By When I first applied for this job, it was all glam and adventure. “Your character is the title name of the movie and on posters! You’ll be an agile athlete AND a consummate musician,” they said. “You’ll represent all of Judaism since the beginning of time,” they said. Wow! But nobody ever said, “You’ll get bupkis as far as dialogue! And by the way, there’s no men’s restroom way up there.” Every day I’m on a roof…trying to scratch out a pleasant simple tune…while one loose shingle separates me from becoming “Fiddler OFF the Roof.” And how do I keep my balance? Yes one word: Tradition! But I’d just like to point out, nobody ever asked if I’d prefer a nice La-Z-Boy recliner over tradition. Meanwhile, Tevye is down there having long talks with God while I’m up here thinking, “Could one of those conversations include asking for a railing?” Everyone admires Tevye’s faith. I’d settle for Workers’ Comp.
You think I have the best view of Anatevka? Technically, yes. From up here, I know everybody’s business. I knew Tzeitel loved Motel before Tevye did. I knew Perchik was trouble the minute he started saying things like, “Let’s question tradition.” Dude! I’m balancing on a roof because of tradition. Could you question it after I get down? And don’t even get me started on weddings. People think weddings are joyful. Not for me. Whenever somebody yells, “Music!” I know exactly what’s coming. Three hours of “Sunrise, Sunset.” (Ho hum. Snoozefest. That was my recital song before my bar-mitzvah even came around.) And do you know how many sunsets I’ve actually watched? Thousands. They’re all lovely. They’d be even lovelier from the ground. Then there’s the bottle dance. Everyone applauds the men balancing fragile libations on their heads. Excuse me? I’m balancing an entire career on a chimney. Where is my standing ovation? Children wave at me. Dogs bark at me. Birds look at me like I’ve rented their apartment. Every winter when Tevye’s horse has a lame leg, someone says, “Poor Tevye. Life is so hard.” Really? Has anyone looked up lately?
Then people say, “Cheer up. You’re the fiddler. That symbolizes hope.” No. The fiddler symbolizes bad career counseling. My mother wanted me to become a dentist. Did I listen? Of course not. Now every family argument becomes my cue. A daughter wants to marry for love? Play. Another daughter wants to marry a revolutionary? Play faster. The village is being forced to leave everything they’ve ever known? Still playing. At that point I’m less of a musician and more of an emotional support soundtrack.
Again, I don’t mean to harp on the subject (See what I did there with a harp?) but everyone else gets solos, duets, romances, and dramatic speeches. I get nothing until the cast starts singing Tradition! Oh so NOW you’re all interested in me. Five minutes ago I was just ‘that guy on the roof.’ Suddenly I’m branding. When Tevye says, “Without our traditions, our lives would be as shaky as…as…a fiddler on the roof!” I’m the example? You couldn’t have said, ‘as shaky as Uncle Mordechai after four glasses of schnapps?’ No. Let’s use the guy with vertigo that’s risking spinal injury.
When everyone is arguing over who should marry whom, I’ve noticed something. Nobody ever asks what the violinist thinks. Maybe I have opinions. Maybe I liked the butcher? Ha! I’m just kidding. When Lazar Wolf proposes his silly marriage….Take him. Don’t take him. Honestly, I don’t care anymore. Could somebody just hand me a sandwich from the commissary? Sometimes I imagine what would happen if I simply stopped playing. Would everyone freeze? Would production come to a halt? Would Tevye say, “God…where’s the Fiddler?” No! I’d just feel guilty. Because THAT is the real tradition of Judaism. I recall they let me off the roof one time. I played beautifully in a dreamy ballet dance sequence in Tevye’s mind’s eye. All the daughters walked off with their intended. Then Chava runs off with that book reading gentile creature and suddenly nobody notices I’m finally playing on solid ground. The next morning it’s, “Up ya go. Back on the roof with you!” Fine! But remember, without me…this show is just titled (wait for it) ”Dairy Farmer With Opinions.”
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