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Bob Alper
Rabbi Turns . . . Comedian?
(This story has appeared in slightly different
forms in Lifestyles, Esteem, The Rotarian and a few other places
since I first wrote it in April 1995. And, in the interests of
full disclosure, I must admit that Bob has become a personal
and family friend.)
By Bob Andelman
When Bob Alper, the world's only rabbi/standup comedian, performs
before a mixed audience of Jews and non-Jews, he always starts
by asking the Jews to talk amongst themselves ("Asking Jews
to talk amongst themselves is like asking mammals to breathe,"
he says) while he uses flash cards to de-codify the few Hebrew
words in his act.
"I know some of you may not understand everything
in the act. I know you may be Judaically challenged. But the
essence of a quintessential Jewish joke is one a Gentile doesn't
understand and a Jew has already heard."
Alper's become a staple of the rubber-chicken synagogue circuit,
drawing big laughs and making big bucks for congregations in
need of a sure-fire fund-raiser. Sometimes he'll turn up in mainstream
clubs, too; Alper is a regular at Zany's in Chicago, among other
places.
But maybe you're still stuck a few paragraphs above. What's
a rabbi/standup comedian, anyhow?
"Ever since I was a kid, I've dreamed of having my
own TV show, making lots of money, and being surrounded by beautiful,
adoring women. But then I realized that would never work for
me because I'm Jewish and I could never be a TV evangelist."
Jews have a rich history of laughing at their own foibles
and stereotypes, but Alper uses care to avoid reinforcing negative
stereotypes. His act is "half Jewish, half general and 95
percent universal," he says.
"To me, anything racist, homophobic or dirty is inappropriate,"
Alper says. "When you laugh at some comics, you feel a little
dirty, maybe you want to take a shower. I'm a clean comic. And,
I would add to that, I don't do anything self-hating, anything
demeaning to Jews or Judaism. That includes jokes about circumcision,
which is a very sacred ritual. When Jews hear me, they feel good
about laughing, they feel good about themselves."
"If anything I've said to you has hurt you or offended
you -- you're too sensitive."
There was a time when Lower East Side/Borscht Belt comedians
such as Jackie Mason could get a laugh by slipping a Yiddish
word or expression into their monologues. Jews burst a gut laughing,
Gentiles just looked puzzled at the fuss.
"I remember my father driving us to Sunday School, listening
to Mickey Katz on the radio, and just laughing and laughing,"
Alper says. "He was so amazed that they'd say that stuff
on the radio, because Katz would say stuff you weren't supposed
to say. But it was Yiddish -- which no one at WJAR-AM knew."
Alper -- whose personal comedy hero is Mel Brooks -- says
there are very few remaining "Jewish" comedians like
Katz and Mason. Even the best-known Jewish comedians -- Jack
Benny and George Burns, for example -- were never recognized
for doing ethnic humor.
"I think it's almost gone," Alper says. "There
are a lot of comedians who happen to be Jewish but there are
not that many Jewish comedians. We're one generation removed
from the immigrant era. That was 'Jewish' humor. Nowadays, there's
a much more assimilated lifestyle. There's a lot of Jewish comedians
but they're not as Jewish. They don't use their Jewish roots
or background, maybe 'cause they don't have much of a Jewish
background. They just happen to be Jewish."
Much of Alper's routine is situational, drawing equal parts
from his long career as a rabbi, as a father of two, and more
recently, as a rabbi living in Vermont. Unlike the self-deprecating
Jewish humorists of another era, he uses modern American Jewish
life as his focal point and approaches it in a positive, gentle
way.
Synagogues hire a guy like Alper when they want to sponsor
a comedy night but find the average lay comic a bit, umm, raw.
"It's community-building when you bring people together
and have laughs for a night," he says. "With me not
only do they laugh all night but the aftertaste is very good.
That's because it's a positive show. I think if they were laughing
all night then felt guilty the next day, they'd want to forget
they were laughing at dirty jokes in front of the arc. With me,
they feel good and they continue to feel good afterward."
What's really great for Alper about working the synagogue
circuit as opposed to traditional nightclubs is no hecklers.
"To me," he says, "a heckler is when a man
gets up, walks to the side and pours himself a soda."
