In the winding backstreets of New York's Greenwich Village, historic comedy clubs serve as launching pads for aspiring comedians. While these venues may seem unassuming – often cramped, with sparse menus and modest stages featuring solitary microphones – they've catapulted the careers of comedy giants. Stars like Dave Chappelle, Chris Rock, and Amy Schumer have transformed their wit into empires extending far beyond the Big Apple.
It was in one such club that a former Wall Street whiz traded spreadsheets for punchlines in the late 1990s, taking a chance on stage – and finding his true calling. Modi Rosenfeld, known professionally as Modi, has built his fame and packed venues largely by tapping into his Jewish heritage, even weaving Holocaust memory into his routines with surprising deftness.
Having moved to the United States at age seven, Rosenfeld's Israeli identity remains core to his being. "The Israeli mindset is part of my DNA," he explains. "Sure, I grew up stateside, but our home was 100% Israeli. Hebrew was our language, and our social circle was all fellow Israelis."
After earning his degree from Boston University, Rosenfeld stepped into the cutthroat world of American finance – living out the fantasy of countless Jewish mothers. Yet it was here that fate threw him a curveball. "Post-work dinners with colleagues became my informal comedy club," he recalls. "I'd start mimicking our secretaries and cracking jokes about office life. One friend insisted I had to take this talent to the stage and set me up for an open mic night. Talk about fish out of water – I showed up in an Armani suit, suspenders and all, while everyone else looked like they'd rolled out of bed."
"Must've struck comedy gold that night because the club manager practically begged me to come back. Before I knew it, I was knee-deep in New York's stand-up scene. From there, I hit the road, performing across the US Somewhere along the way, I stumbled into this niche that resonated with Jewish audiences. My act was clean, no profanity. Next thing you know, I'm getting calls to perform at synagogues, charity galas, you name it."
Rosenfeld's comedic journey began with impressions. In 1999, he took the plunge, resigning from his cushy gig at Merrill Lynch to pursue comedy full-time. "It wasn't an overnight success story," he reflects. "Early on, I was just doing impressions – larger-than-life characters with exaggerated accents. It took years to find my authentic voice, and turns out, it was Jewish. Very Jewish. When Chris Rock opens his mouth, you instantly see a Black guy from New York. When I start talking, you're getting the full Jewish New Yorker experience."
Rosenfeld credits his big break, in part, to his Ashkenazi Jewish roots, which continue to be a goldmine for material. From Yiddish kvetching to the cultural tug-of-war between Sephardic and Ashkenazi Jews, even touching on Holocaust trauma – he fearlessly mines every stereotype. In one memorable bit, he playfully attributes the outbreak of World War II to the Jewish tradition of Shabbat elevators.
"When I stepped on stage, I saw how desperately they needed that 90 minutes of laughter and release." (Ohad Kab)"Picture this: It's Friday night in pre-war Berlin. Hitler and Goebbels step into a Shabbat elevator, see every button lit up, and it clicks – it's those pesky Jews again." He seasons the joke with comically exaggerated German. "By the time they hit the 39th floor, they're wheezing and scheming about what to do with the Jews."
He then riffs on those who might not appreciate the dark humor: "If you got the joke – mazel tov. If it went over your head – congrats, now you've got something to complain about. And let me tell you, it's precisely these complaints keeping the Messiah away. Why? Because there's always that one yenta after the show going, 'First off, I'm not big on humor, but that whole Hitler and Goebbels bit – he really crossed a line...' That's when even the Messiah throws his hands up and says, 'I can't with these people,' and rolls his eyes."
Asked if non-Jewish audience members might feel lost in the niche humor, Rosenfeld flips the script. "Think about it this way: when we travel in Europe and get told 'you absolutely must see this famous cathedral,' we go in, and within minutes we're getting a crash course in Christian culture. It's the same deal with my shows. I see my jokes as a bridge to the Jewish world, built with comedy and pride. Trust me, non-Jewish folks can follow along just fine," he asserts. "Nothing beats seeing non-Jews bringing their Jewish buddies to my shows. I've even had women in hijabs in the audience. Turns out they were nurses, invited by their coworkers. That's the magic of comedy – it brings people together."
