Comedian Mordechi Rosenfeld, known to many as Modi, had a gut feeling that his Grindr joke, especially when featuring a Holocaust survivor, would be a guaranteed hit.
Reflecting on his recent set at a Comedy Cellar offshoot, a venue he’s graced for over thirty years, Modi sat comfortably in an upscale Manhattan kosher steakhouse. He was dissecting the night’s performance, buzzing from the crowd’s reaction.
He’d been testing fresh material, a lengthy anecdote detailing a peculiar encounter on a gay dating app. Unbeknownst to him at the time, his correspondent harbored a rather unsettling fascination with World War II, specifically the German military.
Imagine the scene: the man from the app, in full Nazi uniform, appears at Modi’s door. Simultaneously, Modi’s elderly neighbor, a Holocaust survivor living with dementia and whom Modi often cared for, stepped out for his nightly stroll. The awkwardness was palpable, to say the least.
“Excuse me,” the visitor mumbled, “I must have walked into the wrong room.”
Then came the kicker, delivered with Modi’s signature Long Island accent, tinged with a subtle Israeli lilt: his neighbor, traumatized, never again ventured out after sunset.
The audience, a mix of men in black velvet yarmulkes and observant Jewish women in wigs, erupted in laughter. Modi admitted the joke pushed boundaries for some, but its profound Jewish roots made it land perfectly.
“This wasn’t just about a hookup,” Modi clarified, “it was about the Jewish perspective. Many comics are Jewish, but I am a Jewish comedian through and through.”
For three decades, Modi thrived on the Jewish circuit, entertaining synagogue crowds and organizations from Borough Park to South Florida. He built a dedicated fan base who affectionately called him Modi, yet widespread mainstream fame remained just out of reach.
But now, two years after the events of October 7th, which ignited the conflict in Gaza and fueled a global surge in antisemitism, 55-year-old Modi is selling out theaters worldwide, from Las Vegas to Atlanta, and Paris to Tel Aviv.
In a period of significant anxiety and division for American Jews, it’s arguably Modi’s time to shine.
His comedy sketches and podcast excerpts are going viral, shared by hundreds of thousands across social media. A second comedy special is set for December, with a major performance at Radio City Music Hall planned for April.
“My dream was to be a touring comedian, and it came true. Prayers answered!” Modi exclaimed, acknowledging his husband’s pivotal role in elevating his career.
Award-winning comedian Alex Edelman, a lifelong admirer, speaks of Modi’s “renaissance” with profound respect.
“I’ve watched him perform in Yiddish, for Hasidic audiences, and even for crowds with no Jewish members,” Edelman shared, recalling his youth as a Modern Orthodox teenager with a Modi stand-up DVD. “There’s truly no one quite like him.”
Modi’s recent surge in popularity is deeply rooted in his knack for “bubble hopping”—seamlessly weaving his diverse identities into his act. He draws heavily from his Jewish heritage, crafting jokes about Israeli family trips and the nuances between Ashkenazi and Sephardic Jews, often punctuating them with Hebrew and Yiddish phrases. Many of his shows conclude with a powerful, collective rendition of “Hatikvah,” the Israeli national anthem.
Now, his marriage to Leo Veiga, a 33-year-old raised Catholic, also provides rich comedic fodder.
During performances in New York and later in Ohio, he’d ask if anyone in the audience wasn’t Jewish. Only a handful of hands would rise.
Modi recognizes his current demographic but is actively seeking to broaden his appeal. He aims to connect with a wider, more diverse audience—those who naturally appreciate a Grindr joke, while still preserving the profound impact of his Holocaust-survivor humor. In his words, he’s after the “Goyim, gays, and theys.”
“Honestly, from the bottom of my heart, I don’t categorize the world by Jewish or non-Jewish, gay or straight, thin or fat, Black or white,” he stated. “I see those who buy tickets to my show, and those who don’t. That’s my only distinction.”
