As Yusra Najjar (played by Farah Bseiso) sat by the water's edge on a humid Texas day, you could tell her mind was elsewhere. In a moment that perhaps feels achingly familiar to some viewers, she confides in her daughter that she can’t look away from the news. Another tragedy in Palestine, more violence, more devastation unfolding in real time on her phone.
What follows is one of the most poignant scenes of Mo Season 2, the latest instalment of the Netflix comedy series, which follows the lives of a Palestinian refugee family navigating the complexities of life while awaiting asylum in the U.S.
“We are more than our pain and suffering, Mom. You wouldn’t know that watching this news,” her daughter Nadia says, holding back tears. “You have to look after yourself so you can help others.”
It’s a moment that feels too real — highlighting the grief and helplessness felt by many in the Palestinian diaspora but also many more who have watched the tragedy unfold on their social media feeds in the last year and a half.
But in true Mo fashion, its creator and main star, Mohammed Amer, doesn’t let the weight linger for too long. Instead, Amer does what he knows best — he chooses laughter. You instantly feel the emotional rollercoaster barrel roll into yet another moment of sharp-witted humour — something that makes this comedy series a crucial watch.
Co-created by comedians Amer and Ramy Youseff, Mo is a semi-autobiographical series and the only one that puts a Palestinian family front and centre. In it, its titular millennial character Mo meanders the challenges of adulting, dating, and friendship amid the wider question of who he is and where he fits in an increasingly hostile world.
Season two, which dropped on January 30, doubles down on the absurdity of immigration bureaucracy but also takes on even heavier cultural weight amid the background of Israel’s brutal occupation of Palestine, as well as increasing hostility toward undocumented migrants in the U.S. Despite its heavy undertones, it is incredibly funny while managing to gracefully tackle hard-hitting topics about identity, displacement and statelessness in strikingly human and resonant ways.
The season kicks off with Mo stranded in Mexico after accidentally deporting himself while trying to prevent the theft of olive trees from the farm where he worked. He’s selling ‘Mo’s falafel tacos’ from his vending cart, evidently clinging to his heritage while using food as a tool for survival. A collision of Mexican culture (he works as a Mexican wrestler overnight and binge-watches telenovelas) also nods to the broader immigrant struggle. Humour becomes another means of survival in these scenes, as it does throughout the season.
Across the eight-part series, Mo finds hope in even the darkest and heaviest experiences. There are painful immigration meetings and countless ways the system (as well as his pride) fails him, but also scenes of hope and joy: food, family gatherings and community. At a time when the Palestinian story is often depicted through the lens of conflict, the show’s humanisation of Arab culture is its power.
There are just so many layers to the latest series: all this resistance, all this pain — but also resilience, strength, discovery and hope. From Mo’s ex dating an Israeli chef and clashing over the origins of the region’s recipes to his brother Sameer (Omar Elba) coming to terms with being neurodivergent — yet another layer of ‘otherness’ among characters who are all trying to belong. This, interlaced with scenes reenacted from Amer’s own memories, make it a powerful and sometimes heart-wrenching watch.
Just over a week since its release on Netflix, Mo has earned a perfect 100% score on Rotten Tomatoes and an overwhelmingly positive response. But what does its success say about the power of entertainment in 2025?
At a time when misinformation is rife, Mo fills a unique space by providing education about the immigrant experience in ways that traditional news coverage often fails to. It is undoubtedly a comedy, but beyond the entertainment value, it helps viewers understand the human experience — and we need more of that on TV.
“You can’t just walk around spewing all these things about immigrants without knowing what it takes to become an American citizen,” Amer recently told ABC News.
Arguably, the unsung hero of Mo is his mother Yusra. Softly spoken and gentle to her adult kids (though harnessing a silent fierceness often associated with Arab parenting), a mother’s wise words permeate the comedy with incredibly moving realities. “Countries and borders are all made up; the real thing is the land, and the land accepts us wherever we die,” she says, with an air of kindness in a scene that left many viewers in tears.
And that’s before we even reach the melancholic final episode, which is expected to be the last we’ll see of this comedy series (it hasn’t been renewed for series three).
In what might be one of the best series finales of 2025, the show takes viewers to the West Bank in Palestine, showing the family finally reconnecting with their roots after 20 years of grappling with America’s immigration system. Featuring real-life footage of his Palestinian father before his death, the episode is deeply moving, personal, and a powerful reclaiming of Amer’s own heritage.
Concluding on October 6, 2023, the ending of Mo is confronting yet serves as a powerful reminder that the definition of a person shouldn’t be their legal status or nationality — but through the humanity we show to others.
