Shake your fist at God…
The Cleveland Play House is staging an outstanding production of “Fiddler on the Roof.” I hadn’t seen the show in over 30 years but I remembered lines and lyrics and was surprised how well this musical (which premiered on Broadway in 1964) has stood the test of time.
The play’s universal themes are both personal and global. We see Tevye struggle to love his daughters even though they are embracing new ways of life: what traditions still have meaning and are worth holding onto, and which ones do we gracefully let go? We see forced displacement, military takeovers, religious persecution.
I love Tevye’s relationship with God. Every time he’s alone, he looks up to the sky and resumes a conversation. Tevye’s dialogue is funny and well-written; he asks God for help, he complains, he kvetches, he jokes. He shakes his fist at God while expressing the hardship of his daily life. He does not hold back.
“I don’t know how to pray.” Hundreds of people have told me that. They say it with a longing in their voice; they want a more intimate relationship with God but somehow don’t have the vocabulary, as if prayer is a secret language. We’re often afraid we’ll offend God: What if I say the wrong thing?
During the course of “Fiddler,” Tevye and Golde’s three oldest daughters find their life partners, but none of them do so traditionally…with the assistance of the matchmaker. The first refuses her match to the rich older butcher and instead marries her childhood friend, the poor young tailor. The second falls in love with the tutor, a political activist. The third daughter marries a non-Jewish Russian. Tevye is initially opposed — vehemently so — to each relationship. We see his internal dialogue (“on the one hand, it’s wrong…but on the other hand, she’s in love and she’s my daughter…”) In each case, he ends up more or less on the side of love and grace and acceptance.
The group of psalms known as the lament psalms speak Tevye’s language. The psalmist cries out to God, “Where are you, God? Why have you let this terrible thing happen to me? My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Help me!” After the psalmist pours out grief and despair, there is often a word of hope and trust.
Tevye never tells us what God is saying to him, but we see it in his actions. He is able to cope with change and challenge, strengthened by his constant ongoing relationship.
What might be possible for us, were we to stop being so polite in our language of prayer?