For millions scrolling through TikTok and Instagram, Shahar Cohen is instantly recognisable. Whether he’s playing the no-nonsense Israeli Nofar, a bewildered American tourist trying to navigate Israeli life, or poking fun at influencer culture, his sketches have become a cultural bridge between Israel and audiences around the world.
On August 27, the 36-year-old comedian brings his full-length show to London’s JW3. While he has previously appeared in London as part of comedy line-ups, this will be his first time performing his full 75-minute show for a British audience.
“I love that I can travel somewhere, discover a new city and perform there,” he says. “Every place feels special.”
Shahar Cohen enjoying some downtime in New York, while on tour (Photo: Shahar Cohen/ Instagram)[Missing Credit]
Cohen grew up in Jerusalem’s Beit HaKerem neighbourhood, moving constantly between his parents’ nearby homes after they divorced when he was four. The experience, he believes, quietly shaped both his own life and his comedy.
His father is of Iraqi Jewish heritage and his mother Egyptian Jewish. “People joke that they are the Ashkenazim of the Mizrachim,” he laughs. “I probably look more Ashkenazi, but I feel split between both worlds. I can blend into both cultures.”
That ability to move effortlessly between different social worlds became the foundation of his comedy. “From a really young age I noticed details other people my age didn’t see,” he says. “I’m like a chameleon and just blend into whatever environment I’m in. I listen to conversations and pick up how people really feel. You can’t really fool me.”
Comedy, however, was never the original plan. “My dream was always to be a singer,” he says. “I studied music in high school, played piano from a young age and loved Mariah Carey, Whitney Houston and all the big divas.”
Shahar Cohen as Nofar – his most famous character (Photo: Shahar Cohen)[Missing Credit]
After serving three years in the Israel Defence Forces working in computer systems, practicality won out. Unsure whether music could provide financial security, he studied business and economics at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem before building a successful career in marketing, eventually working at Procter & Gamble.
Everything changed with TikTok. “What made TikTok revolutionary was that strangers could suddenly discover you,” he explains. “Instagram was mostly people you already knew. Television was very difficult to break into. YouTube was hard to go viral on. Suddenly there was a platform where complete strangers could find you.”
His nostalgic sketches comparing bygone eras in Israel with today quickly attracted a large Israeli following. Then he expanded the format to compare Israeli and American culture.
“I realised if I could compare the past and present, I could compare Israel and America.”
Unexpectedly, those videos began attracting viewers far beyond Israel. “I accidentally started becoming famous in America before October 7,” he says. “Then after October 7 everything became much bigger.”
Today, content creation has replaced marketing as his full-time career.
Much of Cohen’s comedy centres on female characters, especially the endlessly quotable Nofar, whose mixture of confidence, bluntness and recognisable Israeli mannerisms has made her something of a national icon.
“Being a woman is so much more interesting from a comedy perspective,” he says. “One wig completely changes the character. Curly black hair, blonde hair, short hair – suddenly you have a completely different personality.”
He also points to another reason. “I’m a gay guy, so imitating women has always come naturally. It feels like therapy because I’m bringing to life something that’s always been inside me.”
Despite viewers constantly asking whether Nofar is Ashkenazi or Mizrachi, Cohen deliberately refuses to define her.
“Our generation feels much more Israeli than Iraqi or Moroccan or Polish. Nofar is very balanced. She represents lots of women I’ve known growing up.” Some of her expressions even come directly from his own family. “She always says, ‘I know, I know,’ and that’s something I remember from my mum. It’s such an Israeli thing. Everyone already knows everything.”
Although his sketches are exaggerated, Cohen insists they remain firmly grounded in reality. “I stay as close to reality as I possibly can. That’s why people relate to it,” he says. “Even if someone hasn’t been to Israel, they’ve watched these characters for years and now they feel like they know them.”
His observations often begin with tiny moments from everyday life: overheard conversations on buses, exchanges in markets, childhood memories of Jerusalem, or familiar encounters during Yom Kippur.
The attacks of October 7 forced him to rethink what comedy could achieve. “At first nobody knew whether it was appropriate to make people laugh,” he recalls. “We’d just experienced this enormous tragedy.”
Weeks later, he realised humour could become another form of storytelling and indeed, advocacy. “I was sitting in a shelter and imagined an Israeli and an American experiencing a rocket siren together. Israelis are so calm about it, while the American is asking, ‘Oh my God, are we going to die?’”
The sketches spread across social media, allowing audiences abroad to experience daily Israeli life through comedy rather than political arguments.
“I realised I could hide messages inside the humour,” he says. “People from Israel, the Jewish diaspora and people who had no connection to Israel were all talking together in the comments.”
He believes that has allowed him to reach audiences who might never watch traditional advocacy.
“When people come to my shows, many aren’t Jewish and have no connection to Israel. They’ve simply found me through social media. If I can appear on someone’s TikTok feed and make them see Israelis as human beings rather than headlines, that’s something really meaningful.”
One encounter remains especially memorable. “After a show in Sweden I had dinner with two fans, one was a Christian Swede, the other a Turkish Muslim. They both loved my videos and loved Israel. That felt really special.”
His comedy is not intended to present Israelis as flawless. “I want to be authentic. Nofar can be quite bitchy. We’re direct. We’re unfiltered. We’re not always politically correct. I show the good and the bad because that’s who we are.”
Away from the wigs and cameras, Cohen leads what he describes as a deliberately balanced life at home in Tel Aviv. “I sleep properly, cook for myself and exercise every day,” he says. “Creating content can consume your whole life if you’re not careful, so I’ve worked hard to build a healthy routine that helps with my anxiety and my mental health.”
He’s also making more room for another priority. “I didn’t really make time for dating when everything took off so quickly. Now I’m much more organised, and I’m finally putting myself out there.”
There are still new roles on his growing CV. This year he became the official worldwide Hebrew voice of Waze, meaning drivers across the globe now hear his voice giving directions. But for all the millions of views, international tours and viral sketches, Cohen believes his biggest achievement remains much simpler.
“We’re living through difficult times. There’s so much sadness, so much division. If I can take those moments and make people smile together, then that’s the value I want to bring.”
Shahar Cohen is at JW3 on August 27
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