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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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Longing for the way secular Jews used to be
איך זיץ דאָ און הער זיך צו צום קול פֿון מײַן פֿעטער יונה ז״ל ווי ער ריכט אָפּ דעם פּסח־סדר אינעם יאָר 1962… און איך קוועל דערפֿון.
יונה גאָטעסמאַן איז געווען אַ סעקולערער ייִד, אָדער ווי מע פֿלעג עס רופֿן אין יענע יאָרן — אַ וועלטלעכער. ער האָט נישט געהיט שבת אָדער כּשרות, און טאַקע דערפֿאַר איז בײַ אים נישט געווען קיין מניעה צו רעקאָרדירן זײַן קול בײַם סדר. אָבער ווען מע הערט ווי ער זאָגט דעם יום־טובֿדיקן קידוש, אָדער דעם „הא לחמא עניא‟ (די דערקלערונג וואָס רופֿט יעדן איינעם וואָס ס׳איז הונגעריק צו קומען און עסן) אָדער דעם „אחד מי יודע‟, דאַכט זיך דיר אַז סע זינגט אַ פֿרומער ייִד מיט אַ קיטל. ער זאָגט די הגדה מיט אַ ניגון וואָס חזרט זיך כּסדר איבער און די ווערטער פֿליִען פֿאַרבײַ אַזוי גיך אַז ס׳איז מיר אַ מאָל שווער צו דערקענען וווּ ער האַלט. אָבער טאַקע דערפֿאַר קלינגט עס אַזוי נאַטירלעך.
אונטן קענט איר אַליין הערן ווי יונה גאָטעסמאַן ריכט אָפּ דעם סדר. די ערשטע 30 סעקונדעס זענען שווער צו הערן אָבער דערנאָך הערט מען שוין אַ סך בעסער.
ווי אַ סך ייִדן פֿון זײַן דור איז דער פֿעטער דערצויגן געוואָרן אין אַ פֿרומער שטוב. די משפּחה האָט געוווינט אין סערעט, אין דער בוקאָווינע, און יונה האָט, אַ פּנים, גוט געדענקט דעם נוסח פֿון זײַן טאַטן, חיים, וואָס האָט געדאַוונט סײַ בײַ די וויזשניצער חסידים, סײַ בײַ די סאַדעגערער. ווי עס דערציילט זײַן זון, איציק גאָטעסמאַן, האָט יונהס טאַטע אָנגעשטעלט אַ גמרא־מלמד צו לערנען מיט אים ווײַל קיין ישיבֿה איז אין סערעט נישט געווען. אַפֿילו מיט יאָרן שפּעטער, ווען יונה האָט שוין אויסשטודירט אויף דאָקטער און מער נישט געפֿירט קיין פֿרום לעבן, אַז ער איז געפֿאָרן צו גאַסט צו טאַטע־מאַמע האָט דער טאַטע אָנגעשטעלט פֿאַר אים אַ גמרא־לערער.
אונדזער שרײַבערין מרים האָפֿמאַן דערציילט אַז איר מאַן, מענדל ז״ל, אויך אַן אָפּשטאַמיקער פֿון די וויזשניצער חסידים, האָט געטאָן דאָס זעלבע. נישט געקוקט אויף דעם וואָס ער האָט נאָכן חורבן (בפֿרט נאָך דעם וואָס ער האָט אָנגעוווירן זײַן טאַטע־מאַמע, זײַן 12־יעריק ברידערל בנימעלע און דרײַ שוועסטער אין גאַזקאַמער) אָפּגעוואָרפֿן זײַן אמונה און אַפֿילו געהייסן זײַן פֿרוי נישט פּראַווען קיין שבת אָדער האַלטן אַ כּשרע קיך אויס כּעס צום אייבערשטן, פֿלעגט ער יעדן פּסח זיך אָנטאָן אַ יאַרמלקע און אָפּריכטן דעם גאַנצן סדר אויפֿן אַלטן שטייגער.
אויך מײַן טאַטע האָט יעדעס יאָר אָנגעפֿירט מיט אַ טראַדיציאָנעלן סדר אויף לשון־קודש כאָטש ער איז, אין פֿאַרגלײַך מיט יונהן און מענדלען, דווקא נישט דערצויגן געוואָרן אין אַ פֿרומער היים. ווי אַ דערוואַקסענער האָט ער זיך אַליין אויסגעלערנט ווי אָפּצוריכטן דעם סדר — מסתּמא טאַקע פֿון זײַן שוואָגער יונה — ווײַל ער האָט געוואָלט אַז דער סדר זאָל האָבן אַ דורותדיק פּנים.