The real question now is whether this broader, more secular world, where topics like antisemitism and Israel are intensely charged, will embrace him in return.
Embracing “Moshiach Energy”
One sunny morning, Modi filmed himself on his sun porch, dressed casually in gym shorts and a T-shirt. He donned a yarmulke, kissed his prayer shawl, and meticulously put on his tefillin—the leather boxes worn for weekday prayers—all while softly chanting Hebrew into the camera.
He later shared the video on social media, cheekily titling it “ASMR: putting on tefillin.”
This is a familiar ritual for Modi, who leads prayers at his Modern Orthodox synagogue, studied cantorial singing at a Hasidic yeshiva, and maintains a kosher household. Yet, he presented it with a modern twist, aiming to connect with both his observant followers and a secular audience accustomed to online ASMR content.
“Only about 30 comedians in America can draw crowds like he does in major Jewish hubs like Miami and New York City,” noted Michael Grinspan, Modi’s agent. “Still, he’s not yet a household name.”
For Modi, comedy is a sacred calling, a perspective he shared one sunny Sunday afternoon from his second home in western Connecticut, purchased just last year.
While his husband, Leo Veiga, hosted guests by the pool in their meticulously kept backyard, Modi immersed himself indoors in the Talmud, the ancient compilation of rabbinical discourse.
He recalled a Talmudic story of two “anshaye b’dicha,” or jesters, commended by the prophet Elijah for spreading happiness. One detail always puzzled him: why did the ancient rabbis feature two comics, not just one?
The answer dawned on him unexpectedly, during a shirtless techno rave with his husband, fueled by ketamine. He realized a comedian cannot work in isolation; true healing through laughter comes from collaboration, bridging divides.
Another profound realization struck Modi while reading a Torah portion where God refers to Jews as the “chosen people.”
“We weren’t chosen to be the strongest, the most powerful, or the richest,” he explained. “Jews were placed on this earth to generate healing energy.”
These insights crystallized into his personal comedic philosophy: “Moshiach energy”—Messiah energy.
For Modi, this slogan embodies a Messianic concept inspired by Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late leader of the Chabad-Lubavitch Orthodox movement. He interprets it as a divine mandate to infuse the world with positive energy, hastening the arrival of the Messiah.
Through his comedy, Modi aims to offer a respite from the divisive political climate his audience often navigates. His own political views, much like those of some fans, are nuanced. He expresses reservations about New York City mayoral nominee Zohran Mamdani’s stance on Israel, yet also acknowledges his appreciation for former President Trump’s perceived support of Israel.
However, he clarifies that his mission isn’t to unravel the complexities of Israel and American politics. “My show,” he insists, “is simply a moment for laughter amidst all the ongoing chaos.”
Born to Israeli immigrants, Modi discovered his faith during his teenage years on Long Island.
His religious commitment deepened during his time at Boston University, where he dedicated significant hours to a nearby Lubavitch center. There, he refined his Yiddish, a language he’d learned from his grandparents, and immersed himself in the comedic stylings of legendary Yiddish duo Shimon Dzigan and Israel Schumacher.
“The timing, the cadence, the words… it was an entirely different level of comedy,” he recounted in an interview on Marc Maron’s “WTF” podcast.
Early in his career, Modi was a sought-after performer for Jewish charities and community groups. He was known for his clean humor and “hamish”—a Yiddish term meaning warm and familiar—style.
Following his education and a period at a New Jersey yeshiva, Modi took a job as an investment banker. His husband humorously describes him as a “personality hire,” as Modi, who is dyslexic and has A.D.D., found the intricacies of finance challenging.
His true talent, however, lay in flawlessly imitating the office secretaries.
A friend’s encouragement led him to stand-up, and Modi was instantly hooked. He experienced the final days of the legendary Catskills scene, started performing at the Comedy Cellar, and toured clubs nationwide. Before every show, he would seek his rabbi’s blessing.