In recent years, Rosenfeld has taken his act global, filling venues across Europe. His upcoming itinerary includes Australia and another European tour before circling back to the US circuit. As he navigates different cultures and languages, his style remains consistent – though the challenge to evoke laughter intensifies.
Q: Do you notice differences between your US, European, and Israeli audiences?
"In Europe, I branded my shows as the 'Reparations Tour' – a nod to Germany's Holocaust compensation payments. I'd get on stage, proudly proclaim my Jewishness, and joke about how we control the media. You could hear a pin drop. In Europe, many Jews still keep a low profile, taking down mezuzahs and anglicizing their names. So when they see this guy boldly embracing his Jewish identity on stage – it's a shock to the system. Nobody does that there."
In the US, he's warmly embraced, especially in states with significant Jewish populations like New York, California, and Florida. The reception shifts, however, when he ventures into what he dubs "real America."
"Take Charlotte, North Carolina, for instance. I call it 'exile.' True exile. When word gets out that a Jewish comedian is coming to town, it's like the whole city shows up. In the big metropolitan areas, they're spoiled for choice with daily events supporting Israel or the Jewish community. But in places like Nashville or Charlotte? Everyone's itching to see the Jewish comedian, so they flood in. And when they remember I'm also gay, they bring along their LGBTQ+ friends too. It's a different vibe, but man, is it electrifying."
Reflecting on his Israeli audiences, Rosenfeld explains the evolution he's experienced from his first performance there to today. "The crowd in Israel holds a special place in my heart. Initially, I'd only perform for the Anglo crowd there. You know, the Ra'anana set – it's like Israel's version of Great Neck," he quips, referencing an affluent Jewish-American enclave on Long Island.
"Now, I've got this whole new audience – native Israelis who've discovered me through social media. So during shows, I'm constantly switching gears, translating jokes on the fly for those who might not catch every English nuance. If their English is shaky, I've got to pivot quickly into Hebrew. It's all about knowing your audience – that's the golden rule in this business. I even named one of my tours after that concept." Rosenfeld is set to reunite with his Israeli fan base on September 12th, marking his debut at the prestigious Heichal HaTarbut. This performance cements his status among the elite entertainers who've graced Israel's premier venue.
Throughout his career, Rosenfeld has coined the term "Messiah energy" to describe the unifying force he sees at his shows. "I genuinely believe comedy can pave the way to peace," he muses. It's a weighty topic, especially in light of recent events. Rosenfeld found himself in Israel when war broke out on Oct. 7, having arrived for a scheduled performance.
"I'd had this incredible week during Sukkot in Israel, and then came that devastating Sabbath. By Monday, I was due in Paris for a show. Normally, I never cancel – the stage is where I belong. But this time, I had to be mindful of how much news I was consuming."
"My podcast is called 'And Here's Modi' because I'm used to following up on intense situations. Usually, at fundraisers – whether for medical causes or organizations like United Hatzalah or Magen David Adom – they'll show a heart-wrenching video, and then I take the stage. But this time, it was all too real. By the time I performed in Paris, just days after the war started, everyone had been glued to the news, watching horrific footage. When I stepped on stage, I saw how desperately they needed that 90 minutes of laughter and release."
"Since then, I've been closing every show with 'Hatikvah.' I've done this across Europe and the US, asking everyone to remember where our hearts and prayers are, and to join in singing the anthem. It's my way of bridging comedy with the harsh realities we're facing. We need these moments to breathe, to laugh. That's why I've dubbed my next tour 'Pause for Laughter.'"
When asked if he feels his humor carries a different weight in these times, perhaps even a sense of mission, Rosenfeld doesn't hesitate. "Mission is exactly the right word – 10%. That's how I view my work. I wish I could do even more for the Jewish people. Thank God, I've got a diverse audience, but it's predominantly Jewish. Some might say I'm 'preaching to the choir,' but you know what? Sometimes that choir needs a refresher course, and I use humor to remind them of its power. Noa Tishby teaches history. Michael Rapaport channels anger. We've all got our lanes. Mine happens to be comedy. Because when I look out at an audience laughing for 90 straight minutes, I see the essence of Judaism – harmony and unity. That's why I see every performance as a mission for our people."
