Recently, I read an article about a punk-rock production of “Fiddler on The Roof.” The article caught my eye for several reasons. First of all, I’m a theater nerd, and any new-twist-on-an-old-favorite will at least earn a passing glance from me. Second of all, I have my own interesting “Fiddler” tale (which I’ll get to in a minute).
Third of all, um, hello – punk Fiddler?! As a kid raised on Topol’s performance of Tevye, picturing him wearing ripped jeans and black nail polish while screaming into a mic was enough to make me giggle.That’s what drew me to the article, but what stayed with me after I read it was not the article itself; the comments from other readers were what lingered in my mind.
There were a few positive or “hmm, that’s interesting” responses. But more prevalent were critical comments. Some of these criticisms were about this particular production, i.e.:
“G@d forbid we tell [the student actors] that dressing and acting Punk isn’t a good Jewish thing. What happened to a Jewish theater group teaching something Jewish? I am appalled”
… and others were even about “Fiddler” as a show, period:
“In it’s [sic] original it is the worst affront to traditional Judaism. The whole play is about children rejecting the laws and customs of Judaism. The only Jews who actually “love” Fiddler are those who rejected traditional Judaism themselves, but still take comfort in the memories of their grandparents’ tables. Turning it punk only added another level.”
Oy. Pretty harsh – and pretty unfair. As far as the punk version inherently being “not teaching something Jewish,” I’d argue that punk is about rebellion and questioning and figuring things out in your own way – AKA “wrestling with big questions.” AKA something pretty Jewish, if you ask me. My historian friend Stuart also pointed me to this article about how Jews contributed to the creation of punk music. We’re proud of Barbara Streisand and Mel Brooks; why not Jeffry Hyman, AKA Joey Ramone?
As far as “Fiddler” itself being an affront to traditional Judaism, I’d say it’s the opposite. Tevye, a traditional Jew, is the story’s protagonist, and he’s a sympathetic, likable character. Traditional Judaism is treated with warmth throughout this story; we feel the pain alongside Tevye when his daughters move away from the traditions that have shaped his life– even those of us who are not “traditionally observant” can identify with struggling to understand our loved ones, and fearing our own values may be lost. More than anything, “Fiddler” is a story of transitions, choices, navigating one’s own identity and the choices of our loved ones; of finding our own way and wrestling (there’s that word again) with the angels and obstacles in our path. Like it or not, that happens to every family. Jewish, and non-Jewish.
Speaking of which, here’s my “Fiddler” story, as promised earlier: soon after I moved to Mississippi, I started auditioning for plays. As fate would have it, the first role I was cast in was Golde in a local production of “Fiddler on the Roof.” This was odd for two main reasons: first of all, I was 21 at the time, making me way the &*%$ too young to play Golde; and second of all, I was the only Jewish person (at the time) in the entire cast and crew of this “Fiddler” show.
The first item was fixed with a wig and tons of age-makeup. The second item led to a lot of questions, conversations, gentle lessons in how to correctly pronounce “L’Chaim” – oh, the stories I could tell!
But here’s the incredible thing: despite the majority of the cast being largely unfamiliar with any sort of Jewish heritage, “Fiddler” resonated for everyone in the show. They got it. They learned something about Judaism, but also they found something incredibly universal in this particular show. Because “Fiddler” is very Jewish, and also very human.
If you took away its Jewish particularity, the story wouldn’t be as powerful; after all, a specific example is always better than bland general-ism. Yet within that specificity, there is so much room. The characters that choose tradition, those who have change thrust upon them, those who choose change – none are demonized. There are lots of different characters we can cheer for, because there are lots of ways to be [Jewish/in love/political/etc]. People find reflections of themselves, somewhere, because all of us know what it’s like to feel as if our lives are as shaky as … as … as a fiddler on the roof!
And if finding a way to tell a story about how complicated and beautiful and crazy-making family life can be isn’t Jewish, well, I don’t know what is.
That’s why I will continue to defend ‘Fiddler”- be it the traditional, punk, or a heartfelt, Southern-accented version.
What are your “Fiddler” feelings? Affection? Offense? Share your comments below…
By Education Fellow Amanda Winer
I first heard about Women of the Wall as a counselor in training at Eisner Camp in Massachusetts, when the chairperson of the group’s executive board, Anat Hoffman, came to speak to us about her experience in Israel. Women of the Wall, formed in 1988, organizes Torah services on the women’s side of the gender-segregated Western Wall. Their attempts to worship as they see fit, which includes women wearing tallit, at Judaism’s most sacred site have made them the target of lawsuits, arrest, and even verbal and physical harassment. To me, it sounded like a worthy idea, but neither women’s issues nor Israel was my “cause of the moment.” Hoffman also serves as Executive Director of the Israeli Religious Action Center, and that aspect of her presentation was more inspiring to me at the time.
Last Rosh Chodesh (first day of the month), my feelings changed. I was scrolling through Twitter, when a name jumped out at me. Rabbi Elyse Frishman, someone I know, someone whose daughter I shared a bunk with at camp, was among four women detained Friday, December 14th, for wearing a tallis at the Western Wall. Rabbi Frishman, in my experience, is a wonderful rabbi, mother and woman who, in addition to her personal accolades, also edited the Reform prayer book, Mishkan T’filah.
