The word Jew is first mentioned about fifteen minutes in and brings with it the first whiff of conflict — there is news of Jews being evicted from nearby villages — but this conflict is quickly pushed aside for some interpersonal drama: Tevye decides to give his oldest daughter, Tzeitel, in marriage to the rich butcher Lazar Wolf, although we know she is in love with poor Motel the Tailor. Again, the bargaining of his daughter like a prize milk cow goes over my head; it is obvious how much Tevye adores his daughter, for the deciding factor, he soliloquizes for us, is that as the wife of a butcher, “my daughter will surely never know hunger. . he likes her, and he will try to make her happy.” It’s a deal! Lazar and Tevye go out to get drunk with their buddies and stumble into a turf war with a bunch of local Russians who, after an ominous face-to-face pause, during which I know, instinctively, I should be afraid of these non-Jewish (Gentile) Russians and their Slavic tough-guy vodka glare, proceed to initiate a dance-off, like a pre — Russian Revolution Glee. The Jewish men dance Jewishly, the Russians dance their folded-arms, squat-and-kick-out-legs way, they all dance together, and everything is dandy. To life, to life, l’chaim!
But on his drunken stumble home, Tevye encounters the local Russian Constable, who I can tell is really a Good Guy from his twinkling eyes and slight smile beneath his big Russian moustache, and the sincerity of his congratulations to Tevye on his daughter’s forthcoming marriage. The Constable then wants to give Tevye a heads-up, a warning, “as a friend,” because:
CONSTABLE
. . you’re an honest, decent fellow, even if you are a Jew.
There it is again, the film’s second use of that word, Jew, highlighted by the disdainful qualifying phrase. But I trust this Constable guy — he is teasing, doing Tevye some kind of favor, and therefore showing him respect. He means no harm. He continues:
CONSTABLE
This district is to have a little unofficial demonstration.
TEVYE
What? A pogrom? Here?
I have no idea what a pogrom is, but from Tevye’s stricken face, it is clearly not a good thing.
CONSTABLE
No, no. . just a little. . not too serious. So if an inspector comes he can see we did our duty. Personally, I don’t see why there should be this trouble between people.
After a pause, Tevye says:
TEVYE
You’re a good man. Too bad you’re not a Jew.
CONSTABLE
(laughing) That’s what I like about you, Tevye, you’re always joking.
Another pause. But the Constable’s laughter fades, and the pause becomes ominous, the twinkling eyes grow stern. No, not just stern. . it is the slow realization he is being insulted, disrespected, although I do not understand why this would be so. Being “a Jew” is neither a good thing nor a bad thing, in my life; it is an absolute irrelevance. But the tense moment is over; he leaves Tevye alone in the night, to ask of God:
TEVYE
God, did you have to send me news like that today? I know we are the chosen people, but once in a while, couldn’t you choose someone else?
Chosen for what? I wonder.
When Tevye breaks the happy news to Tzeitel, she is distraught:
TZEITEL
Papa, I can’t marry him, I can’t!
TEVYE
What do you mean, you can’t? If I say you will, you will!
It is the first real moment of distress, for me, far more alarming than the steel-eyed Constable. Tzeitel drops to her knees, begging her Papa, and the bluster of this most loving and affectionate and generous man has on a dime turned angry and chilled. He is shocked by her disobedience, that she would even think to cross him, to follow her own will! The benevolence is gone, replaced by his disapproval. The threat of rejection. I cannot imagine being rejected by the adult men in my life; my own father bears no resemblance to blustering Tevye, he is usually somewhat quiet and remote in our home, upstaged by my emotionally dramatic, scene-stealing mother, but his love for me is a given, a source of absolute security I have never had reason to question.
But I recognize this adoration for the Papa, this craving for his approval and love, for that is my maternal grandfather’s role in our family; my Grandpa Al is the true Head of our House, our own indulgent patriarch whom we all defer to and wish to please. He is the classic adoring and adored Grandpa, who buys me gold Jewish jewelry at pawn shops and takes me shopping for school clothes and makes me root beer floats when I sleep over at their house and we sit together to watch Mannix and Barnaby Jones, just the two of us. Affectionate and generous and loving, yes, a man I cannot imagine ever turning angry or chilled. But this moment forces me to imagine it. To see myself, on my knees, begging my grandfather, my Grandpa, my Papa for. . his love? No, it is a comfortable impossibility.
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. .