On Fiddler

INNKEEPER: Why should I break my head about the outside world? Let them break their own heads.
TEVYE: He’s right. As the good book says, if you spit in the air, it lands in your face.
PERCHIK: That’s nonsense. You can’t close your eyes to what’s happening in the world.
TEVYE: He’s right.
AVRAM: He’s right and he’s right? How can they both be right?
TEVYE: You know, you are also right.

One thing I love about the musical Fiddler on the Roof is the assemblage of strong, sympathetic characters that burn with contradictory desires and beliefs. Set in a tumultuous time and place– where appeals to tradition can no longer reliably settle disputes– the show invites us (via Tevye) to empathize with each character in turn, before turning to the unenviable task of finding a resolution.

In the show’s first half, we empathize with the eldest daughter (Tzeitel), who wishes to make her own match, and the tailor she wishes to marry– for even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness. At the same time, we empathize with the mama (Golde), who yearns for her daughter to know the safety and security that partnership with a wealthy butcher could provide. And we must empathize, too, with the butcher (Lazar Wolf), who is lonely and has asked Tevye for his daughter’s hand in marriage, in perfect accordance with all rites and rituals of their community, only to be humiliated in front of his peers when Tevye’s reneges on their agreement.

In the show’s second half, the nature of Anatevka’s conflicts escalates. We must contend with the perspective of Perchik, the radical student from Kyiv, who believes a socialist revolt is the only path through burgeoning political unrest. At the same time, we feel for the villagers who prefer to keep their heads down and stay out of trouble. We understand why Chava and Fyedka want to combat the senseless violence of the pogroms by consecrating a love that transcends religious difference. And we understand why this is a bridge too far for an elderly Tevye, whose entire existence has revolved around his duty to practice Judaism, even against a backdrop of Russian antagonism.

Throughout the story, we find Tevye at the center of everything– listening, pondering, arguing intensely with himself and with God– as he strives to reconcile various perspectives with his own world view, his knowledge of scripture, and his sense of love, duty, and intuition. He wants to do right by his daughters, his wife, his community, and his God. He is not the rabbi, scholar, or wealthy and important man he yearns to be. But he is continuously called upon to resolve the complex conflicts erupting between all the people he loves, and each time, he rises to the occasion as best he can.

Several times throughout the play, we see Tevye freeze the world and ponder. The lights dim, and for a brief, suspenseful, fiddle-infused moment, he is alone on the roof, trying to find the right notes, teetering precariously between triumph and tragedy. These moments are key to my love of Fiddler– I relate wholeheartedly to Tevya, pausing to ponder, earnestly trying to balance everybody else’s wants and needs, searching hopelessly for the right answer. We hear his inner monologue:

TEVYE: On the other hand… with a butcher, my daughter will surely never know hunger.

On the other hand, our old ways were once new weren’t they?

On the other hand, can I deny my own child?

On the other hand, how can I turn my back on my faith, my people?

And then, suddenly, the music stops. A decision must be made. It’s his duty, as the papa.

He is not perfect, but he plays his tune with heart, humor, and style. He improvises and adapts. He’s not a concert violinist, he’s a fiddler!