The events surrounding these latest arrests, and the arrest of Anat Hoffman two months ago, brought about an outcry from groups in Israel and the diaspora that promote religious pluralism in Israel. Pluralism, according to Quaker philosopher Parker Palmer, is a three pronged process. First, we must admit that we, both as a people and as individuals, have wants and needs. Then, we must acknowledge that the wants and needs of others may be different, but they are also valid. Lastly, we must decide that there is inherent value in the discussion of the wants and needs of all parties involved. This process makes the seemingly daunting task a bit easier, a bit more real.
After reading that familiar name, Women of the Wall had my attention. I thought about the evolving role of women in Judaism. In the Conservative and Reform movements, and elsewhere, women read Torah, become rabbis and spiritual leaders, and run some of the most philanthropic Jewish organizations worldwide. This is fairly recent. My grandmother, Baba, would never have considered such things at my age; she grew up sitting with her mother on the women’s side of a mechitza. Later, though, she reached a position of leadership within her home synagogue, and on a regional and national level.
I couldn’t shake this. My next thought was about “Southern Belles.” Before I moved to Mississippi, I had in my mind an archetype of what Southern women were like. I pictured The Great Gatsby’s Daisy Buchanan—women who were beautiful, kind with a soft demeanor and a dress straight out of Gone with the Wind. I remember thinking, “I read The Help, I’ve got this.”
Based on my experiences in the past six months, I can say that I was not entirely wrong. Many of the women I have met, both professionally and personally, are beautiful, kind and sweet. There is another amazing aspect to them, though. Southern women are passionate people, with varied interests moving forward in the modern world. They are devoted and steadfast, whether to the Crimson Tide or their local Hadassah chapter. I see this especially in the commitment of Jewish women in the South to their religious communities. In fact, the point person for each of the religious schools that I work with is a woman. Witnessing this level of engagement leads me to think about and participate in gender equality activism in a way that I never have before.
The role of women is constantly evolving, and these women are changing with the times, taking active roles in making their realities the best they can and teaching their daughters and granddaughters about all of the possibilities being a woman can bring. These issues are important, and can and should not be taken lightly.
The biggest question to me is: Is religious pluralism possible? In Israel, the Women of the Wall struggle for a more pluralistic vision of Judaism. In the South, the ISJL’s success in working with communities regardless of denominational affiliation suggests to me that there is hope. Progress will take dialogue, and we see from Women of the Wall and others that a few strong, confident women can make it happen. Learning about the journeys and struggles of women like my Baba and Rabbi Frishman inspires me to love and support all the women in my life. And just like that, I guess I’m becoming a Southern belle!
The Daf Yomi (Hebrew for “page a day”), is a program for learning Talmud. Participants study one page a day, individually or in groups, and after 7 years they have read all 2,711 pages of Talmud. Last time the cycle finished, there was a huge celebration at Met Life Stadium. Of the 90,000 people who attended, the vast majority were Orthodox Jewish men.
Despite being interested, I hesitated because I like to look at the sources through a critical historical lens—a very different approach than that used by Orthodox Daf Yomi resources. One day, I read about an Unorthodox Daf Yomi group on Facebook. After checking it out, I was inspired; I had to do it. So with the help of the Koren Steinsaltz Talmud, the JCAST Network’s Daily Daf Differently podcasts, Adam Kirsch’s weekly Tablet column on the Daf Yomi, and Rabbi Adam Chalom’s Not Your Father’s Talmud blog from a few years ago, I have read through about 60 full pages.
Through this process, I have begun to make the Talmud my own. I read the laws, discussions, and stories, and visualize how they would have applied in the Ancient Jewish world, but I can also reinterpret them to be applicable to my own life as a religiously liberal American Jew in modern times.
One of these gems is the only Talmudic mention of our current holiday, Chanukah! While the High Holidays, Purim and Passover get their own sections, Chanukah is only mentioned once, in tractate Shabbat. In it, along with many of the other laws of Hanukkah, the rabbis discuss how many menorahs each household should light:
The Rabbis taught: The law of Chanukah demands that every man should light one lamp for himself and his household. Those who seek to embellish the mitzvah have a lamp lit for every member of the household. (Shabbat 21b)
This passage echoes one of my favorite ideas of Judaism, that there is often more than one correct way to observe a tradition. I would argue further that there are many ways to lead a Jewish life, including my own non-Orthodox reading of Talmud through Daf Yomi. There is no single correct way to celebrate Hanukkah, so if you want to light one menorah for the entire household that’s great. But if you want to light one menorah for each person in the household, that’s great too. In my house growing up, we would occasionally put up decorations and occasionally give gifts. But always, each of us always lit his or her menorah, and every year we would take a family picture—including the dog—behind all of our Chanukah lights.
Many families light the candles, play dreidel, and sing maoh tzur or other songs. Other families, especially in this Southern land of fried food, revel in eating fried sufganyot and fried potato latkes. I’ve heard of some people making beignets or fried chicken! A lot of Jewish children in the South (and throughout the United States) have at least one set of non-Jewish grandparents, and some families celebrate Hanukkah and Christmas, with traditions shared to acknowledge their entire family – since family, of course, is so important to us all. However you celebrate it, and however you spell it (I used a couple different spellings in this post …), have a wonderful festival of lights!
What are some of the special ways that your family celebrates Hanukkah?