מיט אַנדערע ווערטער, אין יענע יאָרן איז געווען אָנגענומען אַז איינער וואָס האַלט זיך פֿאַר אַ פֿולשטענדיקן סעקולערן ייִד קען נאָך אַלץ, כאָטש איין מאָל אַ יאָר, אָנפֿירן מיט אַ רעליגיעזע צערעמאָניע (אַפֿילו אַ דרײַ־שעהיקן ריטואַל ווי דער סדר), כאָטש עס דערמאָנט גאָט אויף שריט און טריט.
אַן אַטעיִסט וואָלט אפֿשר געשטעלט די פֿראַגע: וואָס איז דער שׂכל פֿון מאַכן ברכות און דורכפֿירן רעליגיעזע ריטואַלן ווען מע גלייבט אַליין נישט אין דעם? איז דאָס נישט אַ מין נישט־אויסגעהאַלטנקייט? מײַן טאַטע ע״ה פֿלעגט, למשל, יעדן שבת מאַכן קידוש און המוציא אויף אַזאַ נאַטירלעכן אופֿן, אַז איך בין געווען זיכער ער איז אַ גלייביקער. און דערפֿאַר ווען איך האָב צו 17 יאָר אַליין זיך פֿאַראינטערעסירט אין גײַסטיקע ענינים און געפּרוּווט פֿאַרפֿירן אַ שמועס מיט אים וועגן דעם, האָט ער פּלוצלינג אויסגערופֿן: „פֿאַר וואָס פֿרעגסטו מיך די אַלע שאלות? דו ווייסט דאָך, אַז איך בין אַן אַטעיִסט!‟
„דו ביסט אַן אַטעיִסט?‟ האָב איך איבערגעפֿרעגט, אַ פֿאַרחידושטע. „פֿאַר וואָס זשע האָסטו די אַלע יאָרן געמאַכט קידוש און המוציא יעדן שבת?‟
זײַן ענטפֿער: „צוליב אײַך!‟
לאַנגע יאָרן האָב איך איבערגעקלערט וואָס עס מיינט טאַקע דער „צוליב אײַך‟. הייסט עס, אַז ער אַליין האָט נישט הנאה געהאַט דערפֿון? אַז דאָס איז בלויז געווען אַ מיטל צו פֿאַרבעסערן די שאַנסן אַז זײַנע קינדער זאָלן זיך שטאַרק אידענטיפֿיצירט ווי ייִדן?
אַז איך קלער איצט וועגן דעם, זעט מיר אויס אַז עס זענען מסתּמא געווען עטלעכע סיבות פֿאַר וואָס די דרײַ וועלטלעכע ייִדן (צוויי פֿון זיי — געשוווירענע אַטעיִסטן) און אַ סך אַנדערע פֿון זייער דור, זענען געווען גרייט אָנצופֿירן מיט אַ רעליגיעזן סדר. ערשטנס, ווי מײַן טאַטע האָט געזאָגט, האָבן זיי עס געטאָן פֿאַר זייערע קינדערס וועגן. ס׳שטייט דאָך בפֿירוש געשריבן אין דער הגדה: „והגדת לבנך — זאָלסט דערציילן דײַנע קינדער וואָס ס׳איז געשען אין לאַנד מצרים‟.
נו, אויב אַזוי, האָבן זיי דאָך געקענט פּשוט דערציילן די געשיכטע פֿון די ייִדן אין מצרים און זייער באַפֿרײַונג אויף אַ סעקולערן אופֿן, אָן צו דערמאָנען גאָט בכלל. זיי האָבן געקענט ניצן די הגדה אַרויסגעגעבן פֿונעם אַרבעטער־רינג אָדער אַן אַנדער סעקולערער ייִדישער אינסטיטוציע. זיי האָבן דאָס אָבער נישט געטאָן. יאָ, אויפֿן סדר־טיש זענען טאַקע געלעגן די וועלטלעכע הגדות, כּדי מע זאָל קענען זינגען בציבור די שיינע מאָדערנע ייִדישע לידער ווי אַבֿרהם רייזענס „אויפֿן ניל‟, דוד עדעלשטאַדטס „אין דעם לאַנד פֿון פּיראַמידן‟ און יצחק לוקאָווסקיס „חד גדיא‟. די וועלטלעכע הגדה איז אָבער בלויז געווען אַ צוגאָב צום סדר, נישט דער הויפּטטעקסט.
