By the time most performers finish a late-night show, they’re looking for noise: friends, bars, movement, distraction.
But stand-up comedian Matan Peretz does the opposite. He goes home, takes out a sealed box of Legos, lays the numbered bags on the table, puts his phone far out of reach – and disappears into quiet.
On the People and Collectors podcast, hosted by Bar Gindy, Peretz reveals a different side of himself. Not the loud comedian from Instagram, but a kid from Kiryat Arba who never forgot the feeling of his father returning from the army once a month with a single Lego set that glued the family together.
Lego didn’t just return to his life. It became the anchor that holds it steady. “I don’t buy Lego. I buy meditation,” he says.
Peretz has one of the simplest and smartest ways to describe his obsession: If a set costs 100 shekels, that’s 15 minutes of meditation; if it costs 2,500 shekels, like the Avengers Tower or Barad-Dur from Lord of the Rings, that’s 12 hours of meditation.
He works fast, hard, and constantly: Stand-up shows, shooting days, brand collaborations, writing sessions, social media, endless creative pressure. Everything happens through his phone.
“Building is the only activity that forces me to put the phone down,” he says. “No Instagram. No messages. Just instructions, bricks and quiet.”
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Stand-up comedian Matan Peretz poses next to his LEGO display at home, featuring detailed models from franchises like Harry Potter and Marvel
(Photo: Bar Gindy)
The sensation is so powerful that even at peak stress, like during Iran's missile attacks, Peretz sat in his shelter assembling Harry Potter or a dancing Groot figure. “It calmed me more than sleep,” he laughs.
The child who never forgot
His Lego origin story is not a trend. It’s his childhood - his father, a career soldier who came home once every few weeks, always brought a Lego set with him.
Peretz and his brothers built them, broke them, stored the pieces in a box of “spares” and rebuilt nonsense creations every Saturday.
Years later, he thought he had imagined some of those sets. Then one day, Instagram showed him the exact Wild West Lego kit he had in the mid-90s - suddenly, the memories became real again.
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A LEGO replica of the Sorting Hat from the Harry Potter series is displayed alongside superhero minifigures and memorabilia at Peretz’s home
(Photo: Bar Gindy)
If you give Peretz unlimited money, he wouldn’t buy the Eiffel Tower or the Titanic. He’d hunt down those disappeared '90s sets: cowboys, pirates, Native American themes.
Nostalgia is his currency, not size or price.
A comedian who becomes a construction worker
Onstage and online, Peretz must constantly reinvent himself - writing jokes, creating scenes, developing campaigns - his brain never stops sprinting.
Lego is the opposite. He isn’t the creator - he’s the builder. “You take someone else’s idea and execute it,” he explains. “Brick by brick. It shuts off the noise.”
That contrast fuels him. When life overwhelms him – filming, performing, traveling, deadlines – he builds more.
When life is calm, he saves sets aside for the next pressure wave. “You recharge like a battery,” he says. “Lego is sleep for the mind.”
If everyone built Lego, there would be no wars
It sounds like a joke, but Peretz means it. The act of building forces presence, focus and slowness. It gives adults something physical to do with their hands that isn’t scrolling themselves into anxiety.
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Peretz, left, and People and Collectors podcast host Bar Gindy, right, smile during a visit at Peretz's LEGO collection room
(Photo: Bar Gindy)
Lego understood that. They stopped calling their products “toys” and started calling them “architecture,” “botanical art” and “display pieces.” That’s how they became the only toy company growing 17 percent while others crash.
A culture, a community and a safe place
Around Peretz, a quiet community forms: Lego fans, friends, other collectors and even kids battling illness. He keeps “emergency sets” in sealed bags – ready to gift on the spot.
One child with cancer wanted only a C-3PO to complete his pair. Peretz ordered it immediately and handed it to him at a show. “No one says no to a kid who understands the magic,” he says.
Peretz is not just a hobbyist, but someone who transforms an object into emotional architecture.
The message he wants the world to hear
“Don’t listen to anyone who tells you Lego is childish. Their imagination is limited, not yours.”
Peretz isn’t asking partners or friends to love Lego. He asks for one thing: understanding.
Because for him, Lego isn’t plastic - It’s therapy, it’s memory, it’s sanity and it’s the only place where the world still makes sense – brick by brick.
- For more stories from Matan and other collectors, check out the People and Collectors podcast. The full interview is available with English subtitles and 50 other languages.