A Journey Through Identity, Humor, and Belonging
By Emma Driban, Editor
When Myq Kaplan talks about his path to comedy, he starts not with punchlines but with music. Growing up, Kaplan began playing the violin at age four. He later picked up the guitar, started writing songs, and discovered that some of them made his friends laugh. That realization—that humor could open doors and create connections—was the seed that eventually grew into a career in comedy
But Kaplan’s comedic identity didn’t come from nowhere. As a kid, he was fascinated by comedians on television, from Saturday Night Live to Jerry Seinfeld. He vividly remembers watching Paul Reiser’s special, though he wasn’t even sure if Reiser was Jewish. “Comedy itself felt Jewish—or at least Jewish-adjacent,” he recalls. And then there was the night in the Catskills or Poconos when he saw Henny Youngman live. Youngman signed a book for him titled Take My Jokes, Please. For Kaplan, those moments marked the beginning of a lifelong relationship with comedy, a world that felt both welcoming and familiar.
Kaplan talks about comedy as a way of navigating the outsider’s perspective. Like many comedians, he grew up feeling a little out of place—his parents’ divorce, moving schools, starting over with new kids. At camp, he found kinship among other misfits, the ones who didn’t fit in anywhere else. “Comedy, to me, has always been about turning that outsider’s perspective into something universal,” he says.
That sensibility, Kaplan believes, has roots in Jewish history. “There’s a parallel between being a young person searching for belonging and the Jewish people wandering, trying to find a home,” he reflects. Humor becomes both shield and compass—a way to make sense of displacement and turn vulnerability into strength.
Although he didn’t set out to blend Judaism into his comedy, Kaplan admits it’s part of his DNA. He went to Hebrew school, had a bar mitzvah, learned Jewish history. Only later, on the comedy circuit, did he encounter antisemitic jokes—sometimes tossed casually by fellow comedians. The first time, it shocked him. He had grown up in such a sheltered environment that even playful digs about being Jewish felt foreign. “It was a flavor I’d never experienced,” he says. Over time, he began to see how humor itself has always been part of Jewish resilience, whether in the self-deprecating tropes of Jewish mother jokes or in the Talmudic tradition of questioning, debating, and analyzing.
“I’ve joked that what I do is almost
Talmudic,” Kaplan says. “It’s analytical, cerebral, layering perspectives, arguing with myself. There’s this desire for connection, compassion, understanding—that’s all very Jewish.”
Kaplan’s comedy isn’t about performing Jewishness so much as embodying it. It’s in his style, his sensibility, his relentless curiosity. He describes his process as one of noticing: paying attention to the little details of everyday life and then reflecting them back in surprising ways. He cites a favorite book, Several Short Sentences About Writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg, which says the writer’s job is to notice—and then notice that you’re noticing. “Comedy happens when you stop and say, ‘Wait, did you ever notice this?’” Kaplan explains.
“Something obvious yet invisible until someone points it out. Something both inevitable and surprising.”
That’s how his material emerges, from the ordinary to the profound. Sometimes it’s a quirky observation. Sometimes it’s a deeply personal story about his family or relationships. Sometimes it’s a philosophical exploration of identity. All of it, though, filters through the lens of “Myq Kaplan-based comedy.” He recalls the perfect line from comedian Paul F. Tompkins, who begins a set by saying,
“Hi, my name is Paul Tompkins and I do Paul F. Tompkins-based comedy.” Kaplan connects this to the story of Rabbi Zusya, who feared not being asked, “Why weren’t you Moses?” but instead, “Why weren’t you Zusya?” In other words: the comedian’s role is to be fully and unapologetically themselves.
Kaplan’s writing process reflects this same layered approach. He carries a small digital recorder everywhere. Whenever a thought, observation, or funny idea strikes, he records it. Later, he transcribes the recordings into notebooks. Eventually, he types everything into his computer. Each stage—recording, handwriting, typing—adds another layer of thought. And then comes the stage work, where Kaplan riffs, improvises, and discovers in real time what works. Listening back, he harvests new lines and feeds them back into the cycle. It’s less about inspiration striking once and more about constantly refining, noticing, and reshaping.
This fall, Kaplan headlines the historic Arden Guild Hall for the first time. The gig came about through a mix of connections and timing—his friend Jackie Kashian recommended him after performing there herself, and last year he opened for Emo Phillips at Arden. The booker, David Fruchtman, thought it would be a great full-circle moment. For Kaplan, it’s not just another gig—it’s a chance to share his comedy with a community that values both art and tradition.
What can audiences expect? Kaplan laughs. “I usually have more than two hours of material ready, so it’ll be some mix of themes. One set I’ve been working on is about masculinity—what it means, how it connects to Jewishness, and how those identities intersect. The other is about family, especially my grandmother, who passed away at the start of the pandemic. She was hilarious without trying to be. I could do an hour just on the things she and my mom have said.”
As our conversation came to a close, Kaplan circled back to gratitude. “Thank you for reading, for considering comedy. My demographic, I joke, is ‘people who know the word demographic.’ If you’ve made it this far, there’s a good chance my comedy is for you.”
With humor rooted in observation, identity, and connection, Kaplan’s comedy feels both uniquely personal and universally resonant. Whether he’s unpacking masculinity, honoring his grandmother’s wit, or noticing the absurdity of everyday life, Kaplan isn’t trying to be anyone else. He’s simply trying to be the most Myq Kaplan version of himself—and inviting audiences to laugh along.
Visit ArdenConcerts.com to purchase tickets.