Well, almost no hecklers:
"I went to visit an older woman in the hospital. She
was in the fetal position. I introduced myself and said, 'Mrs.
Shapiro, I'm Rabbi Alper.' no response, didn't blink an eye.
I stood there talking to her for five minutes. No response whatsoever.
Finally, I said, 'I'm going to be going now, Mrs. Shapiro. As
I walked through the door I heard her utter her only words: 'Short
visit, Rabbi.' "
Alper believes the place of humor in organized religion is
"enormous."
"It hasn't been discussed enough," he says. "Like
when Norman Cousins finally discovered the role of humor in healing.
If a congregation can laugh for an hour, it's a health-giving,
spirit-raising experience. With all due respect to my colleagues,
I believe if people can laugh for an hour, it's just as valuable
as a profound sermon."
When Alper left Philadelphia for East Dorset, Vermont, he
began developing material on an entirely different Jewish experience.
Not because there are many Jews there; in fact, precisely because
there are so few.
Whereas he could once try out new material on congregants
in the City of Brotherly Love, he now starts with Pete LaFurgy,
the East Dorset postmaster.
"Unless you're an alcoholic or a recovering alcoholic,"
Alper explains, "nobody knows about East Dorset. But it's
the home of Bill W., the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. The
post office is across the street from Bill W.'s home. I go in
there everyday to get my mail. Usually, in passing stuff through
the window, I'll try out my newest line on Pete and see how it
works on him. If it seems to work, then I go across the street
to Ray Petry, who runs the East Dorset General Store. Ray used
to be a hospital administrator in Saudi Arabia, now he runs a
general store. I try the material on him. Then, if I think it's
really cooking, on Tuesdays at lunchtime, I'll do it at Rotary
Club."
Only LaFurgy is Jewish, but not by his or Reform Judaism's
definition. "His great-grandfather was a rabbi and his great-grandfather
was the father of his grandmother, who was the mother of his
mother, who was the mother of him, so according to halacha
the matrilineal line, he's Jewish," Alper says. "But
according to him, he's not. He only learned his great-grandfather
was a Jew and a rabbi as an adult."
As a result, Alper doesn't try too much esoteric Jewish humor
on his East Dorset friends. For example, here's the joke he told
Pete and Ray: At one time we had three cats. We named them
muffin, tiger and Rabbi Maurice Feldman. "But there's
a line that goes with it that I only use with Jewish groups,"
Alper says. "It's so in, it's a rabbi's joke: We had
another cat that used to sleep till 3:30 every afternoon. We
named him Cantor Goldenberg."
While he wasn't the class clown, Bob Alper was always funny
and always looking for a chance to crack up his friends. In high
school he lifted Shelly Berman and Bob Newhart routines on "Talent
Night." It worked: "I met girls, got attention -- and
built self-esteem," he says.
Curiously, as far back as high school he knew he had the calling
-- he wanted to be a rabbi and a stand-up comedian. But
there was a detour or two in his path. "I went to Lehigh
University, where I was not funny," he recalls. "Well,
I was in glee club. I guess I was funny there."
He studied social relations, a cross-pollination of three
majors, sociology, social psychology and anthropology. As graduation
approached, Alper couldn't decided between pursuing an MBA or
the rabbinate. What pushed him over the edge was a friend applying
to Hebrew Union College in Cincinnati who talked him into it.
At least he'd have a friend there, he figured.
"I've been a rabbi for 22 years and the last I heard
of him he was in California making roach clips," Alper says,
laughing. "He dropped out after a year-and-a-half."
Rabbinical college requires a six-year commitment, including
a year of study in Israel. It isn't a laugh-a-minute kind of
place. But once, when Alper presented a major sermon for faculty
evaluation, he parodied the other student rabbis and won an award
for sermon delivery and oratory. After that, there was no telling
Alper that religion and comedy didn't mix.
He was ordained in June 1972 and was hired by a congregation
in Buffalo. "My first sermon was on the theology of Woody
Allen," Alper says. "You know his line: 'I'm not afraid
of dying, I just don't want to be around when it happens.' "
He told jokes in confirmation classes "to keep the kids
awake." And during the Jewish holiday of Purim -- a celebration
with feasts, dances and masquerades -- Alper parodied Fiddler
on the Roof to the delight of his congregation.
