[ad_1]
This article originally appeared in Yiddish Forverts
As soon as the film version of "Fiddler on the Roof", based on the stories of the clbadic Yiddish writer, Sholem Aleichem, came out in the movie theaters in 1971, my family and I went to see him. I thought it was wonderful, especially the songs. I learned the lyrics by heart, including "If I were a rich man", "Matchmaker Matchmaker" and "Do You Love Me" and even learned to play piano and guitar. But I liked it because I liked all the good musicals. For me, a young teenager in the Bronx, "Fiddler on the Roof" was another great American musical like "The Sound of Music" and "West Side Story". But did it look like a story of Sholem Aleichem? Not really. I have attended Yiddish schools throughout my childhood and teenage years and have read the stories of Sholem Aleichem in the original. This film did not seem particularly Yiddish.
He was not supposed to do it either. Joseph Stein who wrote the book for "Fiddler" and Sheldon Harnick who wrote the lyrics, openly admitted that they did not want it to be too Jewish because they wanted him to have a universal appeal. The theme of a middle-aged man desperately trying to convey traditions to his four daughters in a rapidly changing world – it was something that even the Japanese public could appreciate. In fact, "Fiddler" is very well behaved in Japan
But the first time I heard the songs of "Fiddler" translated into Yiddish for an Israeli production, it was a revelation. "Fiddler Afn Dakh" as it was called, had its premiere in Tel Aviv in 1966 but I only heard about it in the 1970s, because the musical did not come out of it. never took place in the United States. such a severe debt that he suddenly fled Israel. So after the show lasted six weeks, it was the end.
But at some point, someone gave me a score cbadette. For me, it was like listening to Sholem Aleichem in music. It was not only that rhymes and rhythm worked very well; the lyrics actually reflected the true state of mind of the Jew in the shtetl. I did not know Shraga Friedman but I was amazed at how intelligent his translations were, how much they were imbued with the Yiddish idiom and the traditional Jewish religious lifestyle, even though Friedman himself even was a secular Jew
The Yiddish translation of the Israeli production "Fiddler" came back to me as I watched the revival of the Yiddish language version of "Fiddler" at Folksbiene. The piece sparkles with the authentic Yiddish dialogue that you could read in a story of Sholem Aleichem, interspersed with biblical quotations and references in loshn-koydesh the ancient mixture of Hebrew and & 9 39, Aramaic used in the study of Torah. In other words, it was not just a room where the characters spoke Yiddish; he was impregnated in Yiddishkeit, the traditional Jewish way of life.
All lines in the room are accompanied by supertitles in English and Russian.
In the first scene, a huge banner surrounding the backdrop with the word "Torah" written in the Hebrew alphabet, suggests that the leitmotiv in this "Fiddler" is not just the tension between tradition and acculturation to modern society (although this is a crucial part of it), but also a specifically Jewish problem that Tevye (played by Steven Skybell) must solve: How will his children stay Jewish without the religious traditions embodied in the Torah?
This theme runs indirectly through the room, with traditional religious expressions coloring the characters' conversations. When Tevye's daughter, Hodl (Stephanie Lynne Mason), tells her father that she and Perchik, a young Jewish revolutionary from Kiev (Daniel Kahn), want to get married but seek only Tevye's blessing, Tevye is rabid. "No!", He says adding: " Loy mit an alef ," a Hebrew-Yiddish word absolutely does not mean ".
Later, when Tevye starts to suspect Perchik of having been arrested he asks his daughter sardonically, but not without tenderness: "Is there any trouble, this Samson to you?" referring to the Israelite judge of the superhuman strength described in the Hebrew Bible.
Other traditional elements of the play are a little more subtle.Every time some characters appear on the scene, like Yente (Jackie Hoffman) or Tevye's son-in-law, Motl (Ben Liebert), they quickly embrace their fingers and reach out as if they were kissing a mezuzah.There are no doors on stage, so this motion is, indeed, the only sign given to the public that the person is coming to enter the room.
One could argue that a room filled with sp terms and references Ecstatically Jewish could be lost on part of the audience. After all, there is a limit to the translation of supertites. But that does not really matter. Often, living a moment on stage viscerally is more powerful than fully understanding it. Whether or not the person viewing a Yiddish play knows the Jewish practice, she should listen to the way Yiddish has been spoken for hundreds of years, rich in vibrant and spiritual folk expressions related to religious matters. and spiritual, because without this element, the Yiddish language is little more than an empty vase
Hopefully this will be the first of several pieces whose dialogue includes the colorful religious phrases and references that characterize a great part of the Yiddish language. We certainly have a lot of source material in our vast literary tradition to choose from. In fact, perhaps we can go back to Sholem Aleichem's fictional shtetl, Kasrilevke, and stage one of his favorite heroes: this keen and mischievous schoolboy, Motl, the cantor's son. Although Motl's adventures, like Tevye's stories, are fictitious, the authentic and colorful expressions he and his friends and relatives use remind us exactly how Jews used to talk – and discuss – with each other. with the others. And that in itself is a pleasure to watch.
[ad_2]
Source link
