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How the late actor Topol turned Tevye into a Zionist
(JTA) — If you were born anytime before, say, 1975, you might remember Israel not as a source of angst and tension among American Jews but as a cause for celebration. In the 1960s and ’70s, most Jews embraced as gospel the heroic version of Israel’s founding depicted in Leon Uris’ 1958 novel “Exodus” and the 1960 movie version. The1961 Broadway musical “Milk and Honey,” about American tourists set loose in Israel, ran for over 500 performances. And that was before Israel’s lightning victory in the Six-Day War turned even fence-sitting suburban Jews into passionate Zionists.
That was the mood when the film version of “Fiddler on the Roof” came out in 1971. The musical had already been a smash hit on Broadway, riding a wave of nostalgia by Jewish audiences and an embrace of ethnic particularism by the mainstream. The part of Tevye, the put-upon patriarch of a Jewish family in a “small village in Russia,” was originated on Broadway by Zero Mostel, a Brooklyn-born actor who grew up in a Yiddish-speaking home. Ashkenazi American Jews tended to think of “Fiddler” as family history — what Alisa Solomon, author of the 2013 book “Wonder of Wonders: A Cultural History of Fiddler on the Roof,” describes as the “Jewish American origin story.”
But Mostel didn’t star in the film, which landed in theaters while the afterglow of Israel’s victory in its second major war of survival had yet to fade. Famously – or notoriously – the part went to Chaim Topol, a young Israeli actor unknown outside of Israel except for his turns in the London productions of “Fiddler.” With an Israeli in the lead, a musical about the perils and dilemmas of Diaspora became a film about Zionism. When Topol played Tevye in London, Solomon writes,“‘Fiddler’ became a site for celebration, drawing Jews as well as gentiles to the theater — some for repeat viewings — to bask in Jewish perseverance and to pay homage to Jewish survival. The show didn’t change, but the atmosphere around it did.”
Topol died this week at 87, still best known as Tevye, and his death reminded me of the ways “Fiddler” is — and isn’t — Zionist. When Tevye and his fellow villagers are forced out of Anatevke by the czarist police, they head for New York, Chicago and Krakow. Only Yente, the matchmaker, declares that she is going to the “Holy Land.” Perchik, the presumably socialist revolutionary who marries one of Tevye’s daughters, wants to transform Russian society and doesn’t say a word about the political Zionists who sought to create a workers’ utopia in Palestine.
“There is nothing explicitly or even to my mind implicitly Zionist about it,” Solomon told me a few years back. And yet, she said, “any story of Jewish persecution becomes from a Zionist perspective a Zionist story.”
When the Israeli Mission to the United Nations hosted a performance of the Broadway revival of “Fiddler” in 2016, that was certainly the perspective of then-Ambassador Dani Danon. Watching the musical, he said, he couldn’t help thinking, “What if they had a place to go [and the Jews of Anatevke could] live as a free people in their own land? The whole play could have been quite different.”
Israelis always had a complicated relationship with “Fiddler,” Solomon told me. The first Hebrew production was brought to Israel in 1965 by impresario Giora Godik. American Jews were enthralled by its resurrection of Yiddishkeit, the Ashkenazi folk culture that their parents and grandparents had left behind and the Holocaust had all but erased. Israelis were less inclined to celebrate the “Old Country.”
“Israelis were — what? — not exactly ashamed or hostile, but the Zionist enterprise was about moving away from that to become ‘muscle Jews,’ and even denouncing the stereotype of the pasty, weakling Eastern European Jews,” said Solomon, warning that she was generalizing.
That notion of the “muscle Jew” is echoed in a review of Topol’s performance by New Yorker critic Pauline Kael, who wrote that he is “a rough presence, masculine, with burly, raw strength, but also sensual and warm. He’s a poor man but he’s not a little man, he’s a big man brought low — a man of Old Testament size brought down by the circumstances of oppression.”
