Tara Ison - Reeling Through Life - How I Learned to Live, Love and Die at the Movies

Impossible yes, for Tevye and Tzeitel as well. “All right,” Tevye says to Tzeitel, regretful but tender. “I won’t force you,” he tells her. Of course not — what father could ever force his beloved daughter to do something she didn’t want? I am relieved, reassured.

A brief relapse, though, when Motel announces his and Tzeitel’s desire to marry:

TEVYE

This isn’t the way it’s done! Not here, not now! Some things I cannot, I will not allow! Tradition! Marriages are arranged by the Papa!

But at the sight of Tzeitel’s pleading eyes, the realization that she loves this man, he gives in. Of course he does — all he wants is his daughter’s happiness, after all.

Cut to: Happy preparations for the happy wedding. During which, a short scene: The Constable, meeting with a Superior Officer, has attempted to call off this thing called a pogrom . The Superior Officer is suspicious:

SUPERIOR OFFICER

Do you like these troublemakers? These Christ-killers?

I’m confused; didn’t the Romans kill Jesus Christ? I’m sure I’ve heard that somewhere, although I am unclear who or what “the Romans” were. Or even who or what Jesus actually was in the scheme of things, other than the guy who started Christianity. Wasn’t that what the crucifixion was all about, the Roman President or someone not liking this guy Jesus (who was actually, confusedly, Jewish , it is coming back to me, probably from some Christmas special on TV, so why would the Jews kill him. .?), but the Constable hastily assures him, No, no, he will take care of it, and it’s on to the wedding, a lovely but odd ritual of braided candles and men in funny hats, and veiled Tzeitel walking in circles around Motel, and lots of wine being sipped. Tevye and Golde sing about how grown up their daughter is, is this the little girl I carried? Is this the little boy at play? What words of wisdom can I give them? Then it’s party time, where for some reason, the men are dancing on one side, the women on the other, separated by a rope. But Perchik, a young Communist student Tevye has taken a liking to, who is sweet on Tevye’s next daughter-in-line, Hodel, scoffs at all these old-fashioned traditions, even challenges the Rabbi to come up with some religious rationale for why men and women dancing together is a sin. The Rabbi draws a blank (what possible reason could there be?) and Perchik leads Hodel out to dance. And then Motel dances with Tzeitel! Tevye, now feeling left out, dances with Golde! Everyone dances! This is a great wedding, now familiar as some cousins, or family friend’s. I can practically taste the chicken breast and rice pilaf that will be served to us soon, can almost hear Karen Carpenter crooning We’ve only just begun. .

Until. Enter the (Gentile) Russians on horseback, carrying torches and clubs. The gaiety stops, the wedding guests freeze. I do not know what is about to happen, but I sense I should be frightened. The horses charge, swords are drawn. The celebrating Jews ( Christ-killers, troublemakers ) scatter in terror.

But it isn’t such a big deal. It’s a few seconds of melee, some ripped-open feather pillows, some broken glass, a few spilled cups of wine. A table is overturned. A drunken wedding-guest uncle would do more damage. I won’t realize until many years later that this depicts The Most Benign Pogrom Ever; there is no blood, no crushed skulls, no degradation. Just as the Constable had said, in his friendly warning; nothing too serious. He even apologizes to Tevye, in a way:

CONSTABLE

Orders are orders, understand?

Tevye’s face is stricken, he is silent, unmanned, powerless to do or say anything, but we would not be able to hear him anyway over the suddenly overwrought music that tells us this is traumatic, a Tragedy. I’m not buying it. No real damage has been done, after all. I suppose a pogrom really isn’t such a big deal. More like a rudeness, an inconvenience.

No, the big deal comes toward the end of the movie. Tevye has given his blessing to Hodel marrying Perchik; they have asked for his blessing, not his permission, once again breaking Tradition! , and once again Tevye is swayed by his desire for his daughter’s happiness. But when the third daughter, Chava, wants to marry Fyedka, a strapping and sensitive Russian youth, Tevye has had enough. He’s done. “I am the Man in the House! I am the Head of the Family!” he asserts, outraged. Told by Golde that Chava has run off and married her Gentile Russian boyfriend anyway, he declares:

TEVYE

Chava is dead to us! We’ll forget her!

Chava shows up (no wig, her hair visible beneath her shawl) to plead:

CHAVA

Papa, stop! At least listen to me! Papa, I beg you to accept us!

And he pauses, one final time, to ask of God:

TEVYE

How can I accept them? Can I deny everything I believe in? On the other hand, can I deny my own daughter? On the other hand, how can I turn my back on my faith, my people? No! If I try to bend that far, I will break!

And he roars away from her, plodding off with his milk cart while she stands, abandoned at the side of the road, still begging him to look at her, listen to her. But he is deaf to her pleas. “Our daughter is dead,” he will repeat to Golde, and the rest of the family now cowers before him and his cold, deadening rage. And so Chava is disappeared, erased, snipped out of the family album, and I feel the chill of this in my bones. His cuddly warmth has turned terrifying, turned to threat. No, it has now gone well beyond threat: It is an actual retraction of his love, the cancellation of a relationship, the abandonment of a human being. It is an act of deliberate cruelty. Like Chava, I am crying, disconsolate. This is frightening.

But the ostensible tragedy of the story arrives with the Constable, and the edict that everyone, that is, all the Jews, must leave Anatevka. They are cast out from their home, their beloved village. Final shots of everyone packing up, the Rabbi praying, holding the Torah like a baby, the golden color palette now bleached of color, reduced to grays, black mud and white snow, desolate and cold to match the bleakness of loss and defeat. All warmth is drained from this movie — except when Tevye says a loving, gentle good-bye to his animals. Leaving them behind has him in tears, turns him tender with grief. Softhearted, sentimental Tevye.

And then Chava arrives, with her Gentile now-husband Fyedka.

CHAVA

Papa? We came to say good-bye.

Tevye, packing up the wagon, ignores her.

CHAVA

We are also leaving this place. We are going to Cracow.

FYEDKA

We cannot stay among people who can do such things to others.

CHAVA

We wanted you to know that.

Tevye ignores them louder.

FYEDKA

Some are driven away by edicts. Some by silence.

CHAVA

Good-bye, Papa!

Stony silence from Tevye. I guess he is still too sad and upset about having to leave his animals to acknowledge his daughter’s existence. Chava says good-bye to Golde, to Tzeitel. Good-bye! Goodbye! Then, a quiet:

TEVYE

And God be with you.

It’s a mumble, barely audible. No embrace, no real farewell. He doesn’t even look her in the eye. What good will God “being with her” do her? I wonder. Without her beloved Papa?