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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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Carrie Prejean Boller ousted from White House Religious Liberty Commission following antisemitism row
(JTA) — Catholic right-wing activist Carrie Prejean Boller has been removed from the White House Religious Liberty Commission over what the chair called her “political agenda” during a public hearing on antisemitism this week.
The announcement of Prejean Boller’s removal by Texas Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick, an evangelical Christian, on Wednesday came after Prejean Boller spurned calls to resign from her post amid mounting backlash over her remarks on Monday.
“Carrie Prejean Boller has been removed from President Trump’s Religious Liberty Commission,” Patrick wrote in a post on X. “No member of the Commission has the right to hijack a hearing for their own personal and political agenda on any issue. This is clearly, without question, what happened Monday in our hearing on antisemitism in America. This was my decision.”
During Monday’s hearing, Prejean Boller, who was named to the commission in June, argued that anti-Zionism is not antisemitic and said her Catholic faith prohibits her from supporting Israel.
“I’m a Catholic, and Catholics do not embrace Zionism, just so you know, so are all Catholics antisemites?” said Prejean Boller, who wore a pin depicting the American and Palestinian flags.
She also defended conservative influencers Candace Owens and Tucker Carlson against antisemitism allegations, later receiving praise from Owens on social media for her defense.
Following Patrick’s announcement of Prejean Boller’s removal, Owens decried the decision in a post on X, which featured a host of antisemitic conspiracy theories.
“Carrie didn’t hijack anything. You hosted a performative Zionist hearing meant to neuter the Christian faith. Carrie spoke truth, as a Catholic, and Christians, the Truth cannot be defeated. Zionists are naturally hostile to Catholics because we refuse to bend the knee to revisionist history and support the mass slaughter and rape of innocent children for occult Baal worshipers. Your decision will only further the Christian enlightenment which is taking place in this country. And for that, we thank you. ✝️,” wrote Owens in the post, which was reposted by Prejean Boller. “@CarriePrejean1 said no to selling her soul.”
Prejean Boller’s removal drew praise from Shabbos Kestenbaum, an antisemitism activist who was invited to speak on Monday’s panel and had previously called for Prejean Boller’s removal.
“We spoke about Christian Americans and Jewish Americans being under assault. She was interested in discussing the Middle East and non advancing American religious liberties. THANK YOU,” tweeted Kestenbaum.
The post Carrie Prejean Boller ousted from White House Religious Liberty Commission following antisemitism row appeared first on The Forward.
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Art theft, angels and neo-Nazis force a reckoning with the past in ‘The Tavern at the End of History’
Tavern At The End of History
Morris Collins
Dzanc Books, 326pp, $27.95
In Morris Collins’ novel about two directionless adults on the hunt for a famous work of art presumed to have been stolen during the Holocaust, one character theorizes that “the only way towards a moral life” is to let go of the past. But Tavern At the End of History a follow up to Collins’ debut novel — the post-colonial thriller Horse Latitudes — is all about remembering, even that which is painful, and reckoning with it.
When readers are first introduced to Jacob, his inappropriate remarks to a student have cost him his professorship and his marriage, and he’s become an alcoholic. At a park in Brooklyn, he meets Baer, an impoverished Orthodox man living in a ramshackle apartment with only a fat orange cat to keep him company. As it turns out, they are both connected to the disgraced Kabbalah scholar Alex Baruch.
After meeting Baruch at a conference in Berlin, Jacob became a devoted follower. Even after Baruch was exposed for lying about being a German Holocaust survivor, Jacob remained loyal and has agreed to meet with Baruch at his sanitarium in Maine the same weekend Baruch plans to auction off a sketch by the deceased Jewish artist Alexander Lurio.
Baer reveals that the sketch had belonged to his family before the war, but, he says, it was confiscated by the Nazis. Jacob agrees go to Maine and look for the sketch with Baer’s cousin Rachel, an art historian still reeling from her husband’s suicide after she helped him leave the Orthodox community. But art isn’t the only interesting thing on Baruch’s private island. There are neo-Nazis, an erotic statue garden, otherworldly entities, and an eccentric group of Jews, although it’s unclear if they are fellow visitors of the sanitarium or patients.
Jacob, Rachel, and the other Jews at the sanitarium are incessantly haunted by the past — for Baruch, this becomes literal, when a friend he presumed had died in the Holocaust appears at his doorstep. The oddball group spends their five days in Maine, primarily telling stories about their trauma, all linked to the Holocaust either through their own experiences or those of their parents. It may be doubtful that there is any sense to be derived from tragedy, but they try their very best.
For Baruch, this means trying to justify lying about his past and doing unspeakable things to make his life easier. Jacob funnels his confusion into philosophical debates about how — or even if — the Holocaust and Israel should be understood in relation to one another. Rachel seems to believe misfortune can be rectified as she hunts for the stolen Lurio sketch.