“Many comedians claim their craft stems from childhood or adult trauma,” remarked Donny Moss, a friend who booked Modi’s first stand-up gig in 1993. “But he was simply a naturally funny person, aware of his gift, and he dedicated himself to honing it.”
Despite submitting less explicitly Jewish material to Comedy Central and late-night shows without success, Modi cultivated a substantial following through performances for synagogues, Jewish charities, and other community groups, allowing him to become a full-time comedian.
“You haven’t seen a tough crowd until you’re facing 1,200 well-fed Jews,” he quipped. “If you don’t hook them in the first few words, they’ll simply get up and leave, saying, ‘That’s enough. I’m off to the lobby.’ My biggest competition was always the lobby. Jews, it seems, have a profound affection for lobbies.”
While not professionally out, Modi wasn’t exactly in the closet either. His friends and family were aware of his relationships with men. Primarily, he was focused on his career.
“My comedic voice developed as a Jewish voice, not a gay voice,” he explained. “Being gay meant I was sleeping with men, but it wasn’t the core of my public persona.”
“I worked tirelessly,” he added. “Two or three shows every night, weekends in the Catskills or wherever gigs took me. I was so busy working, I barely had time to be gay.”
From the kitchen, Mr. Veiga chimed in with a different perspective: “Modi is a high-functioning bisexual. That’s why it never became a public talking point.”
The “Orthodox Ellen DeGeneres”
Throughout his career, Modi adhered to a fundamental principle: “Know your audience.”
He proudly considers himself an “audience’s comic,” crafting his routines to resonate with the crowd, not critics. This phrase also carries a spiritual double meaning, referencing the synagogue inscription above Torah scrolls: “Know in Front Whom You Stand.”
“Am I performing before God? Absolutely,” Modi affirmed. “God is one, a unity. So when my audience and I share laughter, that, to me, is truly divine.”
Over the decades, his reputation grew. Modi performed for diverse audiences, from former Vice President Mike Pence at a Republican Jewish Coalition gathering in Las Vegas, to Hasidic men in Brooklyn, and thousands of congregants in suburban synagogues.
He famously roasted figures like Senator Joe Lieberman (“the spine of a Democrat, the principles of a Republican, and the wrinkles of Jimmy Carter”) and conservative commentator Ben Shapiro (“that little bar mitzvah boy they put on the talk shows to annoy the other guests”) at annual Commentary magazine benefits. (Lieberman later remarked, “I never thought I would hear, let alone laugh at, a ‘Hitler-Goebbels-Shabbat elevator’ joke.”)
When 2020 arrived, the pandemic abruptly halted live performances. However, the organizations that regularly booked Modi still needed ways to engage their members and donors.
“Everyone started calling for Zoom shows—all the ‘J’ organizations,” he recounted, referring to a slew of Jewish groups. “I quickly mastered Zoom performances, and I was great at them,” suddenly entertaining thousands of Jews virtually.
Leo Veiga, who took on the role of Modi’s manager, suggested sharing clips on social media. This led to Modi creating viral characters like “Nir, not far”—a long-winded Israeli—and Yoely, a Hasidic Jew humorously dissecting secular TV shows.
With the easing of pandemic restrictions, Leo began producing live shows, navigating negotiations with Hasidic leaders and synagogue presidents on everything from fees and security to the intricate rules for performing on holidays. Audiences, captivated by Modi’s online presence, were eager to see the man—and the couple—behind the viral jokes. They chose to publicly announce their marriage through an interview in Variety.
Modi now views his role not just as a comedian, but also as a bridge, welcoming gay individuals into the observant community and assuring “Jewish, gay people that it’s okay.”
Edelman affectionately dubbed him the “Orthodox Ellen DeGeneres” for his pioneering efforts in fostering acceptance for LGBTQ+ couples within the observant Jewish community.