מיט אַנדערע ווערטער, די אָ דרײַ וועלטלעכע ייִדיש־רעדנדיקע ייִדן האָבן געוואָלט ביידע: סײַ דעם כּמעט צוויי טויזנט־יאָריקן נוסח, סײַ די וועלטלעכע ייִדישע עלעמענטן.
אויב אַזוי איז די כּוונה, אַ פּנים, געווען עפּעס שטאַרקערס ווי בלויז איבערגעבן די געשיכטע פֿון יציאת־מצרים. ס׳איז אויך געווען אַן אופֿן צו ווײַזן דעם ייִנגערן דור ווי רײַך און ווי טיף איז די ייִדישע טראַדיציע; אַז ייִדיש איז נישט בלויז אַ לשון נאָר אַ גאַנצע קולטור, וואָס איז אָנגעזאַפּט מיט רעליגיעזן וויסן; אַז אַ ייִד דאַרף קענען, אָדער כאָטש זײַן היימיש מיט, דעם רעליגיעזן אַספּעקט פֿון דער ייִדישער טראַדיציע, אַפֿילו אויב ער אַליין איז נישט קיין פֿרומער.
פֿון מײַן זײַט בין איך גאָר צופֿרידן וואָס איציק גאָטעסמאַן האָט אָנגעהאַלטן די רעקאָרדירונג פֿון זײַן טאַטן. איצט קען איך — און ווער נאָך עס וויל נאָר — זיך אויסלערנען דעם סדר־נוסח פֿון די אַמאָליקע בוקאָווינער ייִדן און דערבײַ באַרײַכערן דעם אייגענעם סדר.
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Iran War Increases Threat to Sweden, Security Service Says
Swedish Security Service Chief Charlotte von Essen speaks next to Fredrik Hallstroem, chief of operations, during a press conference where the Swedish Security Service (SAPO) presents the situational picture of the country’s security, in Stockholm, Sweden, March 18, 2026. Photo: TT News Agency/Claudio Bresciani via REUTERS
Sweden‘s Security Service (SAPO) warned on Wednesday of increased threats to the Nordic nation from the war in Iran, including risks to Jewish targets, as it released its annual national security assessment.
“History has shown that a desperate and pressured regime can be a dangerous regime,” SAPO operative chief Fredrik Hallstrom told a press conference, referring to the US-Israeli war on Iran.
Iran has long been considered a serious threat, and Swedish authorities have noted how criminal networks – already at the center of a decade-long surge in gang-related violence – have been exploited by state actors to carry out attacks.
“The US-Israeli military operation against Iran, and the countermeasures carried out by Iran, have increased the threat against American, Israeli, and Jewish targets in Sweden,” Security Service Chief Charlotte von Essen said in the report.
In recent years, the agency has also highlighted threats from China and, above all, Russia, which it describes as increasingly willing to take risks in support of its war in Ukraine — including through hybrid operations across Europe.
“Overall, we expect that the threat levels against Sweden will continue to deteriorate in the coming years,” von Essen said, adding that Russia was regarded as a primary driver.
While it is difficult to determine what can be linked to a particular actor, Sweden assesses that Russia is behind several sabotage incidents in Europe targeting critical infrastructure, the security service said. Moscow has denied any involvement.
The agency said it has reviewed hundreds of cases of suspected sabotage in Sweden, including of underwater cables, electricity substations and water-treatment facilities.
“It has so far not been possible to link any physical sabotage to a foreign power,” it said.
The comments came as Iran executed a Swedish citizen on Wednesday, according to Sweden‘s foreign minister, who added that she had summoned the Iranian ambassador in Stockholm to condemn the decision.
The person, who was not named, was arrested in Iran in June of last year and Sweden has repeatedly raised the case with Iranian officials, Foreign Minister Maria Malmer Stenergard said.
“The death penalty is an inhumane, cruel, and irreversible punishment. Sweden, together with the rest of the EU, condemns its application in all circumstances,” Stenergard said.
The legal proceedings leading up to the execution did not meet the standards of due process, she added.
The European Union’s foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas condemned the execution in a statement on Wednesday evening.
