There's a terrific community production of Fiddler playing this weekend at Halifax's Spatz Theatre. I say "terrific" not in the way that some amateur theatre productions can have a few stellar cast members who one thinks really deserve a better show to appear in. This is a really believable Fiddler, with moments that made me cry. Well, true confession, my favourite musicals (Anne of GG, West Side Story, Sound of Music), in fact most musicals, all make me cry from their opening bars. And I particularly love Fiddler, so much so that in a nod to the conversion story, I chose "Chava" as my Hebrew name.
But there is something about this particular production of St. Joseph's Stage Prophets' Fiddler that really touches the heart. There is great singing from the opening number on (sure, there are a couple of weaker solos, but also some amazing ones, and this is more than made up by the fabulous ensemble singing throughout), and very authentic touches; the family all touching a mezuzah when they enter and exit the door of their stage home (every time), authentic costuming (none of those "oh they probably got that at Valu Village" thoughts entered my mind), including boots on everyone that look right for the period, correct pronunciations of Yiddish and Hebrew words, and nothing to distract the mind from being back in the shtetl setting.
And then there's Tevye. In my humble opinion, Fiddler rises or falls with its Tevye. He is the thread of the story, narrating both "on" and off camera (I always loved the way Norman Jewison cinematically froze the characters and then took a very long shot away from the central action to show us how far away from them Tevye was in his mind's eye). As we all know (don't we?), Tevye holds the whole story together, and must be oh so believable, Jewish actor or not. In Justin Brown, St. Joe's has a Tevye who is just that - he can sing, he's tall as a beanpole (and knows how to bend and move like a father of five), he does little "business" with his fingers and his ever-present cleaning cloth, he clears his throat in a distinctive Tevye-believable way, and he makes us listen and watch him throughout the whole show. Coming in at almost 3.5 hours, that's a wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles for any actor. This guy grew a great looking beard to play the role, and he really deserves some attention from our professional theatre community - talking to you, Jeremy Webb and Sam Rosenthal (amongst others).
But is Fiddler still relevant today, or is it a wistfully nostalgic but ultimately safe portrayal of Jewish life gone by? Does it still hold up? This was what I wondered when I was approached about helping with publicity for the show. It's hard for me to imagine that anyone doesn't know the story, hasn't seen the movie a million times, can't hum the tunes, or hasn't seen another amateur production somewhere along the way. And yet, I overheard audience members who clearly did not know the punch lines of the jokes, did not know the story, and perhaps have never even met a real live Jewish person.
For the cast, partnering with the Beth Israel's Rabbi Yakov Kerzner must have been powerful. Here is someone who could speak directly to them about many of the show's central messages, who could talk about his family's life in Eastern Europe (where they survived real pogroms and got out to the States in time, thank G-d). And it's a connection that can be powerful in reminding Christian friends that yes, there are still Jewish people experiencing massive anti-semitism at any given moment all over the world, which helps explain why we have to have police and security outside our synagogues on packed holiday services, and that when they forget to show up, it makes us very nervous.
Coincidentally (or not), I'm reading a book called "Yiddish Civilization: The Rise and Fall of a Forgotten Nation." Author Paul Kriwaczek eschews the faux-shtetl memories, noting that the ancestors of many of the immigrant families who made it out of the hellhole of Europe came from bigger cities like Vilna, Minsk, Warsaw and so on. ""Yearning for mud, the French call it, nostalgie de la boue," he says. Their ancestors would be turning in their graves if they thought they were being portrayed as coming from tumbledown Anetevka. He questions, why do we romanticize and remember "only the final gasps of a dying world?" There was much more to Jewish and Yiddish culture, civilization and history, he's going to tell me in this book. More than pogroms, tortures, expulsions, anti-Jewish laws and so on.
And yet. There's a moment in this production when you know Sunrise Sunset is coming, and the band starts it up. There's a dimmed stage with candle-lighting, and all around the theatre, there are pockets of cast members, representing the families in each of the little houses, lighting their own Shabbat candles. In the aisles, on the stairs, behind you, beside you, they are singing beautifully and beautifully illuminating a custom that is no longer happening the way it once did in so many cities and villages throughout Europe.
And the anticipation of travelling to Vilna in May, and wondering if anything remains to be found or said about the family, caught in my throat, and Fiddler made me cry all over again.