Leo Veiga, Modi’s husband, is 22 years younger and grew up Catholic. Their unique relationship now serves as fresh material for Modi’s comedy.
After his set, while dining with his husband at a kosher restaurant in Lower Manhattan, Modi was constantly approached by fans requesting photos and autographs.
An Orthodox woman approached their table, explaining she’d organized a party bus with her girlfriends to attend one of Modi’s Long Island shows the previous year—a dedicated “girls’ night out” away from her husband and seven children. She gushed over both Modi and Leo.
“These fans have been with him since the start of his comedic journey,” commented Rabbi Gavriel Bellino, Modi’s close friend and rabbi. “His connection with them is so profound that he can say almost anything now.”
The couple shared that his core observant fan base has remained steadfast, often addressing them as “Modi and his gay husband.”
“As if I’m not gay, but my husband is,” Modi mused with a smile.
A Dream Come True: “I Always Prayed for It”
On October 7, 2023, Modi and Leo were concluding a tour in Tel Aviv during the Jewish holiday of Sukkot. Following the Hamas-led attacks on Israel, they managed to secure a spot on the last flight to France. Just three days later, at a Paris show, Modi started a new tradition: ending his sets with the singing of “Hatikvah.” He left the stage to a roaring standing ovation.
However, anti-Israel protests outside the Parisian theater led French police to request the cancellation of his final performance, to which he agreed.
As global anxieties escalated among his fan base, Modi’s popularity soared. He sold thousands of tickets in major cities like London, New York, Sydney, and Melbourne. He also embarked on what he termed a “reparations tour,” performing in Vienna, Berlin, Munich, and Warsaw. These shows were highly successful, especially after Leo reassured audiences that private security would be provided for the venues.
His first comedy special, “Know Your Audience,” debuted in April 2024.
Even Modi himself is surprised by his newfound fame, crediting much of his success to his husband, whom he often tells crowds he met on the New York City subway back in 2015.
“I always prayed for this—to be a touring comedian, and then it just happened,” he shared, adding with a grin, “And then I got a husband who suddenly took charge of the entire business side.”
Despite incorporating more material about his sexuality into his act, Modi notes that requests for shows from Hasidic and Modern Orthodox organizations have remained strong, seeing little impact.
Mastering “Knowing Your Audience”
Linda Shaw had never stepped foot in the Funny Bone, a comedy club nestled between a Legoland and an Auntie Anne’s pretzels in a Columbus outdoor mall. Yet, for Modi’s show, she journeyed from her Cincinnati home with a group of girlfriends and several cousins.
Shaw, 56, was raised as a Conservative Jew by European-born parents. Although she married a non-Jewish man, she ensured her daughters were raised Jewish.
“So much Jewish humor casts a negative light on Jewish life and observance,” Shaw lamented. But then there’s Modi.
“With him, you can laugh and truly embrace your Judaism,” she stated.
Modi’s opening act, a Christian comedian chosen for his “clean” style, found it challenging to tailor his routine for this specific crowd. His biggest laugh of the night came from a simple, almost accidental question: “How many people here go to church?”
At the Funny Bone in Columbus, Modi attracted a unique audience, many of whom wouldn’t typically frequent a comedy club.
Modi performed a 90-minute set, packed with his most popular material—jokes his fans connect with, feeling understood in a world that often leaves them feeling isolated. His routine included humor about the popular “mission trips” to Israel organized by American Jewish groups and the quirks of Israeli tour guides.
He vividly recounted being in Israel on October 7th, hearing the air raid sirens, and witnessing pop star Bruno Mars being evacuated from their hotel in a convoy of cars.
Even amidst that harrowing, life-or-death situation, Modi’s comedic instinct, and his understanding of his audience, kicked in.
“Leo,” he recalled telling his husband, “thank God they got Bruno Mars out of there. If a bomb hits this whole panel and both Bruno Mars and I die, I’ll get absolutely zero press.”