“The appalling human rights situation in Iran and the alarming increase in executions are intolerable and show the regime’s true colors,” she said, sending condolences to the family of the citizen.
The Swedish foreign ministry and the Iranian embassy in Stockholm did not immediately respond to a request for comment when contacted by Reuters via phone and email.
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Israel Doubles Troops in Hezbollah Fight, Searches Homes in South Lebanon
Israeli soldiers walk next to military vehicles on the Israeli side of the Israel-Lebanon border, amid escalation between Hezbollah and Israel, and amid the US-Israeli conflict with Iran, in northern Israel, March 16, 2026. Photo: REUTERS/Avi Ohayon
Israel has more than doubled the number of troops along its border with Lebanon since March 1 and they are searching homes in southern Lebanese villages that the military has ordered evacuated, a senior Israeli commander said on Wednesday.
As Israeli warplanes pound Beirut in operations against Hezbollah that have become the deadliest spillover of the US-Israeli war on Iran, heavy smoke could be seen rising from villages in southern Lebanon as troops fired artillery across the border.
Hundreds of thousands of Lebanese have fled southern Lebanon since Israel ordered people to clear the area south of the Litani River, viewed by Israel as a stronghold of Iran-backed terrorist group Hezbollah. The Shi’ite Islamist group has been firing rockets toward Israel since joining the war in support of Iran on March 2.
‘DEFENSIVE POSITIONS’ INSIDE LEBANON
“The plan is to make sure that Hezbollah does not have military infrastructure,” said the commander, whose name was withheld by the Israeli military on security grounds.
Speaking to Reuters in Eilon, an Israeli town four kilometers from the border, the commander, who is responsible for infantry warfare in Lebanon, declined to say how many troops Israel had now deployed in the area.
Describing the military’s fortifications inside Lebanon as “defensive positions,” he said troops were searching “the villages to see if Hezbollah hid weapons or communications centers.”
Asked if that included searching houses that residents had fled following Israeli orders, the commander said: “In some of the cases they hid their weapons in houses. We have no choice but to make sure that house is not a military installation.”
Two Israeli soldiers have been killed since the start of operations in southern Lebanon, the Israeli military says.
At least 968 people in Lebanon have been killed since the start of Israel‘s attacks, Lebanese authorities say.
Hezbollah has not provided regular updates on deaths among its fighters. On Monday, a Hezbollah official told Reuters that at least 46 had been killed so far.
LEBANESE VILLAGE OF KHIYAM AN INITIAL TARGET
The Israeli military is advancing slowly through southern Lebanon, aiming to completely clear the town of Khiyam as a first step before advancing toward the Litani River, according to a Lebanese security source and a foreign official tracking developments on the ground.
In response to a question on whether Israel intended to establish positions up to the Litani, the commander said it was not his decision. If troops receive orders, he added, they are “prepared to do all kind of operations.”
The Israeli military did not immediately comment on its operations in Khiyam, five kilometers inside the Lebanese border from the Israeli town of Metula.
Along the border near Metula, Reuters saw several Israeli military fortifications dug into hillsides, filled with rows of tanks, armed personnel carriers, and bulldozers.
Smoke rose from Khiyam throughout the day on Wednesday, and many of the buildings on the southern side of the town had been reduced to rubble. A neighboring town remains in ruins from Israel‘s attacks in 2024.
‘EVERY FIVE MINUTES YOU CAN HEAR THE BOMBS’
Israel‘s northern border area with Lebanon is known as the Upper Galilee, its rolling hills offering vantages into southern Lebanese villages now occupied and bombarded by Israeli troops.
Near Metula, Israeli Apache helicopters and jets were making near-constant sorties on Tuesday and Wednesday, with the sounds of rocket fire from Lebanon interspersed with the booms of Israeli artillery fire.
For residents of Israel‘s far north, the current war with Hezbollah has seen less rocket fire than during a year of fighting that ended in 2024.
Hezbollah‘s ability to launch missiles has largely been degraded, but it still retains capacity to strike areas deep inside Israel, Israeli officials say.
Ofer Moskovitz, 60, who works at an avocado farm in the area, and said being so close to the border meant he had little time to run to a bomb shelter when sirens signaled incoming Hezbollah fire.
Near his farm, the military dug out a muddy fortification from where troops fired artillery across the border.
“Every five minutes you can hear the bombs,” he said.