Anatevka
Last week I saw Fiddler on the Roof. It was the fifth time I have seen the show — twice on Broadway (my first Broadway show, when I was 14 years old), once in Boston, and twice in Florida. And then, of course, there was the community theater production in which I played a somewhat mature Motel, the tailor. I have always had an emotional reaction to the show, usually towards the end, as the residents of the mythical town of Anatevka are forced to pack their meager belongings and leave their homes. But my most recent experience was different. From the moment the curtain opened, and the fiddler began his soulful introduction to the song ‘Tradition,’ my eyes welled up, and there were many other occasions throughout the show when the same thing happened. So, at the end of the show, I asked myself the ever powerful Passover question — why is this Fiddler on the Roof different from all others?
The Russia of 1905 was always very remote to me. I always knew that my grandparents left Russia (Ukraine, perhaps) around 1913, but I never really thought that much about it. Their ‘leaving story’ was cute, and a little romantic, describing how they, separately, traveled from Russia to London, found each other there, and then started a life together. It also served as the prelude to the story of my father’s birth (and his unusual last name) in New York City in early 1919. But, honestly, I never really thought a whole lot about their plight. I never asked myself if they or their families were forced to leave their homes in the same way as Tevye, Golde and the other residents of Anatevka. But as I watched this production, I began to think about that.
Then, I saw an article about the Phil Ochs song ‘Power and Glory.’ This was Ochs’, a protest singer to the core, beautiful, uplifting tribute to America that probably could serve as our national anthem. Given his reputation as a very harsh critic of the government, it is hard to imagine him writing a song in which he so eloquently honors the country against which he protested so vigorously:
Here’s a land full or power and glory
Beauty that words cannot recall
Oh her power shall rest on the strength of her freedom
Her glory shall rest on us all.
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So being an ever-devoted Phil Ochs fan, I sought out a recording of the song to, in part, remind myself why I liked it, and its creator, so much. And that’s when I discovered an unpublished verse, written in 1963 or 1964, that never made it onto the album. The verse is dark and disturbing and expresses what was behind all of the other songs Ochs wrote during his very short life. That verse, found only on a bootleg demo tape, says:
Yet our land is still troubled by men who have to hate
They twist away our freedom and twist away our fate
Fear is their weapon and treason is their cry
We can stop them if we try.
And it was those lyrics that helped me understand why this production of ‘Fiddler’ had such an impact on me.
What Ochs wrote in 1963 describes, with remarkable accuracy, the situation we now face in American politics. The political arena is filled with men (and women) who have to hate. They actively seek ways to twist away our freedom — overturning Roe vs Wade, the Don’t Say Gay and Stop W.O.K.E laws in Florida, to name a few. And many people, including, perhaps, an ex-president of the United States, are, or will be, tried for treason. All of this, of course, with the active encouragement of a sizable number of American citizens.
What does this have to do with Fiddler on the Roof? That’s the really depressing part. Hate is on the rise all over the United States. As I watched the show, I began to understand, in a way that I had not before, that what happened to Tevye and Golde could happen to us, our children or our grandchildren. We, for no other reason than our religious beliefs, or, in the case of others, because of their race or countries of origin, could be forced to leave our homes, and everything else we love, behind. We could find ourselves living in a country in which hate for anyone who is ‘different’ is the official government policy. We could be living in a modern day Anatevka, where lyrics written 60 years ago by a young protest singer accurately describe the reality we face.
My wife has said that I could watch ‘Fiddler’ every week and still not grow tired of it. She is correct, and it would not surprise me one bit if I did so again the next time it comes to town. But the show will never be the same to me. It will no longer be a heartwarming story about how time influences traditions and how we all must learn to adapt to the circumstances around us to protect the ones (and things) we love. Rather it will be a yardstick we must use to measure progress towards living up to the lofty standard described in the chorus of Phil Ochs’ beautiful song about America or veering towards the more sober assessment of the previously unknown verse. And I sincerely wish that were not the case.
