Steven Skybell in Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish | Photo by Dahlia Katz
Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish, presented in a limited Toronto run by the Harold Green Jewish Theatre Company, is a transcendent rendering of the classic. I’ve been a fan of the musical since my youth (when my mother first introduced me to the original Broadway cast recording), but haven’t had the opportunity to see a live production since a school effort some three decades ago. This was worth every second of the wait.
Director Joel Grey’s artfully minimalist staging achieves its effect through resonant, deeply considered simplicity. It is somehow both majestic and austere. Other than some tables and chairs, Beowulf Boritt’s scenic design is limited to a set of massive parchment panels, the central one emblazoned with תורה (“Torah” in Hebrew). My eyes were inexorably drawn to this purposeful text, which asserts itself as a key symbol of the production’s insistent authenticity.
Based on the short stories of Sholem Aleichem, the book by Joseph Stein takes us to Anatevka, a Russian shtetl at the beginning of the twentieth century, and invites us into the lives of its Jewish community. Despite the situational specifics, the musical has garnered universal appeal in the decades since its 1964 premiere. This is due, in large part, to the intensely relatable songs by Jerry Brock and Sheldon Harnick.
This Yiddish translation by Shraga Friedman—which debuted Grey’s 2018 production, produced by the National Yiddish Theatre Folksbiene—succeeds in grounding Fiddler on the Roof more firmly in the Jewish culture of its characters. The English supertitles (also presented in Russian) suggest that the actual text has remained almost entirely faithful to the original, though with a few careful tweaks to further the cultural verity. A great example is the clever specificity of adjusting “If I were a rich man” to “If I were a Rothschild.”
Spending a little more time on the Yiddish of it all is a justifiable indulgence because this cultural signifier is a crucial aspect of the production. I only know the language from the bits and pieces that have worked their way into our vocabulary through cultural osmosis. There is whimsical perfection in the expressive quality of certain phrases. As a non-Jewish person, being immersed in the guttural sound of the language for the duration of the show adds novel dimension, of course, but this is intensified by an awareness of the heightened catharsis for Jewish audiences.
At this point, it’s apparent that I’m assuming my readers are already somewhat familiar with Fiddler on the Roof. I’m not going to dwell on the plot, except to inform or remind you that our guide here is a poor, local milkman named Tevya (Steven Skybell). An icon of the musical theatre canon, he’s a good-natured man struggling to reconcile centuries of stabilizing “Tradition!” (the opening number) with the “new world” his eldest daughters represent through their radical notions of love as as basis for marriage. By extension, the whole town is challenged by social progress just as it is being broken apart by social forces.
Tevya, the one character who breaks the fourth wall, laments his many tribulations with a playful, oh-so-Jewish sense of humour. Skybell, who originated the role in this version, is a warm and earnest presence. He and director Grey keep the meta-theatrical schtick to a minimum, but he does have a cute, theatrically aware dynamic with the titular “fiddler” (Connor J. Lucas, the musical’s metaphorical manifestation of tradition), as well as the Klezmer band featured in the hilarious “Tevya’s Dream” sequence.
Skybell achieves, with his emphatic performance, a tricky balance—affably coaxing us into his confidence, showing us how silly the world can be, while making his conflicted feelings towards the situation palpable. He wants to do right by his god, his daughters and his fatherly responsibility—it is a gargantuan endeavour, teeming with empathy and angst, the cost of it evident in his nuanced portrait.
His wife can often be portrayed as shrill and domineering, but Tracy Michailidis achieves Golde’s aura of maternal authority with a more low-key gravitas. He keeps worrying over how to inform her about some decision he’s made, adorably intimidated by her supposed wrath, but we’re not so much afraid of her yelling here as anxious about her intense disappointment. Michailidis shows us an assertive, principled wife and mother we do not want to see dismayed!
Another highlight of this production, which features a local ensemble, is Joshua Kilimnik’s “the tailer Motl Kamzoyl” (whom I will always be compelled to name in full because of the catchy cadence of the phrasing). Kilimnik is buoyant and incredibly endearing with his paradoxically bashful gumption.
Shout out to Gabi Epstein’s colossally regal Frume-Sore in the dream sequence.
The aforementioned poetic scenic design is thematic, so the tangible reality of Anatevka is defined by Ann Hould-Ward’s period costumes and the richly persuasive performances. While the production’s aesthetic is thoughtfully understated, there are some fancifully expressive flourishes. The textured sepia hues of Peter Kaczorowski and Ethan Steimel’s sumptuous lighting design breaks into vivid colour at key moments, most notably in Tevya’s “on the other hand” asides in moments of profound introspection, as well as some inspired shadowplay in the dream sequence. Staś Kmieć’s choreography (with assistance by Shakeil Rollock) is especially riveting in the wedding scene’s “bottle dance.” There is such infectious joy expressed in kinetic communal connection here.
Regrettably, I do not have the space to shout out all my favourite numbers and characters, nor properly itemize the enduring humanity of this achingly bittersweet story. While the events of the finale are devastating—the townsfolk forced to leave home to seek their fortunes throughout the larger cities of Europe and America—there is persistent hope in their perseverance and humour. An unspoken tension festers here as we consider the horrors of the Third Reich mere decades into the future, as well as the ongoing political unrest in Gaza.
This isn’t the place—nor am I the best suited for the task—to get into the weeds on burgeoning antisemitism and where it fits into the discourse about the Israel-Palestine conflict, but there is a twinge of discomfort as we hear, for instance, that a beloved character, Yente the matchmaker (Theresa Tova), is on her way to Israel, knowing the awful strife to come. This strain is eerily echoed by the enhanced security at the theatre’s entrance, punctuating our awareness that the community celebrated here isn’t necessarily safe, even within the supposedly inclusive world of the theatre.
Without spoiling the details, I’d like to end here on my appreciation for a haunting pivotal image Grey’s astonishing revival sets-up and pays-off beautifully—that sacred תורה on parchment. The ghastly violation at the end of the first act has fierce impact, so too does its reappearance in the second—a clever visual metaphor of scarred yet steadfast resilience.
Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish
May 25 to June 7, 2026
The Elgin Theatre
(189 Yonge Street)
3 hours (including intermission)
Cast of Fiddler on the Roof in Yiddish | Photo by Dahlia Katz