"Just once I'd like to say, 'Will the congregation
please rise? Oops -- I didn't say 'Simon Says!' Everybody sit
down."
"I loved doing sermons so I could do some comedy,"
he says. "When you do services, nobody applauds you. But
they will laugh, which is a better kind of applause. I found,
as a rabbi, that the use of humor was a very serious gift. When
I give a sermon, I hope I move people spiritually. When I make
them laugh, I know I'm moving them spiritually."
Alper -- who's been married for 25 years -- frequently pokes
fun at his own family. Not that they've always thought he was
particularly funny.
"My daughter has started to," he says. "She
started college and her best friend really thinks I'm funny,
thinks I'm a celebrity. So she laughs at my stuff now. More than
before. In the past it was, 'Oh, Dad!' Nothing I could say was
funny.'
"My wife and I have an All-American family. We have
a boy, a girl and a vasectomy. I know you're not supposed to
favor one over the other, but ever since the boy and girl became
teens, I've come to favor the vasectomy."
The turning point in Alper's schizophrenic career came in
1982 when he told jokes during an "open mike" night
at a Philadelphia comedy club. His audience that night was small
-- just the four other people who followed him on stage -- but
he was hooked. Later, he came in third in a "Jewish Comic
of the Year Contest," but as he puts it, "As far as
I know, the guy who came in first is still a chiropractor; the
guy who came in second is still a lawyer." A local television
program broadcast portions of Alper's act, however, giving him
a big push.
"I have a manager. I think every rabbi should have
one. "You didn't like my sermon? See my manager.""
By 1986 he resigned from his pulpit in Philadelphia and moved
to Vermont, where he started a small, part-time congregation
and joined the local volunteer fire company and AJCO -- the Association
of Jewish Chainsaw Owners.
Staying in touch with modern Judaism in Vermont means reading
Jewish papers and the Jewish forums on CompuServe. "Plus
part of the uniqueness of my act is being a Jew in Vermont. I
talk about our synagogue up here," Alper says.
"We have more pick-up trucks per Jew than any
synagogue in the country."
"We don't get cable. We have a satellite dish. We
have orthodox neighbors -- they have two dishes."
The rabbi's Jewish life has evolved since leaving the pulpit.
He still practices his religion, but says the biggest change
has been following through without children in the house.
"Everyone goes through stages in their Jewish life, especially
when you have children," he says. "You're child-centered,
then you become adult-centered. I went to Purim services but
it felt different. It's mostly families with young kids. I enjoy
it, but not as much as when my kids were there. One Friday night
I conducted services at a local temple because the rabbi was
away. Afterward, I had Shabbat dinner with some adult friends.
It was nice, but I'd prefer to have my kids here."
Not that he misses leading the congregation.
"Now on Shabbat I can choose to celebrate it however
I want; I'm not performing or being judged on the quality of
my sermon or the service I lead. I really like that," Alper
says. "One of the nicest parts of this new career is I'm
almost always home on Friday nights. Not working, not traveling.
I respect the Sabbath in ways I couldn't before.
"Sometimes rabbis get really upset when they hear that,"
he admits, "because rabbis need to really be secure to be
able to say, 'Yeah, Friday night I am working.' Because that's
the truth. It's one of the hardest parts of being a rabbi."
In 1994, this rabbi's see-saw career tilted full-time in favor
of comedy for the first time. No more weddings or funerals, baby
namings or Friday night services. His popularity on the comedy
circuit -- between mainstream clubs and private functions --
has finally increased enough so that he can support his family
as a comedian who happens to be a rabbi, instead of a rabbi with
a sense of humor.
Pretty impressive for a guy who doesn't work Friday nights.
"People were skeptical when I became a rabbi/comedian,
that it would be offensive to the Jewish community, but it really
worked out very well. I owe a great debt of gratitude to my manager
-- Father Patrick MacDougall."
o o o
(You can order Bob Alper's cassette, Rabbi/Stand-Up Comic
{Really}, recorded in concert, by sending a check or money
order for $10.95, plus $1.50 postage and handling, to Isaac Productions,
Box 711, E. Dorset, VT 05253. He also has a web site http://www.bobalper.com
.)
end
©2000,
All rights reserved. No portion may be reproduced without the
express written permission of the author.
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