“Forget about what you are escaping from, reserve your anxiety for what you are escaping to.” – Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay
The Universal Power of Storytelling
This quote, from the Pulitzer Prize-winning book by Michael Chabon (soon to be adapted into a new opera this fall) has resonated with me for years. What makes “Fiddler on the Roof” so universal and enduring? I often return to a moment in the documentary Miracle of Miracles, where a Japanese theatre manager tells Joseph Stein, “I cannot believe how Japanese Fiddler on the Roof is.” That comment captures the essence of why stories and theatre have resonated for thousands of years: people see themselves reflected in these narratives, regardless of their background.
Concentric Circles of Connection
Fiddler on the Roof is universal because it focuses on the smallest circle—a single family. At its heart, it is the story of a father terrified of losing his daughters and his role as the head of the family. Anyone who has been a parent, or has had a parent, can recognize that primal fear.
The story then expands to a larger circle: the community of Anatevka. Here, the townspeople grapple with the tension between tradition and modernity—arranged marriages, generational conflict, and the struggle to adapt to change while holding on to their identity. These aren’t just Jewish experiences; they are fundamentally human.
The circles widen further. Fiddler becomes the story of a people without a permanent home—displaced, forced to rebuild their lives time and again. Every few years, they arrive at a new train station or airport, constructing a new community only to face the prospect of migration once more. They live on borrowed time, always at risk of becoming “the other,” cast as outsiders or even villains.
This cycle of displacement and “othering” is a universal experience, shared by countless groups across history and geography.
Universality Through Specificity
It’s a well-known truth in theatre: for a story to be truly universal, it must be deeply specific. Fiddler on the Roof is the quintessential Jewish tale that is rooted in a very particular tradition—the rituals of Shabbat, Jewish weddings, and prayer shawls are not common to many other cultures. Yet these details serve to communicate a much broader, human truth.
These stories resonate with anyone who empathizes with families torn apart, parents separated from children, or people fleeing hate and violence. Paradoxically, it’s the uniqueness of this society, the specific details, that allows this story to speak to so many others.
Returning to Chabon’s words: “Forget about what you are escaping from, reserve your anxiety for what you are escaping to.” The people of Anatevka are forced to
leave, but their odyssey is far from over. Some emigrate to America, building a new life with sweat and tears. Others go to Israel, forging a life that is perpetually overshadowed by existential peril. The unluckiest of all, remain in Europe, facing further persecution and the horrors that would follow in the 1930s.
The Bright Side
While these themes are heavy, there is another side to this story. Survivors have always found ways to endure. Across generations, Jewish people have relied on two essential “hacks” for survival:
Embracing Family
Recognizing the strength and importance of the family nucleus.
Embracing Humor
Using wit and laughter as tools to cope with adversity.
This humor is woven into the fabric of Fiddler on the Roof, providing warmth and resilience in the face of hardship. There are many circles in Fiddler: the nucleus of the family, the dynamic of a town, the tradition of a people. These circles are constantly challenged by outside forces, all of them revolving around the question of identity. The laughter, the anxiety, the perseverance— this is what makes this story so universal, yet so profoundly personal to me.
