Photo: Saeed Adyani/Netflix
In the eighth episode of Netflix’s new rom-com series Nobody Wants This, romantic lead and “Hot Rabbi” Noah Roklov (Adam Brody) and his brother, Sasha (Timothy Simons), concoct a plan to excite Noah’s goyishe — or non-Jewish — girlfriend, Joanne (Kristen Bell), about the prospect of converting to Judaism in order to make their lives easier. All this task will entail, the brothers agree, is one thing, which is to “make Judaism seem really, really awesome.”
In any other context, or 30-minute rom-commy television show, that might be pretty easy. But Nobody Wants This sets itself up for disaster: The show has spent the previous seven episodes — and two to follow — showing that being Jewish is just about everything but really, really awesome.
The show was created by writer and podcaster Erin Foster and loosely based on her own courtship with talent manager and very much not-rabbi Simon Tikhman, a relationship and marriage that ended with her own conversion to Judaism. The “big C,” as Nobody Wants This refers to “conversion,” becomes one of many possible solutions to the show’s central problem — that no one in the show itself seems all that fond of being Jewish in the first place and how it dictates that people live their lives. Judaism, per this comedic universe, is awful: It is a religion that consists of nagging women and lazy men, driven by archaic rules that don’t allow for Reform rabbis to have shiksa girlfriends but do allow said Reform rabbis to play in an amateur basketball league on Saturday mornings. It’d be one thing if the Jewish life that Noah’s family partakes in was singular to their experience, with maybe a little backstory explaining why and how they’re so rigid and inconsistent in their beliefs. Instead, however, the show traffics in tired stereotypes about modern Jews: the overbearing mother, a family obsession with how people make money, and strict community insularity.
The Roklovs also speak around and about Joanne in a shockingly retrograde way, frequently referring to her as a “shiksa,” a disparaging term for a non-Jewish woman, in lieu of the more neutral goyim, or goy. Their small-minded nature is justified through closeness, but really, everyone seems miserable, with their connections to Judaism existing in social standing only. Very few if any Jewish characters (outside of Noah, who is mensch) act with any kind of godliness — toward Joanne or even each other. Eventually, despite Noah’s mother, Bina (Tovah Feldshuh), sister-in-law, Esther (Jackie Tohn), and ex-girlfriend Rebecca (Emily Arlook) conniving to break up Noah and Joanne, Joanne decides in the final episode — at least for a while — to convert in order to preserve their relationship. Or, as one of her friends puts it, conversion “is perfect because it’s not like you stand for anything or have any strong beliefs.”
That throwaway joke is far more indicative of the show’s overall point of view, as well as its take on modern Judaism. Joanne’s lack of ideals in any way imbue the show with a profound and thudding cynicism. It’s not just that she thinks religion is kind of stupid, but that belief permeates every kind of subculture depicted in the show. Joanne and her sister Morgan (a very funny Justine Lupe) are relationship podcasters, a career that the show treats with utter disdain, frequently rendering them the two most naïve and moony characters on the show. (It takes five episodes, for instance, for Joanne to finally ask Noah what “shalom” means.) Joanne and Morgan’s dotty mother, Lynn (Stephanie Faracy), dabbles in the metaphysical to constant mockery; their gay father, Henry (Michael Hitchcock), is rarely able to enjoy his own happiness. Even what ought to be a cute if not awkward visit to a sex shop for Noah and Joanne descends into an uneasy conversation about their biggest fears, which causes Joanne to totally shut down. Her cynicism stems from her own personal defenses: avoiding getting hurt at any and all possible costs. But the show doesn’t break down that attitude — this isn’t a “change yourself for a man” type of narrative, and in turn, Joanne’s cynicism mostly hardens. It isn’t just she who finds the world stupid and naïve but a whole show built around that worldview. If it’s all bullshit, so is conversion.
In the show’s third episode, Joanne and Morgan sit down with a “doctor” (with a degree from the University of Turks and Caicos, promises their mother) who reads auras for their podcast and comes to the realization that Joanne has no aura — or at least one that can’t be found. “Do you think it’s possible that you can’t find it because this is not real?,” Joanne asks him. The two bicker, the conversation devolving into whether it’s right for the so-called doctor to be wearing a kimono (jury is out), but the evidence is there. Joanne — and Nobody Wants This, in title as well — don’t buy into this shit, or anything that requires a leap of faith. Judaism becomes impossible to explain in part because it requires a genuine interest in what religion is, and why people — in a time of smartphones and streaming television — continue to turn to it for moral guidance. When Vulture asked Foster what appealed to her as a convert, she admitted that “she liked being encouraged to doubt and ask questions, she liked that their rabbi told them their discussions during the car ride home were the most important part of conversion, and she particularly liked hearing that converts were closest to God.” Little of that has to do with Judaism itself, and in turn, the show can’t bring itself to take one of its core themes seriously, too cynical to engage with religion at face value. In turn, Judaism boils down not to an ongoing conversation of faith and morals but one of tired, misanthropic tropes.
That Nobody Wants This can’t find a way to make Judaism seem fun feels like a fundamental flaw of its otherwise charming core romance. Though Noah is an undeniable sweetie — this is Adam Brody we’re talking about, to be clear — it seems as though he’s the anomaly in his religion, rather than a shining example. Even so, in the episode’s final moments, Joanne goes back on her promise to convert. She sees this big step in her life as an ultimatum, the kind that Reform and other progressive takes on organized religion seem to mostly avoid in their teachings. What feels most antisemitic is the profound inflexibility of the show’s view of Judaism, that it’s a religion imbued with ors in lieu of ands. “Baked into the Jewish experience is wrestling with what God is or isn’t, not knowing,” Noah explains to Joanne the night they meet. Sure, there is cultural skepticism in that wrestling but also a sense of hope — if only Joanne knew that was a part of the Jewish experience too.