The book often veers into unsettling territory, sometimes painting overwhelmingly disturbing scenes from the Holocaust, but Collins’ illustrative writing keeps the story engaging, even in its bleakest moments. His world-building is so convincing it’s almost incomprehensible that the Lurio works are fictionalized. Even the enigmatic Alex Baruch and the fake writings Collins “quotes” from feel real.
Because the book takes place in 2017, some of its musings on Israel and antisemitism feel less jarring than they could be. The characters watch the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally on the television, scenes that could now easily be substituted with more alarming images of government officials cozying up to neo-Nazis. The discussions about the Holocaust and Zionism feel less edgy than they may have almost a decade ago, as so much new scholarship questioning the role of memory and trauma in the creation of Israel has come out.
The book ends with some ambiguity about what exactly transpires on the island and how our characters will be able to move on. Still, Collins crafts a compelling art mystery, buttressed by a tale of a group of lost souls trying to find meaning in a world that sometimes feels hopeless.
The post Art theft, angels and neo-Nazis force a reckoning with the past in ‘The Tavern at the End of History’ appeared first on The Forward.
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Netanyahu returns to Washington — this time to shape a deal with Iran, not fight one
When President Donald Trump and Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu meet at the White House today – their 6th meeting in the U.S. in the last year – their discussion will focus on a shared commitment to confronting the Iranian nuclear threat, but the stakes are different for each of them.
For Trump, a nuclear agreement could cement his legacy as a peacemaker, perhaps even earn him a long-coveted Nobel Peace Prize. For Netanyahu, a deal could bolster his political standing back home in a difficult election year.
In 2015, when President Obama was on the verge of signing a nuclear deal with Iran, Netanyahu cast himself as the indispensable interpreter of the Iranian threat to Washington, as he has again. But back then, Netanyahu came to publicly oppose what he called “a very bad” Iran deal, pushing back against the U.S. president. Now, he is visiting the White House with the hope of shaping U.S. policy on Iran, not challenging the president.
Trump has described the first round of discussions with Iran as “very good,” even as U.S. aircraft carriers and other military assets build up in the region. He has insisted that Tehran is “wanting to make a deal very badly.” Israel, for its part, has made clear that any agreement must go beyond limits on uranium enrichment and also address Iran’s ballistic missile program and its network of regional proxies – Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis – that have been attacking Israel.
Netanyahu has said he plans to present the president with Israel’s approach to the nuclear talks led by Trump’s close advisers, son-in-law Jared Kushner and Mideast envoy Steve Witkoff.
Netanyahu is betting that intimacy equals influence. That being the leader who shows up in person — again and again — ensures Israel is not outflanked as decisions are made. Last June, that strategy appeared to pay off. Netanyahu launched a charm offensive aimed at drawing Trump into a more active role in dismantling Iran’s nuclear program. If talks fail, Trump could act again. “Either we will make a deal, or we will have to do something very tough like last time,” Trump told Axios.
But the frequency of these meetings also reflects some vulnerability. It showcases a prime minister who cannot afford distance and disagreement with the White House.
The domestic clock is ticking
The longest-serving Israeli leader is facing a real risk that Israel’s legislature, the Knesset, will dissolve in the coming weeks if his coalition fails to resolve the explosive issue of military conscription for Haredi yeshiva students. The Haredi parties have threatened to vote against the budget ahead of the March 31 deadline — a move that would trigger elections as early as June.
If Netanyahu emerges from the White House visit with rhetorical alignment or symbolic support, he could buy himself time and political oxygen.
These gestures matter for Israel, where the education minister, Yoav Kisch, has formally invited Trump to attend the Israel Prize ceremony on Independence Day in Jerusalem to receive the prestigious award for a “Unique Contribution to the Jewish People.” Israeli officials have also invited him to participate in the annual torch-lighting ceremony, one of the most emotionally charged moments on the Israeli civic calendar.
If Trump accepts the invitation and travels to Israel again, it would be a political gift of the highest order. For Netanyahu’s supporters, that imagery could energize turnout and blunt opposition momentum. For undecided voters, it reinforces a familiar argument: Whatever Netanyahu’s flaws at home, replacing him would risk destabilizing Israel’s most important relationship abroad and its closest ally in any confrontation with Iran.
But Trump’s current position on Iran may still cross Netanyahu’s red lines. And Trump has shown before that he is willing to act unilaterally, even without backing from allies.
Still, he is very popular in Israel, and that benefits Netanyahu. A new survey by the Jewish People Policy Institute showed that 73% of Israelis rate Trump as a better-than-average U.S. president for Israel’s interests and 54% of Jews in Israel view Trump as one of the best presidents in U.S. history.
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