This production of Fiddler on the Roof is more than a revival of a beloved musical. It feels like a homecoming.
Live theatre has a personality all its own, an expectation, an audience holding its collective breath until the curtain opens, and then a sigh of relaxation and a settling in our seats as the music begins.
Sholem Aleichem wrote the original Tevye stories in Yiddish, and hearing Tevye wrestle with God, family, and modernity in that language creates an almost haunting authenticity. It reminds audiences that before the world of the Russian shtetl of Anatevka became iconic entertainment, it reflected a civilization that was largely destroyed in the Holocaust.
The fiddler plays and the family is introduced: Tracy Michailidis as Golde (the wife and mother) and the five beautiful daughters. As preparations unfold for the celebration of the Sabbath, the Matchmaker Yente, portrayed brilliantly by Theresa Tova, drops in with “good news.” What makes this production extraordinary is not simply hearing the songs and dialogue in Yiddish—the language in which the world of Anatevka truly lived—but the emotional authenticity that emerges from it.
The people on-stage have become my grandparents. And somewhere around the middle of the first act, when Tevyeh (Steven Skybell) has returned after a hard day of delivering milk, when the Shabbos candles are being lit, the Challah is uncovered by a cloth and the prayers to welcome the Sabbath are about to be spoken, my eyes fill with tears. I look at the empty seat next to me and I imagine my Dad sitting there, chuckling at the humor and nodding with recognition at the drama.
At the after-party, I relay these thoughts to Zalmen Mlotek, Musical Supervisor, and Artistic Director of the National Yiddish Theatre Folksbiene (NYTF) whose visionary leadership brought Fiddler On The Roof in Yiddish to New York. He smiles knowingly and says, “you are not the only one.”
The drama unfolds, as Tevye, with five unmarried daughters, is forced to face the fact that “Traditions” change, and the world changes with them. Three of his five daughters find true love, (unthinkable at the time—what’s love got to do with it?) After twenty five years of marriage, he reminds Golde that the first time he saw her face was under the Chuppa on their wedding day. He sings a song to Golde, “But, do you love me?”
While Yiddish is my first language, I still glance at the prominent sur-titles and smile, because some Yiddish phrases, like “a nechtiken tog” are untranslatable and simply become the English word “wrong.” Interesting, that there are also sur-titles in the Russian language.
For me, a highlight are the old traditional Russian/Jewish dances performed by an amazing group. The bottles of wine balanced on hats, the dances my Dad called “kazatskeh”—they are really a joy to behold.
In the second act, reality takes over. Pogroms. Friends and neighbors are enemies by order of the Tsar. Violence, with apologies. They are just following orders. Suddenly, the humor is sharper, the sorrow deeper, the traditions more intimate. Even audiences who do not understand Yiddish describe feeling closer to the characters because the language carries the rhythms, anxieties, and warmth of Eastern European Jewish life in a way translation alone cannot.
The dances erupt with energy, the family scenes feel deeply recognizable, and the humor lands beautifully. That balance—laughter beside heartbreak—the stuff of a thousand Jewish comedians, is exactly what gives the play its enduring power.
Joel Grey’s direction strips away sentimentality and replaces it with humanity. His staging recognizes that this is not merely a nostalgic story about milkmen and matchmakers. It is a story about displacement, resilience, faith, assimilation, and survival—themes that feel painfully contemporary. The all-Canadian cast carries the production, and with extremely spare scenery, it underlines the fact that the townspeople have very little material goods. Under his guidance, the production becomes less a Broadway classic and more a living memory.
And yet, once again history repeats itself, and the Jewish population of Anatevka and other such villages are given three days to sell their homes and get out. The people question, “Where can we go?” Yet the production is not mournful. It is alive with joy, wit, music, and communal spirit. Some have a brother-in-law or an uncle in Amerike. Others are going to Krakow in Poland. But the most poignant and telling good-bye belongs to Yente, the Matchmaker. She had a dream—she must go to Eretz-Yisrael, she can belong there. “But what will you do there?” she is asked. For a Matchmaker, there is always work to do.
The decision to perform the show in Yiddish also restores a historical dimension to the work. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose," which literally translates to "The more it changes, the more it's the same thing."
One could argue that Joel Grey did not merely direct a revival; he restored a cultural heartbeat. The Yiddish Fiddler becomes both theatre and testimony: a celebration of a lost world, and proof that its voice still sings.
Fiddler On the Roof in Yiddish, Harold Green Jewish Theatre Company, The Elgin Theatre—until June 07, 2026