Every once in a while, I write an article whose purpose is to give my readers a little bit of a behind-the-scenes tour on what goes into a humor column, which I write at least partially as a way of discouraging competition.
This job is not as glamorous as I make it sound. People think I just write my jokes, and then I laugh all the way to the bank. First of all, I barely go to the bank. In the frum world, there is basically zero money in making people laugh. I’m just holding onto this one Gemara in Taanis that says that clowns get Olam Haba, and I have to hope that I didn’t misunderstand the Gemara, or that it’s only one shitah that we don’t pasken like.
On top of that, this job is very stressful, because I need a topic every week. And the weeks keep coming. As soon as one week is over, the next one starts immediately after it.
And I can’t make anything up, because I always make a big deal about how I everything I write is true, even though that’s exactly what I would say if some of the things I write were not true. This would be one of the things. Everything I write is true, depending on whether you understand sarcasm.
I have to keep coming up with new material every week. It’s not like a musician. People don’t want to hear my hits. People hire me to do stand-up for simchas, and if I say one or two jokes they’ve seen already, they get annoyed. Imagine you hired a musician to play at your simcha, and then he comes to you afterward with a bill, and you say, “But you only played songs we already know! What did you add to our lives?” So at the next simcha, he figures, “Okay, I’ll play all new songs. Spend hundreds of hours developing them, in case anyone at this simcha has ever been to another simcha.”
“Will anyone like these songs?”
“I don’t know. We’ll find out together.”
Every single week. New things don’t happen every single week. Sometimes it’s just the same things that happened the other weeks. And sometimes if new things happen, it’s not things I can make jokes about.
But how do I gather new material every single week? Logic says I should keep going out into the world and having new experiences, on no money, but I don’t have time to go out into the world because I’m behind deadline on last week’s article.
That said, I don’t like leaving the house for things I can’t write about. Like I don’t like going to levayos, because I can’t write about them. Other than that, levayos are okay. Weddings are worse. “You want to dance around for 6 hours?” No. You go to a levaya, it’s one hour and done. You don’t have to bring a gift… And at weddings, you have to make awkward conversation. You can’t just nod somberly at everyone. And people don’t walk up to you like they do at chasunos and go, “I bet you’re going to write about this!”
People love saying that to me.
I figure, “Okay, if I go to a chasunah, maybe I’ll find something to write about. Someone will say something funny…” And sure enough, at every chasunah, I have the following conversation:
“I bet you’re going to write about this, huh?”
“About what? This is the first thing you’ve said to me!”
“You know, like weddings.”
“What, specifically?”
“It’s funny.”
“What is?”
Add this to the fact that I’m struggling to hear them over the music.
“Okay, enough! We’ve heard this song already!”
“No, you’ve heard the 4-minute version. This one’s 20 minutes.”
Maybe I should talk to people who don’t already know what I do. Though a lot of those people, when I tell them what I do, say, “Oh, you know who’s funny?”
“Are you gonna say me?”
“No, I’m going to name some other comedian.”
“Great. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an accountant.”
“Oh, you know who’s a good accountant?”
And if you think coming up with new topics isn’t easy, I also have to keep coming up with new, funny ways of saying the same things I’ve already said 20 times.
For example, every time I write about Chanukah presents, my editors say, “What about the people who don’t hold of Chanukah presents?”
“I don’t know. They can read it next week.”
So I have to write the same disclaimer for the 19th year in a row, with new jokes of course, because the same people who don’t remember that I wrote a disclaimer last time will remember the jokes in that disclaimer.
I literally don’t care if you hold of presents. That’s not what this is about. This is an excuse for me to write about weird products and present it as a Chanukah article so people don’t say, “Weird products? Again? Didn’t you write about this recently?”
“No, it was a whole year ago.”
But my editors make me put in a disclaimer. Mind you, this is the same issue of the magazine that runs catalogs from two different toy stores.
“Yeah, but the toy stores are just trying to make parnassah.”
What do you think I’m doing?!
Or for example, every time I mention goyim in an article, my editors say, “You can’t use the word “goyim”; it’s offensive to non-Jews.” Because they’ve already been through so much.
Yet these same non-Jews are okay with words like “shiksa.”
And I say, “But it’s not an offensive word. The Torah calls the Jewish nation a goy.”
And my editors say, “Yeah, but the non-Jews don’t know that.” None of their bibles are in Hebrew.
So in one article, I actually took the time to explain this, and my editors let me use the word. And then a few months later, I wrote the word again, and my editors said no, and I said, “But I already explained it.” And their answer boiled down to, “Do you think whatever non-Jews are offended will write a nice letter to the editor about how we should print a retraction, and then we can write back that actually, if you look at this issue six months ago, we explained how it’s not offensive, and then the non-Jews will consult their pile of old Jewish magazines and go, “Oh, takeh!”
Or I can find a million ways to explain that for all the non-Jews who have subscriptions. That was number two.
Another tough thing about these articles is that as time goes on and I find out more about the world, I start second-guessing myself. When I started, I used to think everyone was basically the same. I’m nervous making phone calls; everyone else is nervous making phone calls. Now I’m like, “I feel like at least 50% of people are not nervous making phone calls. I have to hope enough of my readers are nervous so people can connect with the article.”
Is it possible that nobody else practices what they’re going to say before phone calls? And then sits through the 20 minutes of hold music and the company finally picks up and you’re like, “I forgot what I practiced”?
I used to be flattered when people wrote in and said, “I feel like you’re hiding in my closet and observing my family. But not in a creepy way.” Now I’m stressed by the number of people who don’t write in to say that.
Literally every topic is controversial now. Should all my articles just be full of disclaimers? Even something as simple and non-controversial as when I write about doing my own home repairs, which I do partially because of the money thing, and partially because it’s a new experience I can write about. In fact, I feel like Hashem isn’t giving me money so that I can have more and more of these adventures without leaving my house. But now I think, “Will people relate to this? What about the readers who have money? They won’t find this funny. Maybe they’ll give it to their plumber to read. And he won’t find it funny. He’ll say, “Why doesn’t this guy know how to do plumbing? He should hire a plumber.””
Oh, you know who’s a good plumber? I should call that guy!... Not you.
I hope I’m right about the Olam Haba thing at least. Unless most people don’t get Olam Haba; then they won’t relate to whatever I write when I’m there.
Oh, you think I won’t still be writing after I’ve passed? I can’t stop working.
Mordechai Schmutter is a weekly humor columnist for Hamodia, a monthly humor columnist, and has written six books, all published by Israel Book Shop. He also does freelance writing for hire. You can send any questions, comments, or ideas to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.
