OPINION: For Israelis, Fiddler is a relic. For diaspora Jews, it’s a mirror

Israelis don't identify with the iconic stage production, while diaspora Jews see themselves reflected in it. But if Israel keeps turning inward, it risks forgetting the people who still carry Zionism's warning light

Cast of Fiddler on the Roof. Photo: Marc Brenner
Cast of Fiddler on the Roof. Photo: Marc Brenner

As the final solemn note of Anatevka rang out through the auditorium of the Norwich Theatre Royal, a teary audience leapt to its feet.

Immediately I turned to my Israeli friend who, to my utter despair, had never seen Fiddler on the Roof prior to meeting me, to gauge his reaction.

‘So, what did you think?’ I asked eagerly, hoping to have endeared him to what I consider to be an essential pillar of the Ashkenazi Jewish experience, even more fundamental than eating sushi at barmitzvah receptions or spending hours guessing which Hollywood celebrities are MOT [Members of the Tribe].

‘It made me feel cringe’ he bluntly admitted, showing none of that self-conscious British hesitation. I am not exaggerating when I say this felt like a sucker punch to the core of what it meant to be Jewish in Britain.

‘Why do British people only like Jewish people who are weak and feeble?’ he continued.

This dissonance in our perception of this musical is a phenomenon I am naming as the ‘Fiddler on the Roof complex’.

For him (an Israeli) Fiddler was a relic of some tragic, distant past. For me (a diaspora Jew) it is a deeply familiar reflection of my ongoing Jewish reality.

In England, during this sadly all-too familiar unpleasant period in the Jewish story, scared British Jews are tucking in their Magen David necklaces, covering their kippot with baseball caps and whispering the word ‘Israel’ in public spaces, lest they be overheard and screamed at.

But, as my Israeli companion pointed out, this reality and attitude is not true for second and third generation Israelis – known as Sabras (due to their tough, prickly exterior).

Israelis only know life as being the majority people in their homeland.

In Israel there are never whispered, half-joking conversations about which of your non-Jewish friends would hide you in their attic in the event of a Holocaust. Or off-colour comments from loved ones about always having shekels in your pocket and a bag packed and waiting just in case you need to flee in the middle of the night.

More than that, Israelis have spent the last 77 years crafting their own new Jewish story – one diaspora Jews struggle to relate to.

Their story is shaped by fluency in the Hebrew language – giving them much easier access to our story, our songs and our daily prayer.

It is also a reality marred by near-constant war, devastating terror attacks and mandatory military service.

Living in the diaspora, to Israelis, is a thing of the past. Those that remain are considered failures of the Zionist project. But this ignores a fundamental fact. Zionism emerged from us, the diaspora.

Israel only exists because the Jews of Iraq, Ethiopia, Russia and Spain were careful custodians of the Jewish tradition, keeping our shared language alive in their pockets for more than 2,000 years.

From the optimistic, seemingly unreal promise of ‘l’shanah haba b’Yerushalim’ uttered at the Pesach seder table by diaspora (twice a year), emerged Israel and Israelis (who enjoy the Seder for one night only).

Diaspora grit is not something to be pitied.

And our historic and continued contribution to Zionism should not be overlooked.

As Israel turns inwards, the chasm between Israeli Jews and their diaspora cousins is sadly widening.

But Israel ignores diaspora — its own canary in the coalmine —at its peril.

Increasingly, the world views Israel as a pariah state. Diaspora Jews, with our feet planted in two worlds, feel this shift in public perception most acutely.

For millennia, Jews in the diaspora have learned to live shoulder-to-shoulder with their non-Jewish neighbours.

Since 1948, living in the diaspora has not been an accident of history but a choice—one we embrace because engagement with the world is a valuable thing.

With our very existence, we assert that Jewish flourishing can coexist with global belonging.

Our legacy founding Zionism gives us both the right and the responsibility to remind Israel that Jewish destiny cannot thrive in isolation.

If only Israel would start seeing themselves in our thriving story and start listening to the diaspora once more.

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