By Emily Comisar
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.”
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