From left: Maria Karnilova, Tanya Everett, Zero Mostel, Julia Migenes and Joanna Merlin backstage at opening night of “Fiddler on the Roof” at the Imperial Theater in New York City, Sept. 22, 1964. (AP/Courtesy of Roadside Attractions and Samuel Goldwyn Films)
Mostel, by contrast, was plump, sweaty and vaudevillian — a very different kind of masculinity. The congrast between the two Tevyes shows up in, of all places, a parody of “Fiddler” in Mad magazine. In that 1976 comic, Mostel’s Tevye is reimagined as a neurotic, nouveau riche suburban American Jew with a comb-over, spoiled hippy children and a “spendthrift” wife; Topol’s Tevye arrives in a dream to blame his descendants for turning their backs on tradition and turning America into a shallow, consumerist wasteland. A kibbutznik couldn’t have said (or sung) it better.
Composer Jerry Bock, lyricist Sheldon Harnick and book writer Joseph Stein set out to write a hit musical, not a political statement. But others have always shaped “Fiddler” to their needs.
In the original script, Yente tells Tevye’s wife Golde, “I’m going to the Holy Land to help our people increase and multiply. It’s my mission.” In a 2004 Broadway revival, staged in the middle of the second intifada, the “increase and multiply” line was excised. In a review of Solomon’s “Wonder of Wonders,” Edward Shapiro conjectured that the producers of the revival didn’t want Yente to be seen as “a soldier in the demographic war between Jews and Arabs.”
Topol himself connected “Fiddler” to Israel as part of one long thread that led from Masada — the Judean fortress where rebellious Jewish forces fell to the Romans in the first century CE — through Russia and eventually to Tel Aviv. “My grandfather was a sort of Tevye, and my father was a son of Tevye,” Topol told The New York Times in 1971. “My grandfather was a Russian Jew and my father was born in Russia, south of Kiev. So I knew of the big disappointment with the [Russian] Revolution, and the Dreyfus trial in France, and the man with the little mustache on his upper lip, the creation of the state of Israel and ‘Masada will never fall again.’ It’s the grandchildren now who say that. It’s all one line — it comes from Masada 2,000 years ago, and this Tevye of mine already carries in him the chromosomes of those grandchildren.”
The recent all-Yiddish version of “Fiddler on the Roof” — a Yiddish translation of an English-language musical based on English translations of Yiddish short stories — readjusted that valence, returning “Fiddler” solidly to the Old Country. It arrived at a time when surveys suggested that Jews 50 and older are much more emotionally attached to Israel than are younger Jews. For decades, “Exodus”-style devotion to Israel and its close corollary — Holocaust remembrance — were the essence of American Jewish identity. Among younger generations with no first-hand memories of its founding or victory in the 1967 war, that automatic connection faded.
Meanwhile, as Israeli politics have shifted well to the right, engaged liberal Jews have rediscovered the allure of pre-Holocaust, pre-1948, decidedly leftist Eastern European Jewish culture. A left-wing magazine like Jewish Currents looks to the socialist politics and anti-Zionism of the Jewish Labor Bund; symposiums on Yiddish-speaking anarchists and Yiddish-language classes draw surprisingly young audiences. A Yiddish “Fiddler” fits this nostalgia for the shtetl (as does the “Fiddler” homage in the brand-new “History of the World, Part II,” which celebrates the real-life radical Fanny Kaplan, a Ukrainian Jew who tried to assassinate Lenin).
Topol’s Tevye was an Israeli Tevye: young, manly, with a Hebrew accent. Mostel’s Tevye was an American Tevye: heimish, New York-y, steeped in Yiddishkeit. It’s a testament to the show’s enduring appeal — and the multitudes contained within Jewish identity — that both performances are beloved.
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This initiative is helping Israeli war survivors heal through art – and is making therapy cool
Tomer Peretz opened the door to his unassuming gallery in Chelsea, draped in a studded black shawl and sporting cartoonishly large – but very cool – sneakers. It was the day after the biggest snowstorm in recent NYC history, and the shoes were, of course, the most practical option for an LA-based Israeli with limited snow experience.
