How Fiddler on the Roof Changed Alexandra Silber's Life

The world at large may know me as the current Tzeitel in the Broadway revival of Fiddler on the Roof, but from October 2006 to February 2008, I played Tevye’s second eldest daughter, Hodel, in the last West End revival. That experience was, without exception, the most immersive and deeply felt of my artistic life thus far.

While all characters tend to endear themselves to you, Hodel haunted me. Few weave in and out of the soul until you can scarcely detect the line between the emotional truths of one and the other. In hindsight, I recognize why.

In the autumn of 2001, I lost my father to a lifelong battle with cancer. I was 18, only a few months out of high school, and a few weeks into my freshmen year of college in the Midwest. The experience led me to a crossroads:

Option 1:
At 18, no one would have blamed me for capitulating. I was young, sensitive, hard-working, and full of ambitions, but what a blow at such a crucial moment in one’s development. Who would have blamed me if I’d stayed close to home and never went for any of my dreams, too broken was I by circumstance? It would have been understandable.

Option 2:
Having experienced the "thing" every human being fears the most, what else was there to be afraid of? Perhaps this loss had provided the ultimate gift: fearlessness. In the face of all the death and dying: I could really live.

I chose. I packed my bags and got on a plane to…Scotland. It was a place where I had no family, no connections. I just…went. To have an adventure. And, ya know, get my acting degree.

Many people tell me it was brave. But it didn’t feel brave. It felt necessary. Still, it never occurred to me that there was a parallel between the 18-year-old girl who got on a plane to Scotland and the 18-year-old girl who got on a train to Siberia…

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"Papa, God alone knows when we shall see each other again."

But it was Hodel and Fiddler on the Roof that gave me the opportunity to do something my real-life self was robbed of: a chance to say goodbye to my father — and I got that chance, daily, onstage with one of England’s greatest actors, Henry Goodman.

The full experience of grief is towering and can only to be experienced when one is truly ready. Perhaps I had tabled the grieving process until Fiddler because a heart can only bear so much. And, after all, I had the responsibility all young people do to become myself during those intervening years, to endure in any way I could.

"I must go…I must go…"

The experience of playing Hodel also led me to a new chapter in my creative life, I wrote (in almost-secret) a 700-page sequel to the story of Hodel and Perchik.

That journey led me to physicalize Hodel’s journey and visit Siberia itself. For research? Sure. To actualize a geographical journey as a form of spiritual completion? Certainly. It was in Siberia that I decided to return to America after nearly eight years in the United Kingdom. I was grateful for all it had given me, but, having never been an adult in my homeland. It was time to come home.

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Last summer, after I learned I was to play Tzeitel in the Broadway revival of Fiddler, I received a letter from Henry:

Hi. Just writing to say thrilled to hear your doing Tzeitel in New York. I'm planning to see it … When do u open? What an insight you will have to bring to a new (but ever present) Anatevka! Much joy.

So pleased you are thriving …
I'm on the platform with you x

Henry G

Dear Henry,

What a total joy to hear from you — and of course you have been on my mind.

Our Anatevka journey truly taught me how to be an artistic actor in the professional realm. But above all, it holds so many endemic memories. It will never fade for me.

I think it’s also taken some reflection to realize that Hodel had helped me grieve about my father — helped me say goodbye in a way I didn’t realize until recently. Hodel was the first character I ever missed when we parted company it was like a friend who stopped calling all of a sudden. I suppose that was what led me to Siberia, and to write that secret exploration, which is not so secret anymore. Hodel gave me the courage to put that writing out in the world, where it will be published as the novel After Anatevka.

More than that though, I realized I needed to play this journey out somehow beyond the written word.

And I have. Though one thing was certain: I wasn’t Hodel anymore. I have lived her story, and now it is someone else’s turn. (And frankly, I wouldn’t want to wait at the train station with anyone other than you, Henry.)

A few months ago I went to a friend’s wedding, and as she walked down the aisle with her father, I burst into tears. I suppose my subconscious recognized that no matter what I ever do, that moment cannot be purchased or won or fought for. I will never have it. Ever.

…But now? I will. By proxy, on stage… isn't that one of the beautiful things about the theatre? We have the rare opportunity to experience so much more of humanity in one lifetime.

And, as I grow up, and my focus shifts much more to lasting relationships and the meanings of community and faith, I realize that all these things make me uniquely qualified to serve Tzeitel’s story now — and endeavor to serve her I shall, with every scrap of depth, integrity, artistry, and richness I can muster.

Al

PS. I'm on the platform with you too. Always.

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"I Belong in Anatevka"

Sometimes we are given gifts beyond imagining. Fiddler on the Roof has been one of those for me. I endeavor every day to deserve it. May we all strive to deserve what we have been given, while respecting and revering all that we have lost. Above all else, may we aspire to learn and grow into both our struggles and our opportunities.

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Alexandra Silber’s After Anatevka, with a forward by Sheldon Harnick, will be published in 2017.