The Fiddler’s Last Tune
Sholem turned to his wife. “Golde,” he said. “Do you love me?” fiddler on the roof -1971-
“Where shall we go?” cried Fruma, the baker’s wife. The Fiddler’s Last Tune Sholem turned to his wife
That evening, the village gathered in the synagogue. The rabbi, a wisp of a man with eyes like old coins, raised his hands. “We have been ordered to leave,” he said. “But we are not ordered to despair.” That evening, the village gathered in the synagogue
Sholem stood up. His knees ached. His heart ached worse. “Rabbi,” he said, “is there a blessing for leaving?”
The rabbi thought for a long moment. Then he smiled. “There is a blessing for arriving. But perhaps… a new blessing is born when an old door closes.”
That morning, a notice was nailed to the post outside the constable’s hut. Sholem couldn’t read Russian, but his neighbor, Mendel the bookseller, translated with trembling lips: All Jews of Anatevka have three days to sell their homes and leave. The Crown requires the land for a new estate.