The 8 Project gallery opened in New York this winter, but it is only one piece of a larger initiative. The program, founded by Peretz, brings Oct. 7 survivors, bereaved siblings, Israeli soldiers coping with PTSD, and others affected by the war to Los Angeles for a two-month therapeutic art residency. Participants spend hours each day creating art while also undergoing therapy and mentorship. Now, Peretz has brought the residency program and its accompanying art gallery, which is open only for private events, to New York City.
Upon entering the 8 Project gallery in downtown Manhattan, the first painting one is greeted with is Peretz’s own, a group of Israeli soldiers huddled together, accompanied by the spirits of their fallen comrades represented by icy-white hands painted on the heads of the living. In a city where torn-down hostage posters became almost a fixture of the streets during the Gaza war, the gallery feels both out of place and deeply intentional.
Peretz receives applicants for his therapeutic residency program through rehabilitation hospitals in Israel and via social media. The only real requirement, he says, is a passion for art.
“They don’t have to have technical skills,” he told me. “Art is our toolbox to get through their soul. If they can sit every day and create, they’re already qualified.”
Peretz flies incoming residents to Los Angeles and covers their living expenses so they can focus entirely on healing.
Peretz was a volunteer with ZAKA, the Israeli humanitarian organization that specializes in recovering human remains after terror attacks. In the immediate aftermath of Oct. 7, he helped identify bodies at the sites of the attacks.
Once he returned to his home in LA, where he had been working as a painter for years, he found he could no longer approach his work in the same way. “I realized that everything I had been doing in my life had no real purpose,” he said. “We artists, we think we are so important. But if the work doesn’t do something, it’s just fucking art.”
He began working with artists informally and gradually developed what would become the 8 Project Residency. “I couldn’t create anything besides creating with people who were affected by the war. I cared about nothing else.”
Part of the appeal for residents, he says, is the cool-factor of the program. “People get attracted to cool, fun people.” Unlike traditional therapy — “a boring therapist and psychiatrist in a room,” as he put it — the program offers something different. “We literally brought something completely new, as far as therapy and healing, that is really, really fun.”
Shaked Salton, a former 8 Project resident whose best friend was killed on Oct. 7 and who served as a sergeant in the IDF’s search and rescue unit, told me on Zoom from her new home in LA that she struggled to find motivation after the war. The residency program helped her to find it. “Every day, I needed to wake up in the morning. For someone who’s been through a war, it can be tough.” But in the program, “there is no way you’re not coming to the studio.”
Now, she told me, she’s more connected to her feelings. “I paint better,” she told me. “I came to think more creatively. My brain was blocked.”
Sahar Haba, another former resident who now works as a mentor for the project, also serves as the self-ordained de facto DJ at the gallery. As residents worked on their art in the gallery’s back room, Haba played everything from Billy Joel’s “New York State of Mind,” to techno and Israeli Mizrahi music.
Haba served 15 years in the IDF and experienced the death of several of his friends on Oct. 7 and during the war, including American Hersh Goldberg Polin, whom he met through their shared love for the Israeli soccer team, Hapoel Jerusalem. He adores fashion, evidenced not only by the sneakers and jerseys he designed, displayed throughout the gallery, but also by his decidedly funky graphic socks.
During his residency, Peretz encouraged him to lead art workshops.
“Most of the time, the healing process is like, ‘Let’s talk about you, what do you need?’” Haba said. “Here I had the chance to do it the opposite way — to be the guide.”
Haba led art workshops for Nova survivors, soldiers, families and couples who were affected by the war.
One of the most striking paintings at the 8 Project Gallery is a portrait Peretz painted of Andrei Kozlov, a freed hostage and former 8 Project resident. In the piece, half of Kozlov’s face is incomplete, streaked with black and red contours that suggest the rest of his features.
The painting hung across from where I was conducting interviews that afternoon, so his face had been staring back at me from the gallery wall for much of the day. Unexpectedly, the real Kozlov walked in and introduced himself to me — before joking that I must be interviewing Peretz for a clerk position.
Kozlov became an 8 Project resident a mere five months after he was freed from captivity in Gaza. Now, he lives in New York and spends hours a day working on his art.
