lew terribly. I’ll remember him and laugh through my tears every time I spit wash before eating Pesach dinner.

Photo by Kevygee, licensed under Creative Commons.

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

The funniest, most inherently Jewish joke that I have ever heard is one that was never intended to be funny. It stems from deep within our Jewish roots, from a place we all know and feel. And we only laugh at the joke because our only other option is to cry at our loneliness and the humiliation of being set up with another complete mismatch. Here’s the classic joke. The line that kills every time. The epitome of modern Jewish humor – “I know the perfect person for you.”

Being 26 and single (like REALLY single) is fine. Not ideal, but fine. I work with all Jewish women, I make regular guest appearances at my mom’s school where all the teachers are Jewish women, and I’m very involved in my community. You could only imagine the harassment I get. I take in stride, I take it as a compliment. Sometimes, the one setting me up says such nice things about me that I find myself interested in meeting this version of me. But the truth is that I’m nice, I do lots of charity work, I have some good qualities. Super. Everyone assumes that since I am single I am looking to be set up. (Well, until someone brings up the Richard Simmons story and then they think I’m gay, which is also fine but not true and even then they have someone for me.)

Just this week, I got a call from a teacher at my mom’s school. “Ari, will you do me a favor?” Mind you, I have never met this teacher before in my life, but that’s okay.

“Sure. What do you need?”

She then explained the favor – something humiliating but fun involving a cape, a mask and her kindergarten class.

“Yeah, that sounds like fun.”

Here it comes. I can feel it.

“Great. See you Thursday. Oh, and I have a daughter. She’s gorgeous. I’ll show you a picture. She’s single. She’s in college. She’s a real knock-out. She’s perfect for you.”

Choke. Wow. Really?

“Great. I’ll see you Thursday.”

(Side note: Never saw a picture of the daughter. I’ll be okay.)

The last time someone set me up with “the perfect person for me.” I could tell it would end poorly before it even began. But how can I turn down a “she’s perfect for you” when I’m single? Then I’ll get barraged with, “this could have been the one and you turned her down because you didn’t like her Facebook profile? This is why you’re single.”

I have been set up with girls who are married, lesbians, shomer neggiah, and live thousands of miles away. All of them were “a perfect match.” I think since the days of the shadchan being the center of a Jewish society, matchmaking has been an art form that everyone thinks they have. It’s somehow engrained in us. But this is the divine comedy. While some of these shidduchs turn out well, most just make for great stories with friends.

I’ll end with my favorite one.

“Ari, I have the perfect girl for you,” two separate people told me.

Fine, I’ll meet her. Why not?

During our (already awkward) first encounter, one of our matchmakers lets out this gem: “By the way, did you know that you two are cousins?”

Forget Woody Allen, Jerry Seinfeld, Mel Brooks – anyone else that we consider a Jewish comedian. This is the real hilarity.

Photo by emanuxa, licensed under Creative Commons

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

I’ve always been a sucker for a funny man.  Most of the other girls my age went for the guys who played guitar or were easy on the eyes.  I think it runs in my family.  The story of my parents’ courtship includes a scene that goes something like this:

Mom (A news anchorwoman): You know, you’re a very good looking man, have you ever thought about working in front of the camera?
Dad (A camera man): No.  I prefer to pull the puppet strings.

My grandmother met her late husband in a similarly snarky fashion: as she primly passed by, he laid out on the hood of his car.

Growing up I always dreamed that I would meet a fella who could sweep me off my feet in the manner of Groucho Marx or Mel Brooks, with a raise of the eyebrows at the end of a punchline.    Instead, everywhere I turned, it seemed that the generation of sexy Jewish humor had passed. Let me be clear: I’m no ageist, but I’m not interested in geriatric seduction.  Did they have grandsons who would take me to dinner?

It wasn’t until recently, when the new wave of Jewish comedians arrived on the scene (bearing their new brand of Jewish humor), that I realized what I was really missing.  It wasn’t that Groucho, Mel, and more recently, Adam (Sandler), were funnier, but that they were shamelessly, unabashedly, flag-wavingly Jewish.  I feel the same way watching them as I do every time a friend makes a lame joke about gefilte fish. Given that being Jewish is substantially “cooler” than it was two generations ago, jokes that center around the subjects of latkes, bubbes, and bris are no longer necessary to get the point across – that these funnymen (and funnywomen) are Jewish.  These days all it takes is an awkward run of the hand through that curly Jew-fro hair and we all know.  They may look too goofy to pull off Clark Gable sobriety, but when these guys turn to their borscht belt antecedents, I’m a goner.

Photo by re-ality, and Son_of_Groucho, licensed under Creative Commons

Read more posts from Issue 09: “What’s So Funny.”

But, is it “Jewish” humor?

What about this:  A well known Jewish comedian hamming it up (yes, pun intended) at the Last Supper:

The comic is Jewish, but the context?  Not so much.  So, is it “Jewish” comedy?  You tell us…

Alef wants to know “What’s so funny?”   For the next few weeks, we’ll be featuring stories about comedy, humor, and the things that make us laugh as Jews.   Think we missed something?  Are we not nearly as funny as our grandmothers always told us we were?  Post your favorite examples of “Jewish” humor in the comments section, or email them to Alef@birthrightisraelnext.org.

Happy Laughing! 

-Alef

Photo by Procsilas, licensed under Creative Commons.

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What’s So Funny Posts

Falling for Funny Guys
The Set Up
My Father’s Name was Lewis Lander
If You Ask Me…
Make ‘em Laugh