Watching Fiddler on the Roof with Antisemitism on My Mind
January 01, 2025
Fiddler on the Roof on Christmas Day. Great idea. Connecting to my traditions on a day when everything closes for other people’s traditions. I bought tickets as soon as possible.
When I taught Hebrew school, I showed the movie to my students, explaining that it depicts what life was like for most of our ancestors before coming to America (most of us were Ashkenazi Jews). Often, they had no idea that their roots traced back beyond Virginia (where we lived) or New York (where so many grandparents lived).
The movie theater was full, with people (me!) ready to sing-along. But as soon as the fiddler’s soul sounded, so achingly mournful, I teared up. Then, when Tevye ruminated about Tradition (see below) as images from around the shtetl appeared, silent tears fell. If I hadn’t been in a crowded movie theatre with my mother next to me, I might have bawled.
In the past, I saw this movie as an homage to our ancestors, honoring a way of life they lived for generations, amidst economic and physical challenges simply for being Jews. It recreated the life that the Holocaust destroyed. Images of the wooden shul, a sacred place, made me anxiously sentimental, imagining it going up in flames a few decades later.
Now, in the aftermath of October 7, with surging antisemitism (Jew-hatred, Israeli-hatred, Israel-hatred) it feels too real. Less story and history, more future possibility.
The state-sanctioned pogrom that drives the Jews from their homes in Anatevka is frightening in a new way. I’m more aware of the process by which pogroms prepared the ground for the Holocaust, when six million Jews were killed, and millions more were displaced and haunted, living with pain even as most managed to overcome and live new lives in new places. It is also to remember the neighbors who watched or participated.
Hatred of Jews—for whatever imagined, scapegoating reason—is a stain on humanity, generation after generation. It never went away, as we, I ! , had thought / hoped it had / would in this era of universal human rights. This failure of humanity is another source of anguished tears.
This movie is not only a glimpse into life before the Holocaust incinerated it, it is a warning shadow cast long into the future. I didn’t pay attention to that before.
In that art house cinema, I felt no joy, even as I sang familiar songs and reconnected with the past embedded within me.
Why did our ancestors have to leave the Land of Israel, most to live in the diaspora for thousands of years? Why did they have to flee their homes in Jerusalem, Tiberias, Tzfat, Hebron, Gaza, to then live in and be expelled from Italy, France, Germany, Russia, Poland? Why did they have to seek protection and do jobs no one else wanted to do, as they rebuilt their lives? Survival would not be denied.
Watching that movie filled me with sadness and anger, mixing with determination, commitment, and love. Traditions give strength despite having been punished for holding onto them, believing in them, continuing them. They are what sustains us—and we deserve sustaining.
Tonight is the 8th night of Hanukkah. I will light the candles with my mother, younger daughter, and her boyfriend. We will eat latkes (traditional and vegan), brisket, vegan cholent, and vegan sufganiyot (jelly donuts). Old and new. Adapting traditions to keep us and strengthen us.
What drama or musical will come from the experiences of this past year and two months, and the continued torture of the hostages?
There are the rips to the fabric of our daily lives. But there will be—there must be—a new version of “Tradition” to sing, as painful as the memories it summons.
Fiddler is painful to watch and experience to me as a non-Jew. It's beautiful but difficult. One asks: how can people be so arbitrary and cruel? To watch and experience it post-October 7th in the context of the times we're living in must be extra difficult.
Why does antisemitism still exist? Why are we no better (well, maybe incrementally better?) but why are things the way they are after thousands of years of oppression? It tells me that humanity is really good at self-sabotage. We are our own worst enemy (and we're lazy and lack imagination when it comes to scapegoating).
I see parallels in the history of antisemitism with the ongoing war on climate and the natural world. There are so many who look to profits above all else. What is a tree but a commodity, something to be exploited? Those who treat nature as disposable would also treat humans as disposable. Until we care about the natural world, how can we care about its people? But that is a whole other topic.
I wish I were there to enjoy your lovely Hanukkah meal.
Posted by: Margaret | January 02, 2025 at 03:57 PM
Margaret,
In the end my mother got sick, so no 8th night meal. I thought maybe we could have an 8th day meal, but she's still not feeling well.
Your point about not caring about the natural world is an interesting point. Another place where we only think about ourselves and what we want, rather than what's good for others and other generations.
There's a Talmudic tale about a man, Honi, who plants a carob tree. Someone asks him how long it takes before it bares fruit. He says, 70 years. The other man asks him how he knows that he will be alive in 70 years. His response is that he found carob trees, and now he is planting for his grandchildren to enjoy. I love the sense of both enjoyment and sharing beyond the generations. There are good things to share from generation to generation, like fruit; and there are bad things, like hatred and antisemitism. Makes me wonder what is the fruit of hatred?
Posted by: Laura of RTOAW | January 02, 2025 at 07:42 PM
Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I hope she feels better soon and you can have a rescheduled get-together.
There is a similar old Greek saying, "A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they shall never sit."
Fruit of hatred? I'm afraid that fruit is destined to be rotten. Bitter fruit?
Posted by: Margaret | January 03, 2025 at 12:04 PM
Thanks for sharing that saying. Interesting that olives, which grow in Israel and Greece, are bitter and hard until they are cured.
Posted by: Laura of RTOAW | January 03, 2025 at 03:05 PM