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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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The post How the late actor Topol turned Tevye into a Zionist appeared first on Jewish Telegraphic Agency.
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Australia to Hold Wide-Ranging Inquiry Into Antisemitism After Bondi Attack
An Australian flag sits amongst floral tributes honoring the victims of a shooting at Jewish holiday celebration on Sunday at Bondi Beach, in Sydney, Australia, Dec. 16, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Hollie Adams
Australia will hold a Royal Commission inquiry into the Bondi Beach mass shooting in which 15 were killed, the country’s most powerful public inquiry, Prime Minister Anthony Albanese said on Thursday.
The mass shooting at a Jewish Hanukkah celebration at Sydney’s famed Bondi Beach on Dec. 14 shocked a country with strict gun laws and fueled calls for tougher controls and stronger action against antisemitism.
Police say the alleged father and son perpetrators were inspired by the Islamic State terrorist group.
Albanese said the Royal Commission, a government inquiry which can compel people to give evidence, will be led by retired judge Virginia Bell.
It will consider the events of the shooting as well as antisemitism and social cohesion in Australia, and is expected to report its findings by December this year.
“This Royal Commission is the right format, the right duration and the right terms of reference to deliver the right outcome for our national unity and our national security,” Albanese told a news conference on Thursday.
Albanese had initially resisted calls to set up a Royal Commission, saying the process would take years, which attracted criticism from Jewish groups and victims’ families who urged him to reconsider.
“I’ve taken the time to reflect, to meet with leaders in the Jewish community, and most importantly, I’ve met with many of the families of victims and survivors of that horrific attack,” Albanese said.
The government last month announced an independent review into law enforcement agencies that will assess whether authorities could have taken additional steps to prevent the attack.
That review, which will examine whether existing laws or information gaps stopped police and security agencies from acting against the alleged attackers, will now be folded into the Royal Commission, Albanese said. It is expected to report its findings in April.
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Amnesty International Refuses to Admit That Hamas Wants to Kill All Jews and Annihilate Israel
Illustration with the logo of Amnesty International on the vest of an observer of a demonstration in Paris, France, Paris, on Dec. 11, 2021. Photo: Xose Bouzas / Hans Lucas via Reuters Connect
In its nearly 200-page report on the worst massacre of Jews since the Holocaust, “Targeting Civilians: Murder, Hostage-Taking and Other Violations by Palestinian Armed Groups in Israel and Gaza,” Amnesty International omitted years of statements by Hamas leaders and language from its charter demonstrating genocidal intent against Jews.
This omission renders Amnesty’s account of the Oct. 7, 2023, attack fundamentally flawed — because it disregards strong evidence of Hamas’ genocidal intent and distorts both the nature of the massacre and Israel’s response.
According to the former Deputy Director of Amnesty’s now defunct Israel branch, Yariv Mohar, this report on Hamas’ attack was delayed by eight months. It had already been nearly finalized by the same time the organization released its December 2024 report, titled, “‘You Feel Like You Are Subhuman’: Israel’s Genocide Against Palestinians in Gaza.”
The organization, according to Mohar, told Israeli staff that the two reports would be published within weeks of one another.
According to Mohar, Amnesty delayed the Hamas report to keep the focus on Gaza, fearing that highlighting Hamas’ atrocities would undermine efforts to end the war. Mohar added that this was driven by a belief that Western audiences prefer a simplified moral narrative, and also because of Amnesty’s fear of backlash from its ultra-radical activist base.
Notably, the non-profit’s substantially longer Gaza report in 2024 used several out-of-context and debunked quotes by Israeli leaders to portray them as having genocidal intent.
Conversely, Amnesty’s treatment of Hamas sharply downplays the terror group’s own explicit ideology and objectives.
Hamas’ charter calls for the complete destruction of Israel as a condition for the liberation of Palestine, achieved through holy war (jihad). The charter specifically states that Hamas’ “struggle” is “against the Jews.”
This charter was never renounced by any of Hamas’ leaders, who have consistently called for the destruction of Israel and the Jewish people in speeches before Oct. 7, 2023, and afterwards, pledging to commit the same atrocities in the future until Israel meets its demise.
Slain Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar was recorded in Apr. 2018, saying, “We will take down the border [with Israel] and we will tear out their hearts from their bodies,” in reference to Israelis.
“Seven million Palestinians outside — enough warming up — you have Jews with you in every place. You should attack every Jew possible in all the world and kill them,” official Fathi Hammad said in July 2019. Hammad, in May 2021, called on Jerusalemites to “cut off the heads of the Jews with knives.”
Official Ghazi Hamad, on Oct. 24, 2023, declared that Israel must be eliminated and vowed repeated October 7s: “[N]obody should blame us for the things we do. On October 7, October 10, October 1,000,000 — everything we do is justified.”
In Jan. 2024, official Bassem Na’im wrote in Al Jazeera that the October 7 attack was a “scaled-down model of the final war of liberation and the disappearance of the Zionist occupation.”
While the Amnesty report includes some quotes by Hamas officials calling on Palestinians to attack Israelis, the report fails to mention the terror group’s official statements and charter — and omits that their raison d’etre is to kill Jews and wipe out Israel.
The organization also featured statements by Mohammed Deif saying that Hamas had launched the Oct. 7 attacks to end Israel’s military occupation and “its crimes,” as well as an Oct. 7 statement by Saleh Al-Arouri, then Deputy Head of the Political Bureau of Hamas, who indicated that the aims of the attacks were the liberation of the Palestinian people, breaking the siege on Gaza, stopping settlement expansion, and freeing Palestinian prisoners from Israeli prisons.