Haba showed me a pair of boots he had designed during the war, covered in a collage of hostage posters and featuring a QR code linking to the Bring Them Home website on the tongue of the shoe. He showed his creation to Kozlov, joking that the QR code no longer worked before pulling him into a bear hug.
In the center of the gallery stands a giant tree that Peretz explained was sculpted out of the body bags ZAKA used to collect human remains. References to ZAKA appear throughout the exhibit. In a small side room, a video created by one of the residents is played, which shows ZAKA volunteers sitting in the ruins of the kibbutzim in Israel that were ravaged by the Oct. 7 attacks. The volunteers were instructed to sit in silence for an hour and stare into the camera, resulting in a deeply unsettling film that felt almost too intimate to watch.
Peretz has a self-professed “radical” perspective on healing. “I do not like when therapists or psychiatrists like to dig too much about the past,” he said. “I’m all about shaking the hand of the devil that was with you that day. But once you shake the devil’s hand, OK, let’s move on.”
That’s why the second half of the program is dedicated to helping residents plan for their future. “It’s all about how do we become hungry to wake up tomorrow morning?” said Peretz. “So if I’m going to speak about the past all day, I will not be hungry to wake up tomorrow.”
That concept is where the 8 Project got its name from. “God created the world in 6 days,” said Peretz. “On the 7th day, we got some rest, and on the 8th day, we started to live.” After residents leave the program, Peretz hopes that they, too, can start to live.
Peretz has remained in touch with all of his past residents. “Some of them are going to school. Some of them are building relationships. Some of them are building a career.” He said all have continued to pursue their passion for art.
The gallery is open for private events, and while staff say they have had several people walk into the gallery who are not connected to Judaism or the war in any way, they are not Peretz’s target audience.
“I like that we’re not open for the public, I don’t think we are for the public.” He explained, “I’m not interested to tell my story at all. I don’t want to tell the Jewish story. I’m not trying to get more fans for the Jewish people through this exhibit.”
“I’m not for everyone,” he added. I care only about my brothers and sisters who created this, and the next people who are gonna create more, and that’s it.”
Still, Peretz believes the project’s presence in New York matters.
“New York needs this more than any other city. I realized that the Jewish people in New York are so traumatized, and they need that connection so badly,” he said. “A lot of us, Jewish people in the diaspora, got lost. We need that connection. We want to get the hug.”
The post This initiative is helping Israeli war survivors heal through art – and is making therapy cool appeared first on The Forward.
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Israel says slain brother of Michigan synagogue attacker was a Hezbollah commander
(JTA) — The man who attacked a Michigan synagogue on Thursday was the brother of a Hezbollah commander who oversaw efforts to shoot rockets into Israel before being killed earlier this month, the Israel Defense Forces announced on Sunday.
The mayor of Ayman Ghazali’s city, Dearborn Heights, said in a statement following his attack on Temple Israel in West Bloomfield, Michigan, that members of Ghazali’s family had recently been killed “in an Israeli attack on their home in Lebanon.”
Israel is targeting Hezbollah, an Iranian proxy in Lebanon that attacked Israel in retaliation against the U.S.-Israel war on Iran, in a conflict that escalated on Monday into a ground operation. Ghazali’s family members were killed in a Hezbollah stronghold where Israel had recently warned civilians to evacuate.
But while images purporting to show Ghazali’s brother in Hezbollah garb circulated on social media almost instantly after attack, the IDF’s announcement marked the first official allegation tying him to the terror group.
“Hezbollah commander Ibrahim Muhammad Ghazali was responsible for managing weapons operations within a specialized branch of the Badr Unit. The unit is responsible for launching hundreds of rockets toward Israeli civilians throughout the war,” the IDF said in a statement on Sunday, adding, “Ibrahim was eliminated in an IAF strike on a Hezbollah military structure last week.”
An unnamed Hezbollah official denied the allegation to The New York Times.
The IDF’s statement did not suggest that Ayman Ghazali was affiliated with Hezbollah. The New York Times reported that he attended a memorial service for those killed in the strike, who included Ibrahim’s young children, at a Dearborn Heights mosque on March 8 that was attended by hundreds of people, many from the Ghazalis’ town.
Ghazali’s ties to Lebanon have prompted a sharp discourse about news coverage of the Michigan attack, with some alleging that focusing on his brother’s death, especially without any confirmation of his brother’s Hezbollah affiliation, runs the risk of suggesting that attacking a Jewish institution in the United States is an appropriate response to grief during wartime.
Dearborn Heights Mayor Mo Baydoun rejected that notion during a press conference alongside the local police chief on Friday.
“We do know that the individual had recently suffered a devastating and personal loss overseas due to an Israeli airstrike on his family’s home in Lebanon, leaving two children dead. The grief is real and it’s heartbreaking, but let me be clear: That is not an excuse,” Baydoun said. “There is never an excuse for violence, especially violence directed at a sacred space.”
Meanwhile over the weekend, authorities in Michigan said Ghazali had died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound after driving his fireworks-laden truck into Temple Israel. They had previously indicated that the synagogue’s security staff, which worked immediately to neutralize the threat, might have fired the fatal shot.
Temple Israel held Shabbat services in multiple locations over the weekend, including at the Chaldean country club, Shenandoah, that welcomed children evacuated from its preschool and at a nearby Jewish country club, Tam-O-Shanter, where a bat mitzvah took place as planned. The synagogue announced on Sunday afternoon that extensive damage to the building meant it would be “closed to us for the immediate future.”
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Amsterdam Jewish school bombed, in 2nd attack in days on Dutch Jewish institution
(JTA) — A blast late Friday outside a Jewish school in Amsterdam has Dutch police racing to safeguard Jewish institutions after two attacks in two days.
As in a blast outside a synagogue in Rotterdam the day before, there were no injuries in the Amsterdam explosion, which caused damage to the school building’s outer wall.
“This is a cowardly act of aggression towards the Jewish community,” Amsterdam Mayor Femke Halsema said in a statement. “I understand the fear and anger of Jewish Amsterdammers. They are increasingly confronted with antisemitism, and that is unacceptable. A school must be a place where children can receive lessons safely. Amsterdam must be a place where Jews can live safely.”
Prime Minister Rob Wetten condemned the attack. “Terrible. In the Netherlands, there must be no place for antisemitism,” he said. “I understand the anger and fear and will quickly engage in talks with the Jewish community. They must always feel safe in our country.”
Calling the incident a “cowardly attack,” David Van Weel, the Dutch security minister, said in a statement, “Thanks to measures and alertness, greater damage has been prevented. The safety of Jewish institutions has our full attention.”
The same group that took credit for the Rotterdam incident as well as a synagogue attack last week in Belgium said in a video that it was responsible for the Amsterdam blast. The group, Islamic Movement of the Companions of the Right, was previously unknown, but watchdogs say its tactics and statements bear hallmarks of affiliation with Iran’s global network of terrorist cells.
Iran has warned that it plans to retaliate across the globe against both U.S. and Israeli targets in response to the war initiated by the U.S. and Israel on Feb. 28. Jewish security watchdogs say “the most elevated and complex threat environment” in recent history has resulted.
Four teens were arrested following the Rotterdam blast but police in Amsterdam have not announced any arrests there, though Halsema noted that a suspect was captured on security cameras installed because Jewish sites in Amsterdam are “under permanent security.”
The school targeted, an Orthodox school of about 120 students founded in the 1970s amid an effort to restore Jewish life after the Holocaust, has a tall, thick security wall as well as bollards meant to prevent vehicles from coming close, according to photographs online. The school’s website says, “The Jewish education and the necessary security of the school are paid for from its own resources and subsidies.”
“Over the past two days, violent incidents have taken place at Jewish institutions. First in Rotterdam, now in Amsterdam. This has a huge impact, not only on the immediate surroundings but on the entire Jewish community, including colleagues,” Amsterdam Police Chief Janny Knol said in a statement. “As the police, we are on standby throughout the country and have scaled up significantly. We are working extremely hard to track down the perpetrators.”
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