The quotes chosen by Amnesty to be featured in the report indicate that Hamas carried out the massacre for political and nationalist purposes. That is not true.
This cherry-picking sanitizes Hamas’ true motives, which are documented, consistent, and official, and leads readers to misunderstand why the massacre occurred.
Hamas’ 1988 charter describes its struggle against Jews as “extremely wide-ranging and grave” and calls on the Arab and Islamic world to support jihad against these “enemies.” It argues that Israel’s Jewish character contradicts Islam and must therefore be eliminated.
Without acknowledging Hamas’ ideology and intent, Amnesty’s legal conclusions — especially its accusations against Israel — rest on incomplete information.
October 7, 2023, was not merely a tactical or political attack, but part of an openly stated campaign to eliminate Israel. By omitting this context, Amnesty undermines its own account of October 7 and produces an unsound report.
Darcie Grunblatt is a US Media Researcher for CAMERA (Committee for Accuracy in Middle East Reporting in America).
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Israel Is Not a Cause to Me, It Is My Compass
People stand outside the International Criminal Court (ICC) as the United States is considering imposing sanctions as soon as this week against the entire International Criminal Court, in The Hague, Netherlands, Sept. 22, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Piroschka van de Wouw
I am a pro-Israel advocate in the Netherlands with Jewish roots, and my connection to Israel is not ideologically fashionable or politically convenient.
My connection to Israel is personal, inherited, and lived. Israel has shaped my identity since childhood, long before hashtags, before October 7, and before defending Israel became socially dangerous in Europe again.
On my father’s side, my family came from Poland. They fled rising antisemitism, passed through what is now the Czech Republic, and eventually ended up in the Netherlands around 1900. On my mother’s side, the story is fragmented and partly lost by design. My grandfather was involved in resistance work during World War II, and secrecy was a survival strategy that carried over long after the war ended.
When my parents later lived in the Middle East, they voluntarily assisted Israeli intelligence. They could move freely because of a white card, and they chose to help. That choice mattered. It shaped how I was raised and what I understood early on: Israel was never an abstract state to me. It was a responsibility.
For many years, Israel viewed the Netherlands as an ally. In hindsight, that belief was painfully naïve. The historical record tells a far more uncomfortable story.
During the Nazi occupation, only a tiny fraction of the Dutch population actively resisted. Roughly 45,000 people, about half a percent, were engaged in active resistance. Even using a broad definition, only around five percent could be considered supporters of resistance. At the same time, approximately 425,000 people were investigated for collaboration. The rest of the population largely chose silence. They looked away as Jews were rounded up, deported, and murdered. Some actively helped the occupiers. Most did nothing.
That history reveals a national instinct that never truly disappeared. After October 7, the mask finally slipped. The genie came out of the bottle, and what followed was an explosion of antisemitism, often disguised as “anti-Zionism” — because open antisemitism is officially forbidden in the Netherlands. What spread through society did so faster and more aggressively than any virus I have ever witnessed.
For me, the consequences were immediate and deeply personal. Walking through Amsterdam became a nightmare. People recognized me from weekly Israel support actions and felt emboldened to curse, threaten, and intimidate me. I refused to hide my Star of David necklace, but I watched others quietly tuck away their Jewish symbols for safety. That image still haunts me.
I lost my job shortly after October 7. On November 3, 2023, I was asked a seemingly innocent question at work: “What is your favorite vacation destination?” I answered honestly: Israel. That answer cost me my livelihood.
As I searched for new work, recruiters demanded that I shut down my LinkedIn company page, which at the time had around 90,000 followers. The reason was obvious. I refused. As a result, my chances of employment collapsed. I was rejected repeatedly — and explicitly — because of my visible pro-Israel stance.
Because my company was registered at my home address, the harassment followed me there. Eggs were thrown against my windows. A dead pigeon was left at my door in a bag. I received threats, online and offline, telling me I would be gassed.
These were not anonymous global trolls. This was my reality in the Netherlands.
Social media platforms, especially LinkedIn under Microsoft’s ownership, played a disgraceful role. Pro-Israel voices and Jewish advocates who spoke factual truths were targeted, restricted, or silenced, while open Nazi rhetoric, incitement, and fabricated “Pallywood” narratives were allowed to spread with impunity. The message was clear: Jewish safety and truth were expendable.
The years since 2023 have taken a severe toll on my mental health. Depression, exhaustion, and a deep alienation from Dutch society became constants. At the same time, my longing for Israel intensified. Eventually, I made a decision that felt inevitable: I would try to live and work for Israel full time. I began the Aliyah process, believing that my commitment, experience, and lifelong dedication would matter.
They did not.
Because I can only provide indirect proof of my Jewish roots, and because I refuse to convert to Judaism for the wrong reasons, my path to Aliyah has been blocked. The Jewish Agency declined to consider special circumstances. I wrote letters to the President’s office, to the Prime Minister, and to other officials. I reached out again and again.
From the Israeli side, I received silence. No response. No explanation. Only closed doors.
That silence broke something in me. Not because I feel entitled, but because I know, without arrogance, that I could contribute more to Israel than many others. I am not driven by religion; I have none. I am not driven by political camps or prejudices. I am driven by loyalty, truth, and responsibility.
Israel is not a trend to me. It is not negotiable. It is not conditional. It is my priority, always. Even when the world turns hostile. Even when allies reveal themselves to be illusions. Even when the doors I knock on remain closed.
I will not stop standing with Israel. History has taught me what silence does. I refuse to repeat it.
Sabine Sterk is CEO of Time To Stand Up For Israel.